Jean-Paul Sartre’s “Hell is other people” reflects the experience of modern day air travel. I wrote this post while stranded in Detroit, Michigan after my plane out of Lansing had a mechanical. The airline made it up to me by putting me up at hotel and booking me on another flight the next day. I waited in lines, and tried to be a bit zen about it all because it’s a necessary part of my jobby job. Would rather they find what’s broken on the plane on the ground than in the air.
During this time in line, I made a new buddy. He and I chatted about his son’s college major. This is a convo with strangers my age almost always happens after I explain what I do for a living. Parents feel compelled to share their horrors about what they spend on their children’s college textbooks. And rightly so, ye parents of Priority and First Class, it’s truly an abomination. Tell it.
I bite my tongue to not snark-splain them. About how I care more about students whose parents can’t afford to foot the bill. I don’t say that. That makes me sound mean and bitter about my comfortably middle class peers (A Memoir).
Allow me to air some academic-ish dirty laundry.
I pitched a conference proposal on a whim with little to no forethought of what I would actually say if I got acccepted. Or how I would substantiate my ideas.
At the time, I needed to feel witty.
At the time, I gave myself full permission to be creative.
At the time, I had just been rejected by a global conference where the committee used words like “simply too sketchy” and “not really clear in its delivery” in the ding letter. I laughed really hard at those thoughtful rejections. You SO get me!
At the time when I submitted this particular preso, I was super-scattered and not very organized. I didn’t really have it together, and now I’m trying to sort out what I’ll actually say, but then again, I kind of want to write about something else. I’ve got a post going about surfing and mountain biking (all the rad). One about my readings on leadership (all the confusing). Another about two articles that a friend shared with me (all the troubling). Another about my sadness concerning one awful event (all the difficult). Another on how I learned to not joke about the worst case scenario (all the painful). Okay, where was I?
Right. Sorry I’m a bit too sketchy and not very clear in my delivery sometimes.
I used to get really exhausted by the airplane travel, and I still do, but I now understand where the exact point of exhaustion circles and swirls in the deep darkness of my soul. In The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo, Amy Schumer (noted philosopher) writes about why traveling for work is so tiring. Schumer writes about how she feels compelled to be nice to every service worker she encounters because she used to do so many of those jobs. She’s overly nice and tries to make up for the lack of humanity that she experienced as a service worker. Yes.
When I read that passage, I put the book down and thought long and hard about my life. How I see my old self in hostesses, waitresses, caterers, bartenders, cashiers, and cooks. How I see myself in those black aprons and white chef coats and I remember. I remember. I remember. I remember. I remember. And I’m suddenly not so tired from the jet lag and I’m eternally grateful for this life. I remember. I remember. I remember.
Reading her book helped me to curtail the emotional energy that I expel with the small talk with strangers. I don’t engage with service workers as much while I’m traveling for work. I just smile and tip well. I realized I need to save every bit of energy for my work because, you know, it’s so easy-breezy, stress-free, and predictable (that’s sarcasm, btw). So I’ve dialed back the chatty with the strangers. I don’t say much. It helps me.
Okay, here’s the thing. The Thing.
I’ve been thinking about using the 10 Essentials as a storytelling framework for quite some time. One of these days I’ll get to My Big Vision With Said Framework but for now, I’d like to tease out a bit of story telling about Open while also thinking about pedagogy. Have I lost you yet? This post will be a blend of using the framework of the Mountaineering’s 10 Essentials and my own take on the teaching and learning. And some other things that I need to say but shouldn’t during my preso. I’ll have my shit together when I actually present, I promise.
The Map--Where do you want take your students in the short term? Maybe that’s your learning outcomes. The Big Question. The Five Questions. What’s the most important thing you hope students will remember about your course five years from now? That kind of thinking. Short-term learning strategy with long-term impact. You only have a semester or quarter, so what can you do with that precious time?
- I once backpacked 40 miles with a map on my cell phone and when the battery went dead on that last day, my friend and I got really fucking lucky we didn’t end up on the nightly news. I’m willing to wing it on the trail and in the classroom and in my life, but I know that’s not always the best tactic. I love dreaming up plans while looking at maps. That anticipation is sometimes the sweetest part of planning a trip. Don’t stray/My kind’s your my kind/I’ll stay the same…chances are most of my audience will not get the Yeah Yeah Yeahs reference. What’s next?
A Compass! Where do you want to go long-term? Do you want to adopt, adapt, or build? What’s the most important change you’d like to see in your teaching? department? discipline? institution? Where do you hope to be in five years?
- So if I’m to admit that I’ve gone on a long backpacking trip without a map, then who the hell am I to ask this question? Like I could have ever guessed I’d be doing what I’m doing five years ago. Fuck it. Doesn’t matter.
- The Mountaineers, who came up with this list in 1974, have since upgraded their language to include modern technology. Instead of a compass, they list a GPS. I think that’s a mistake, Brahs. Fancy gadgets are bullshit. You either know how to find True North or you don’t.
Sunglasses/Sunscreen--When there are so many shiny bright ways to get started, how will you choose what’s best for you? What attracts you? Adopting? Adapting? Building?
- Okay, let me pause and admit that I’m struggling with this essential for two reasons. I almost never pack sunscreen when I backpack and my skin burns like a motherfucker. I can’t seem to make this essential work without a bunch of crappy-ass sun metaphors.
- True story: I was once on a trail-crew outing and my leader didn’t have sunglasses when we got to a glacier, and the ancient deep snow was blinding. So bright. He fashioned eye protection out of Wheat Thins box and duct tape. Man, I was so impressed by that quick thinking. And he totally looked ridiculous, but he could see. He adapted to the situation like a badass. I had on fancy sunglasses with interchangeable lens, and I kind of envied his ingenuity. Either that or I’m easily impressed by creative uses of cardboard boxes by men who are skilled with axes.
Extra Clothing–What will you do if something changes in your discipline? This essential is getting at “change management” and being prepared, I think.
- Okay, also struggling with this one. I’ve been on backpacking trips where I put on every single layer of clothing that I brought just to stay warm and I was close to crying in my sleeping bag because I was so cold. This is another “essential” where I kind of shake my head. At the point where you are freezing or considering if it will ever stop raining or snowing, you can’t have enough clothes. You mentally torture yourself for choosing to be in a freezing tent close to hypothermia instead of in your warm bed. If you aren’t prepared for all weather shifts, then what the hell are you doing out there in the first place?
First-Aid–What if you need help? What will you do when students are struggling?
- I think this essential is really about self-care and self-preservation. I can’t really think about that right now.
- I might pose this question and just listen.
Fire-starter–What is your main idea that will spark conversation or creativity with your students? What’s the most fun you have while teaching your course?
- I’ve been camping many times where there was no hope of ever starting a fire. I live in the Pacific Northwest. It’s damp. Mossy. Soggy. Even with the fancy-ass firestarters they sell at the recreational employee incorporated, there have been times where no flame was going to fire. You have to resign to suffer in every item of damp clothing you have and hope that the buzz of whisky would take you down to sweet sleep. You make do.
Matches—How can you get the fire started? What’s the spark?
- Recently I learned that one of my favorite OER leaders tells his/her faculty: “Why are you rubbing two sticks together when I’m standing behind you with a Zippo?” Holyguacamole that makes me laugh every time I think of him/her saying that. Fucking genius. (If you’re reading this, my beloved friend, and you want the attribution, let me know. I don’t want to out you here just in case it’s not something want to share beyond your faculty. It’s a beautifully intimate private joke with people who trust you. Really. It’s the easiest way to describe administrative support of adopting already existing OER with some humor, so I had to share. Hilarious).
Knife–Do you know what you’d like to cut? What will you get rid of if you run out of time? What will you sacrifice? What’s the least your students need to know?
- Here I am struggling with all the shitty analogies again. Maybe this is a bad idea.
- Truth be told, I never carry a knife. I always depend on other people. In particular, my friend Tami who can catch a fish in 30 degree weather, kill it, gut it, and cook it up in the Panko and olive oil. Mother fucking delicious. She always has a knife, and I mostly backpack with her these days. I am blessed that this woman is in my life.
- FYI teachers, it’s dangerous to admit that you’d cut anything from a class. But you do. You do. I remember. I remember. I remember.
Extra Food–What do you consider unnecessary in your course? Is there a learning outcome that makes you feel a bit “Meh”? Or is there something that feels redundant? I LOVE talking to faculty about institutionalized outcomes. It’s so entertaining to listen to them slam that system.
- I’ve run out of food before on a backpacking trip. I shared one packet of oatmeal and three dried apricots with a friend and we had many miles left to hike out. We were also out of coffee. The horror of that day still haunts me when I’m packing for a trip. My friend and I were so broke and hungry together. Hiking towards my old car that I wasn’t really sure would start when we got there. Miles from where we could hitchhike. Good times.
Headlamp–And it’s something quite peculiar/something shimmering and white/it leads you here despite your destination.
- Okay, clearly I got nothing on this one if I’m quoting The Church–the band.
- I kind of disagree with this “essential”–I’d rather have clean water and be in the dark any day of the week. I think you always need purification tablets and a pump, but then again, most of the time I’m ready for bed as soon as the sun goes down, so I could get away without having light. I can sleep like the dead when I’m off work and in the backcountry. Love napping in a tent too.
Okay, this post has clearly devolved, but it’s helped me sort out some thoughts. Thanks for reading if you’ve made it to this point. I promised myself to blog more and click “Publish” a bit more often this year. How is it almost April?
Since I’m unsure how to conclude this post, how about a quote from something I’ve read recently?
In “How to Be Bored” by Eva Hoffman, she writes something across my soul with the following:
If we are to remain internally and intellectually alive, we need to make time not only for introspection but for our intellectual predilections, say, or our aesthetic impulses, without keeping an eye on the outcome or the specific goal.