Day: November 11, 2013

There is something ephemeral about vacations. You can lose yourself in vacations. You can become someone else. You can do things you would never do in your normal life, because in a few days it will be all over and you can go back to the monotony of your days.

Or, you can just be yourself.

You to be as close to the ideal form of yourself as possible, because you don’t have the responsibilities that keep you from being who you want to be and doing what you want to do. The best part about my ephemeral vacation: I got to walk miles and miles along the shore, taking the briefest of steps towards getting my health back. I did it because I had time to do it. I didn’t have the distractions of daily life; the responsibilities of a job. I had time to work on me. I left the experience wanting to work on me, but afraid I wouldn’t be able to find the balance to do that with everything else going on. However, it is high past time I recognized that tomorrow isn’t promised. I don’t know how many days I have left. I don’t know how long it will take to get right. I know that every day I devote to bettering myself both physically and mentally is another day I add to my life expectancy. On the other hand, every day I allow myself to rot is another day closer to rotting forever.

Morbid thoughts aren’t always the best motivators, but they are reminders of the beauty that is life and the way you want to live and the person you want to be. So, do you have what it takes to get there? Bet I do.

Someone had the bright idea of booking an academic convention and several boxing entourages at the same hotel on the weekend of the biggest fight of the season to date. There’s a joke somewhere in there about Jocks and Nerds inheriting the same space. In the end it was a great thing to be in the shared space. I was able to observe a part of life that I don’t usually see. I was able to watch prizefighters and their entourages prepare for a fight card.

The boxing card was a series of smaller matches leading up to the title fight between Garcia and Martinez. In the days leading up to the match and match day itself it was interesting to see the various entourages and fighters coming and going. The atmosphere was cordial but competitive with the older trainers explaining to each other why their fighter would certainly win. The outfits are what set everyone apart. The entourage wore mob-esque jump suits with their team name emblazoned on the front and back while the women wore hardly anything at all—Short skirts, high heels, ring girl attire, etc.

Boxing, like any sport, has more significance when you assume a personal connection to the people involved. The Darchiniyan v. Donaire card thus became relevant because we’d seen the fighters, listened in on some of the conversations, and had a chance to identify with members of the entourages on both sides.

 

There is a lot of ego built into the sports I’ve played. Baseball has some and football has a lot more, but witnessing how important every single match is to boxing—in fact every single round—really blew me away. Say what you will about the intelligence of boxers, but their earnest passion and their courage and heart are unmatched in any sport I’ve been around. This, of course, doesn’t mean certain prejudices and presumptions do not exist on both sides.

What I found most interesting about the whole situation were the conversations. At one point we met a man at the bar who was obviously a trainer and very clear about his supposed love for teachers and the teaching profession. Sadly, after he bought my group a round of drinks and praised us, the bartender told us that he was saying a lot of negative things about us—claiming we thought we were better than him.

I think people put a lot of their own ideas and prejudices on to a role, no matter what or who the person holding the role is. Role Identity is a real thing from an internal and external perspective.

In the midst of a uproarious conference on Learning Communities a session leader turned to a small group of us and requested we write (however briefly) about a memorable time we gave or received an act of compassion. I giggled at first, remembering that I’d recently evaluated a faculty member at my own college who offered this same assignment to her Developmental English students with mixed results. Then are started considering the idea of compassion itself. Then I decided that 10 minutes would be just enough time to explain why compassion can be both incredibly helpful and equally destructive.

 

The first act of compassion I can remember dates back in the early 80’s. Growing up as a New Yorker we are taught to have very specific feelings about the homeless. In Harlem you were meant to feel little pity for them, other than to assume that they were crazy and that in of itself deserved the most basic level of pity, but not so much that you actually gave them money, because to do so would have the same affect as would feeding a stray cat.

 

Lets just say I’m a cat person.

 

There was a homeless man who squatted between a church and an abandoned brownstone several blocks from my home. I never had much cash, and the cash I did have usually went to Lemonheads and Gobstoppers. However, one birthday I found myself especially flush and decided to put some of that blood-earned capital to good use. I gave the man ten dollars. This is, to nine-year-old boy in the 80’s, an absolute fortune. I felt like it was the right thing to do and I felt the better human for doing it. This feeling faded a day later when I saw that same man with a bottle of whiskey drinking himself into further oblivion. My mother didn’t have to say I told you so. I knew I contributed to his delinquency. I knew the guy bought that booze with my money and the result of that was me being broke and him being drunk.

It took a long time for me to be compassionate to anyone on that level. I measured their situation and considered whether my help was help at all or further enablement of negative behaviors. In fact it took me a long time to recognize that compassion is not about what people do with what you give, but the act of giving itself. Compassion is personal and healthy. It is the opportunity to give of yourself and reflect on how you feel about you after the giving.

Today I stepped onto a plane bound for Corpus Christi, Texas. It isn’t my bi-annual book pilgrimage but another substantial journey of the mind and in some ways the spirit. I talk about being a teacher from time to time. It is never something I actively wanted to do. I never turned to anyone and said, “I want to teach.” Yet here I am. I teach because it is who I am, the same way I write because I don’t know how to not to. That being said, an understanding of personal purpose in no way ensures ones ability. I am an average teacher. I am above average in desire, but the execution is incomplete. I haven’t reached that place psychologically or organizationally where I can put it all together in a one clean stroke, so that every student will get the level of learning they need from the course. So, I go on these journeys to better myself and to cement my understanding of my purpose. Some days I think I go on these journeys in order to lock myself into a particular role or function within teaching, because it is in my nature to want to do everything and give all I have to that impossible pursuit, in which winding up doing very little for everything and not enough for any specific thing.

 

That core point above is what I’ve worked the hardest to change over the last few years and been most successful changing. It shows in the way I choose my classes and my conferences. This conference, for example, is about Learning Communities. I’ve dedicated myself to being the consummate learning community instructor. That means understanding how what you do in class and what you teach connects to the wider world as well as connects to the content and purpose of the other courses with which you are integrated.

Chances are you’ll see at least one post about such business this weekend. With any luck I’ll also find the time to make my football picks.