what a weirdo.

people get sentimental when things end.  graduation is an obvious example, and i'm no exception to the rule.

it was interesting to observe the response of my students to the year ending.  you can't expect them to put everything in perspective and reflect on their lives when IT'S SUMMER!!!  some did, though.  i continue to be amazed by the enormous gap between the actions of seventh and eight graders...and i continue to try to figure out why.  how much of it is environment? how much is expectations? what is correlation and what is causation?

part of the reason this started is that i was trying to determine why my students were treating me differently.  many of my seventh graders (and i have 3x more of them than eighth, to be fair) were openly expressing that they liked me as a teacher and that they wanted to have me as their teacher next year.  i even got a few notes and gifts from them.  ((obviously, this is great to hear, but the best comments were the ones who said they had learned to like history, or see it in a new way.  those were by far the most rewarding — my only goal, ultimately, was to get my students to think, and question, and see that an examined life is not equivalent to a boring life))

Quite possibly the sweetest note ever written, from (quite understandably) one of my favorites.  It's like this student took a class on the perfect thing to tell a teacher!  And aced it!!  You know Mark Twain's quote about good compliments?  Well, I'm pretty sure this one will last forever.   

all of this made a thought occur to me.  i have a fairly good idea what my seventh graders think of me.  but eighth? i'm confident they didn't hate me, but beyond that i'm unsure.  part of what makes the teacher/student relationship strange is that most have them have read/heard, in detail, exactly how i feel about them.

the odd thing is, on the whole, i feel as if i was much better with the eighth graders.  not only did i think we had fun AND learned medieval history, i rarely got frustrated with them or chewed them out.  i gave ONE detention in that class the whole year!  yet, the response was not there.

so, why the discrepancy? i have a few theories.

when i looked back on the year with this filter, i realized that i'd been treating my classes more differently than i meant to.  all my students think i'm weird, but if i had to predict a second adjective, it would probably be weird/silly for seventh grade, and weird/cool for eighth.  though i personally think "cool" can't be defined and therefore is entirely subjective and therefore is pointless, it does exist, and it does cause real problems.

because of my occasional mistakes/minor breakdowns and frequent stories from childhood, i suspect that i appeared much more vulnerable to my ancient history classes, and, therefore, as someone they could identify with or even confide in at times.  also, i interacted with them more outside of class, for various reasons.

on the flip side, my medieval history class probably had less of an idea how to react to me (because i rarely showed "weakness"), and i could have seemed aloof or intimidating.  i was always calm and usually collected (except when we had "tours" come into class haha).  sometimes i would complain about dealing with the seventh-graders, but i never really drove it home that i had no complaints with them, and i honestly thought they were an awesome group.  [this theory would put more explanation on me for not providing a more open environment]

it's certainly also possible that they liked me for the most part and just cared MORE about what i thought about them.  maybe they felt more pressure.  as i'm sure you've experienced, that can have a freezing effect at times.  you overthink, then you fail to express yourself accurately, or at all.  [this theory would put more of the explanation on normal life environment, since more students tend to care more about being "cool", and being accepted, as they get closer to high school]

i'm generalizing here, of course, because i'm sure it was somewhat different for each student, but my actions certainly matter as well.  and, in the end, the answer is a little of each of these theories, and innumerable others.

typically, reflections and realizations of this sort occur when it's too late to change anything.  still, it's good to realize it at all, and adjust for the next situation (yet also frustrating to edit the past constantly).  this particular lightbulb moment, however, came just in time for one last effort.

i'd decided a long time ago to write a note to each of my eighth-grade students at the end of the year.  22 is a manageable number, and i believe personalized interaction to be one of the biggest benefits of our school.  Jon bought a book for each of his 18 seniors, and Tom bought each of his 12 eighth graders a copy of "The Little Prince".  when the time came to write the notes, i did my best to convey openly how and why i valued each of them specifically — my broad theme was that you can't base your self-worth in personal accomplishments or in other people's opinions.

as with everything else you do as a teacher, and in life, there will be a broad range of reactions.  i know some of them will dismiss my note, perhaps even scoff at my attempt.  to others, though, it will mean something.  you can't ever perfectly predict who will do what, or what impact it will have, which is the beauty of the thing.  <<-- this is why i'm an abnormal economist, because i recognize you can't predict human behavior....

Connection? Unpredictability of human behavior.  check out xkcd.com for more humor.

....hmm. i'm about to do that thing again where i take something sincere and human and turn it into something calculated and robotic.  classic double-think paradox.

there's a theory in economics called "Pareto Optimality." in short, it says that, in any situation, if you can make even one person better off (in the slightest), without making anyone worse off, then you should do it and the resulting situation is an "improvement".  though it seems obvious, it has fascinating implications when applied.  the connection? writing personalized notes.  though it's not guaranteed to impact their lives positively, i can be pretty positive it won't impact them negatively.  maybe they'll toss it. maybe they'll miss the point and save it as a trophy.  whatever their response, i can be sure of one initial reaction in common (i wrote the notes on "happy birthday" cards):

"what a weirdo."

ancient is history

i'm done teaching ancient history, and seventh graders.

right now, i should be tweaking their semester exam.  i have to give it to them in the morning.

it's really funny that i'm a teacher, but far more humorous that i'm a history teacher.  there's only a few people who can really appreciate that...  less than 12 months ago, i clearly recall making fun of my friends who were history majors.  for a few weeks after graduation i thought it was hilarious to introduce Brian with "he was a history major, but he regrets it."  even though it was completely untrue, he had to start off a few conversations by asserting his interest in history.

i had a four-year class in high school called "History of the Christian Faith" (HCF), and it covered medieval history in depth.  i'd never studied ancient history, officially or not, before this year.  since i have an excess of college credit (including 24 of "history"), i didn't have to pass any tests to become a "highly qualified" history teacher.

you can't teach a subject that you're not interested in.  you just can't.  my first dilemma this year was finding an angle to become passionate about history.  my angle, unsurprisingly, is economics.  i love cause-and-effect, and individual decision-making, and probabilities, and significance, and irrationality, and ALL of those things can connect to the study of history.  it took me a while to figure that out, though.

once i started teaching, i realized that i needed the students to be interested in what i was teaching.  i was not okay with anyone being apathetic.  i took it personally.  this led to a hilarious double-standard — i'm on record as saying history isn't particularly interesting, yet i expected my students to be fascinated.

so, the first semester was a journey to convince myself history was interesting, as much as it was anything else.  there were more than a few moments in class when i was trying to convince students something was cool or interesting, and i realized that i had successfully convinced myself.    it was probably visibly noticeable to a perceptive observer.  i've never been able to fake enthusiasm well, or had any desire to, so these moments of discovering genuine enthusiasm were incredibly important.  

by Christmas, i was a believer.  in the second semester, i didn't have to force my own interest, and i could focus on sharing my enthusiasm with my classes.  this made me a better teacher, but it also an important testimony that your attitude towards particular subjects (and education in general) really matters.  i hadn't allowed history to be interesting, so i never found it interesting.  furthermore, my economically-biased approach forces history to have meaning.  i've had several students tell me that i make history "deeper" than other teachers they've had.  focusing on significance leads to questions and discussions about what really matters, instead of simply memorizing facts and forgetting them.  it's a somewhat philosophical approach.

even though i'm incredibly excited to teach economics next year (i've already started planning lessons and projects and assignments in my head), i'm undeniably sad to be leaving ancient history in the past.  that's strange.  the cool thing is, i now have all that "ancient" knowledge to incorporate into my other subjects.  i try to make connections between things whenever possible, if you haven't noticed.

the power of three

our sports banquet was tonight, and i had to give three speeches.

JH football was the first address of the evening.  i told a few anecdotes, handed out my awards, and left the stage.  i was nervous and it showed.  i know, because students told me.  

the second was JH boys' soccer.  having gone once, my comfort level was much higher.  i'd also been able to observe what the other coaches were saying and how the audience was reacting.  

sand volleyball was the last sport of the evening.  this time i went up with only a vague outline of what i was going to say, was completely relaxed, and even kept talking for a few minutes after i had given out my awards!  and it was by far the best.  i know, not just because it felt better, but because i had people i didn't know coming up and saying i was funny, and so on.  

overall, this experience was both frustrating and encouraging.  how can i go from one extreme to the other in one evening!?

really, it only reinforces something i already knew.  my intense childhood shyness is still present, but i can overcome it with rationality and experience.  i know at a rational level that it's silly to care what people think, and that being self-conscious only draws more attention.   i also know that my confidence skyrockets after having an opportunity to experience/observe something.  this is true for most people, but maybe even more so for me. 

this three-hour event mirrors my three-year experience at Hillsdale.  yeah, i was only there three years — i transferred, remember?

at the end of my third year, i hated leaving, but i also felt like there was nothing left to accomplish.  if i had a fourth year, there's nothing i would change/improve from the third.  

this ties in with something else i've been thinking about lately (surprise!).

i understand teaching now, because i've been a teacher.  i haven't been a great teacher this year, but i've learned a lot.  i'm in a position to improve across the board (is that a pun?) next year.

so here's my crazy thought: what if i keep doing this?  what if i take my ability to analyze and adapt, and put it to the ultimate test?  what if i use my three-year hypothesis on a bunch of different jobs?  i could make a list of jobs which an economist would need to understand in order to be a good economist, and i could go into each of those fields for a few years.  

on one level, this seems arrogant.  assuming i could succeed at anything i attempt? definitely too cocky.  

on another level, i believe i could do it.  

think about it.  the primary reason for conflict and misunderstandings is simply an inability to see from alternate perspectives.  economists need to understand the incentive structure of the people's actions they are trying to predict.  the best way to learn incentives of a particular profession is to do it.  try to be a butcher, baker, and candlestick maker, and see first-hand how their individual self-interest benefits the whole (or, doesn't).    

then, after i've done it "all", become a full-time economist. make waves.  

this is just an idea.  for now, i'm loving being teacher.  

daze of glory

one class i took at Hillsdale was taught by a professor who was known for his stories.  the man had done it all, seen it all, knew it all.  he was a good teacher, and most students loved him.  i found that i had a distinctly different reaction.

i felt as if he were bragging — smug, almost.  i resented that he thought he had led such an amazing life, and he was so confident his life had been better than ours would be.

now, as i look back on that experience with some idea of how i operate in a "teacher" role, i think: 'that is exactly how i would be as a professor.'

SBoncé.  too many stories.

i measure the quality of life in stories.  not just any stories — stories that captivate, stories that inspire, stories that invoke disbelief.  basically, stories that necessitate a reaction from the listener.  the best stories are the ones you can tell to anyone, and you know they will listen.  they might judge you, but you'll have their attention.

so maybe student-me would judge teacher-me.

what's the motive behind teacher storytelling? motives matter...  sometimes it's an attempt to identify with the students.  sometimes it's to impress.  sometimes it's to entertain.  justify? pass time? and there's more.

there's a lesson here that keeps coming to my attention.  you can't please everyone all the time.  i know this to be true, yet i get caught up in the people-pleaser mentality way too often.  apparently, even i can be a fickle, wishy-washy human.

i know that my stories can be perceived in a negative light, from first-hand experience.  so why do i continue telling them?

the potential payoff is worth the potential backlash.

my primary motivation, other than to satisfy nostalgia, is to inspire.  i want people to realize that they can do more than they think they can.  that the way it is isn't the way it has to be.  that, sometimes, rules are made to be broken.

last spring break, when David Zaragoza and i flew to Hawaii, we had no plan.  no lodging, no day tours, no commitments.  we just agreed to meet there, and experience O'ahu.  this plan had its advantages and disadvantages, but it worked out fine (this is a microcosm of my life).  we spent the last few nights staying at a Navy corpsman's house on the Marine base.  i had never met the guy before, but we had a conversation in which he told me that he was amazed that we had come to Hawaii for a week with no set plans.  in his own words, it inspired him.  i inspired a soldier.

so.  if i talk about my Hawai'i experience, there are a multitude of potential reactions from my audience.  since i KNOW one of the possible reactions is "inspired", i have the assurance to continue.  the same goes for the rest of my ridiculous stories.      

a lot of stories these days glorify stupidity.  my goal is for my stories to push the boundaries, to be rated-PG (13?), and to demonstrate that intelligent, moral individuals can have fun, too.

my goal is also to continue collecting good stories.  i hate the idea that there is a point in your life where you only talk about things you used to do, instead of doing more things.

this one is a classic.

Vine-swinging Man-venture.

how many stories did you collect this year?

LivingOnOne.org

the next group of college graduates is almost here and gone.  Hillsdale's graduation is next weekend.  the class of '11 is being pushed off the first step down toward oblivion.

it's addicting for me to dwell on memories from a year ago  — who i was with, where we were, what we did.  so much has changed.  humans can be described as creatures who are capable of becoming "used to anything", as Dostoevsky tells us and (my roommate) Tom Sawyer reminds us.  people's lives can change without them noticing, if the change is slow and steady.  knowing this, and having experienced it, i will be vigilant.

Men past forty
Get up nights, Look out at city lights
And wonder 
Where they made the wrong turn
And why life is so long
-Ed Sissman

i am determined not to be that guy.  nevertheless, things do change.

my goals are to maintain a life of meaning that is uniquely eclectic in its actions, a sense of wonder that is child-like in its perspective, and wildly realistic ambitions which can adapt and evolve and continue to motivate me.

the real world is not conducive to adventure and personality.  it strangles souls slowly, and despotically denies dreams.

so, how have i changed for the worse in the past year?

i'm out of shape.  i go to bed earlier.  i have fewer adventures, and consequently, fewer stories.

there needs to be a significant improvement somewhere to counter that regression.  otherwise, i'm failing. suspense...!?

...i've gotten better at understanding what a life of meaning looks like, and pursuing that understanding.   my trouble has always been walking the line between living in the moment and living for eternity.  i believe God wants us to enjoy life, but i also recognize that most people pass on their purpose and primarily pursue physical pleasure.

it's a broad change, in some ways.  a continued development of the reasons why i decided to give up my high school plan of becoming a sports agent.  that plan was selfish.  i'm becoming less selfish in general.

the change is also specific.

this weekend i, somewhat spontaneously, went with Jon to California.  we drove to L.A. on Saturday, and drove back Sunday.  about 5 hours one-way.

i did it for the story, and for the adventure.  the same reasons i chose to do a lot of the things i did in college.  those weren't the only reasons, though.

we went to see the premiere of a documentary: livingonone.org.  it's a documentary about four college students who lived in Guatemala for 8 weeks on $1/day.  they did it to better understand poverty, and to demonstrate how effective micro-finance (giving small low-interest loans to individual people) can be as a solution.  our connection to the group is Jon's sister, Hannah — she's so closely involved that her immediate future is directly tied to the success of their enterprise.

it was a fun event.  we met some great people, had some free drinks, and got to hang out in the L.A. area while purposefully over-emphasizing our Midwestern-ness ("oh, so that's what boring everyday object is like in California."  "do y'all know random celebrity?!").

This is Bobby Bailey.  His presence added credibility to the "Into Poverty: Living on One" premiere because he is a founder of Invisible Children and a producer of the Kony 2012 movie/movement.  I was impressed by him and his vision, and he was interested in finding out more about the Great Hearts charter school movement.

adventure had.  box checked.  that's only part of the reason i went, however.  i felt a weird connection to this endeavor when i heard about it, and i wanted to look into it further.

this documentary started as economics research by economics majors at a liberal arts college.  its findings are counter-intuitive.  it's based in the idea that there is no substitute for experiencing something first-hand.  it's focused on Guatemala.  these four guys voluntarily went through an ordeal most people would never consider getting paid to do.

if you know me at all, you'll recognize that these are all things that resonate with me.  the only thing missing so far is a personal connection to the project (i'm generally skeptical of corporate altruism and bureaucratic organizations), and i have that connection in Hannah.

i try to be conscious of situations which are entirely based on a series of low-probability events all occurring.  for example, i would not be aware of this documentary at all right now if i wasn't living with Jon, and i wouldn't be living with Jon if i hadn't been hired last second to be a teacher, and i wouldn't have been hired if i hadn't gone to Hillsdale, and so on.  that is one method i use to narrow down the options in front of me.

after seeing the premiere and meeting everyone involved, my suspicions have been confirmed.  i think i'm supposed to help..

how? no idea.  i'm going to start by telling my students about it.  and you.  maybe that's all.  maybe this is one of the reasons i'm teaching in Scottsdale right now.  maybe it's more.
   
                                                          ch-check it out!

#Romans828

my most consistent weakness throughout my life has been an inability to communicate accurately, or having no desire to do so.  for most of my life, i didn't realize this.  all i knew was that people didn't understand me, and it often turned out badly for me.

when i got to Hillsdale, the gears started turning.  i think, more than anything else, my time at Hillsdale taught me how to communicate.  yes, even more than it taught me about economics and the liberal arts, both of which i knew nothing about coming in.  it was a mix of everything — writing for the paper, joining a fraternity, forming relationships with people who truly wanted to understand me.  dating Laura could have been the single biggest factor in my progress, actually.

i know what you're thinking.  i'm still bad at it.  my thoughts and intentions are still a complete mystery a majority of the time.  good point — i think it just highlights where i was coming from.  i was coming from a wildly shy, insecure, homeschooled kid who had always processed everything internally.  fine, so i was a wildly narcissistic, insecure, private-schooled kid there for a few years in between.  quite the roller coaster, let me tell you.

my point? (see how clearly i'm connecting my thoughts?!)

there could not be a better place for me to be right now than where i am.  think about it.  every day, i spend hours and hours trying to communicate with junior high students.  i say "trying", because it's been a struggle at times.  i have to verbalize things very precisely, repeat thoughts often, and continually find new ways to say something that seemed obvious to me the first time.  and i'm getting better!  early in the school year, there were plenty of times where i would just give up and tell the kids we'd try again tomorrow after i had rethought it.  that was frustrating.  so, my ability to think in a live situation and enunciate in real time (i've always preferred writing) has improved by sheer necessity.

in economics, the theory concludes that when you are considering a gift for someone, the best possible choice is always cash.  that way, they can spend it any way they prefer.  it's not romantic, but it's true.  there is one exception, though.  the exception occurs if you can give them something THEY DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THEY WANTED/NEEDED.  obviously, that takes a special connection.

do you see where i'm going?  one of my classic faults is assuming people can read my mind.  i often skip steps in my reasoning process.

i was happy when i got this teaching job.  but, i was just happy to have a job and have a manageable transition from full-time student to real world (summer breaks and living with/near friends).  turns out, this situation was far more perfect that i imagined or realized.

the way i see it, this is a great example of God working something out that i didn't even know needed to be worked out.  given any option, i could not have chosen a next step that would have been half as beneficial as this year has been for me.

furthermore, teaching junior high history this year was better for me than 10th-grade economics would have been, which is what i wanted originally.  i learned how to teach this year, and i loved it.  next year, i'll be teaching what i love — economics.

perfect.