Maria Shriver’s not the first to use the word. (It’s Bud Hunt’s mantra, too). But her commencement speech is worth reading and mentioning here. The Power of the Pause…

Some highlights….

You have the power, each and every one of you, to change the way we as a nation speak to one another. I truly believe you can change our national discourse for the better.

…..
Change it from criticism and fault-finding to understanding and compassion. Change it from nay-saying and name-calling to acceptance and appreciation.
Change it from dissembling and dishonesty to openness and explanation.
Change from screaming to speaking.

She also says:

PAUSE — before you hit the “send” button and forward a picture that could ruin someone’s life — or write something nasty on someone’s Wall because you think it’s funny or clever. Believe me, it isn’t.

PAUSE — before you make judgments about people’s personal or professional decisions.

Sometimes when you pause, you’ll realize you’re gonna have to hold yourself back from acting out on your ego and your first impulse.

Pausing. A simple way to change the way we live.

Paul Bogush talks about how his early networking changed him as a person and subsequently changed him as a teacher. He references a terrific post by James Marshall Crotty, who shares his opinion on the purpose of college in preparing for the future.

I was thinking about both of these topics during a visit to Highland School in Warrenton, VA yesterday, a preliminary visit for a possible position. Questions posed by faculty caused me to reflect upon my own version of the question of change. How have I changed since I began learning and sharing online? How has this changed my teaching? And how does that affect my relationship with students as learners?

Like Paul, I’ve been listening to and connecting with folks for quite a while. These voices and experiences have helped shape me as I listen, read, and watch their work.

I wasn’t as lucky as Crotty who describes his college experience as a chance to “enjoy the life of the mind, to read and discuss the great books of world civilization, to ask deep questions, to fearlessly tackle any subject, to ruthlessly ponder who one is and from where one originated.”  For whatever reason, my parents and teachers weren’t able to instill in me a love or passion for much of anything. That came later, when as an adult I realized I do love to learn, and I can tackle subjects seemingly out of my reach.

More than anything, then, I want that for my students. And I am convinced it happens by forging strong  relationships, giving students much opportunity for choice and leadership, and creating authentic learning experiences.

Though I am thinking about working again as someone who supports technology use in the classroom, the joy in the work comes from the relationships with both teachers and students. We have powerful tools at our disposal to connect and learn from one another, but alone they mean nothing.

 

 

Living downtown has a rhythm. My husband and I walk to the coffee shop, the butcher, and church. We sit on our front porch and visit with neighbors. And we take our early morning runs around town, being sure to finish up on Caroline Street to check out the latest window displays.

I also find downtown a perfect place for an introvert. Working from home most days means I can go hours without talking to anyone. Not that I mind. Actually, spending time with myself is pleasant.

Before you assume some mental disorder, let me assure you. I do love people. On my walks around town, I enjoy running into friends. Many weekends, we meet up with others for dinner. And we try to make monthly trips to the “big city” (either north or south) for concerts and plays.

But given a choice between spending time curled up on my sofa reading or attending a loud party, well, I usually lean toward the sofa. So during the week when I realize that I have spent four or five hours working on something, and I’ve yet to speak a word, I usually put on my coat and head out the door.

The other day, I walked down to Sammy T’s for lunch. I had picked up a few books at Riverby, so I had my head down in one of them. As I ate a lovely squash salad, I heard words from a conversation about a new store drift in and out. I took bites of lunch and gazed up to watch the waiter and then a mother entertaining a toddler in the booth next to me.

Alone but not alone.

Fredericksburg, small but not too small, is filled with places for people like me. I have wonderful extended conversations with Purna Shrestha from Here and Beyond while I pick up a take-out lunch. Checking in with the butcher, I order our Christmas turkey. Later, the experts at Kybecca fill me in on which wine tastes most like the Shiraz I had at a restaurant last week.

Walking home, I bump into Carl and his tiny terrier, out for their daily stroll. We chat for a few moments about house decorations and the traffic.

And then I’m home again, my anxious Golden Retriever waiting for me at the front door.

We settle in for an afternoon of reading and writing–and silence. Lovely.

Language… has created the word “loneliness” to express the pain of being alone.  And it has created the word “solitude” to express the glory of being alone.  ~Paul Johannes Tillich, The Eternal Now