Finding a Break

This was my first time coming back to school after a break.  Well, as a teacher at least.  I and one of the other music teachers were a little apprehensive.  I had made my lesson plans after the last class, and they were based on where we had left off.  Perhaps they were a little optimistic.  How much have my students really learned?  Would they remember anything?  And what mood would they me in?  Would I remember how to speak to them in clear directions, to hand out points?

But we all did really well.  Most of them didn't really practice but somehow they still remembered Hot Cross Buns and some of Bile Them Cabbage Down and Twinkle is progressing.  Fingers seemed to find the tapes fairly well, bodies seemed to find the cellos.  Maybe we are learning more in the mayhem than I think we are.

There are still some big hurdles to step over, but I'm finding better footing in the way I need to speak, finding more trust in letting the students lead.  It seems we are getting more good days, but I'm still far from fluent.

It was good to have the break.  I think it was helpful for all of us.  Maybe we can find more ways to find moments of respite in general.

Arrival in Ravenna, Ohio

We left the urban jungle of New York and traveled across Penn's forests to arrive in my brother's home in northeastern Ohio.  Leaving the city highlights the singularity of life there.  The space is crowded and vertical, time is heavy, fast and direct, people are so concerned with themselves that there is a peaceful solitude in the masses.  To drive among the forests, to see the setting sun from the rolling hills, to roll through the open Main Street of Ravenna, Ohio, is to remember a that life in one place is not life in another.

I recently lay awake at night remembering late fall day trips to Kyoto where I would look for Christmas gifts.  The streets and allies belonged to me.  It was my home.  I walked them in silence, in a sea of people, breathing the fresh cold, exploring news ways of finding Kiyomizudera and the Gion district, the art museum, the Silver Pavilion.  I remember the many times I took the bus to the Golden Pavilion, where nearby I had my cello repaired and sat drinking tea.  I remember one day, the early winter snow began to fall outside the warm woods of the shop and soft sounds of classical music from a CD player, and a cat came to trust me over the course of my hours sitting there, an unlikely friend in a far-off magical place.

It's so far away now.  As I lay thinking about it, I began realize its impossibility.  There are so many stages of moving forward, and even though I've known that Kyoto is no longer an hour and ¥560 away any longer, I think there is still a part of me that has yet to fully understand this.  It was the place that housed my late autumn wanderings, that welcomed my early winter need to stretch as atrophy made its inevitable mark.  I remember the fields on the train ride, the hills, the houses.  

Something in me aches for this, now realizing that it is gone, and realizing how impossible it is to have it again.  A day trip to Kyoto.  I could live there.  

But in its place is growing something new.  Every time I travel I can see the beauty of where I am.  Something in me wishes to see only one, that I wouldn't have to remember and miss so many.  What is the value of experience?  

Bouncing Subway Rides

After I exited the subway today, a woman approached me an asked if I had an extra "swipe" on my card, meaning, could I spot her a ride.  Being approached so often by people asking for money, my reaction settings to this sort of request is uniformly, "no."  I'll give money to performers sometimes, but I don't have money to hand out to every person that asks-  there are a lot of people asking for money in New York.

But several weeks ago, someone volunteered to give me a "swipe" when my card didn't read and I had already started into the circular turnstile with my cello.  I was just starting to back up to swipe again, when he said, "Don't worry, I got you."  And that was it.  In the confusion of the crowds there wasn't really even an opportunity to thank him properly.

So tonight, I pulled out my wallet and gave her the last ride I had on my card.  And because I had the time, I went to the kiosk and topped off again, realizing that with my purchase of $27.75 my bonus $3 could really always be used to help out a stranger.  Every time I refill my card, I get a little gift card for another person.  It took two strangers and some relay kindness for me to see this opportunity.   But hopefully I can get onboard now.

Twyla Tharp, Central Park at Sunset

For several weeks I've been seeing advertisements for Twyla Tharp's 50th Anniversary show and thinking that even if there were still tickets, likely they would be far too expensive for me to dream of buying them.  But realizing that this was the very last weekend (after a 17-city tour) that they would be performing the works, and that I had also failed to secure tickets to see the Berlin Philharmonic play Beethoven weekend, I thought I should buck up and at least check the website.  Not only were there still seats, but they were good ones and affordable.  There should have been more people fighting for $200 tickets for this performance, but I'm not going to complain.

And so this afternoon, we went to Lincoln Center and saw the miracle of modern dance.  It was refreshing to see the body conceived in so many new ways; to see an interpretation of rhythm and harmony, of a piece as familiar as Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, in movement.  I always feel like I grow in a very undefinable way from watching dance performances, trying to grasp something as the magic flies by, trying to remember a scent or an essence.  The lighting, the space of the stage, the space of the dancer's body, a sense of time and tempo, and the raw emotion of the body as it moves without a voice.

And afterwards we walked to and through Central Park, seeing the glow of the reddish, yellowish trees take over the glow of the sun as it left the sky with vibrant pinks and oranges.  We watched its light fade behind the sky scrapers, watched  groups of people watching it, perched on the giant bedrocks above the ice skating rink, huddled in the late afternoon darkness.

We walked on the east side, looking at the opulent Christmas displays in Swarovski and Coach and marveled at the dearth of restaurants, until a clearing past Grand Central Station, where the Hunan Restaurant filled us and then quickly scooted us out.  Chinese food in New York.

It was a colorful, late autumn day in New York.

Class in New York

I wonder where our doorman lives, and if he has someone to hold the door for him.

4th Grade Thanksgiving and Williamsburg

Pumpkin snickerdoodle cookies for an American Revolution Thanksgiving feast at the school.  Right after I handed out a correction to one of my students for being late to her seat yesterday, she invited me to their classroom party.  Kids are funny, but I had no excuse to not go.  So I saw the things they were learning about the American Revolution, got some prizes for playing the games they had created, and felt comfortably awkward trying to fit in among the 4th graders and their parents.  I left my cookies as stealthily as possible and thanked the girl who had invited me.

And Williamsburg is cool and beautiful.  It's the place to see the twinkle of the New York City skyline, eat some trendy food, and watch lots of other people eat other trendy food.  The subways are full of people, and a jazz duo was well worth the dollar while we waited for our train.

Out Loud

On the streets of Harlem a man singing on old jazz standard, a woman whistling a Disney tune.  On the train this morning a vocal quartet, on the train this evening a story-teller with a bongo.  All these people throwing their sound and ideas out to the world around them.  Everyone is judging, the wash of paint is neutral, and a dollar, an interesting interaction might emerge from a raincoat.

I met another person today that spoke of the exoticism of the midwest.  There is no reason to go there and so no one does.  She thought it would be mind blowing if she saw it, except that there is no real reason to go.  Yes, the sky is big there, but just like it is everywhere in the world, even like it is in New York, though hidden.  Yes there are fields, and drive-through fast food restaurants, and space, and time.  It is remarkable in its unremarkable-ness.  It looks to the rest of the world, an unassuming silent gem in the middle of it all, flown over.

The population is much less dense in the midwest.  It would be terrible to offend the people around you.  You might see them again, you might need them.  In New York, the chances of either of these things are very low.  Even if you do see someone more than once,  the chances you will both remember are slight.  Even if you do need someone, you don't, because there are so many niches in which to live here.  So people are people.

I am curious to see the way that people love in New York.  I'm curious to learn how they fear.  I imagine both are here, just as I found them in Japan, just as I lived them in my many years in the midwest.  But to my midwestern eyes, New York appears to be so open and indestructible.  The sadnesses of poverty are muted by the efforts to eradicate them.  The city seems to know its woes, celebrates its beauty.  But still it isn't cold, when shoulders protect the heart and backs turn away.

I gave away two dollars today to people who brought music to my train ride.  I love this openness, this audacity, this spirit to share in order to live.

Teaching Perseverance

This may as well be a blog about teaching for the time being.  So much of my life is wrapped up in exploring this incredible art.  There are many levels to being a great teacher and each person can bring something new to it.  And there are many ways to feel that one has failed one's class or a particular student.  This can be true of a particular moment, day or even over time.  The rub with teaching is that it is always possible to do it differently, there are so many ways to approach delivering a concept.  How do we think about any given thing intellectually, emotionally, spiritually?  What are we giving to a student?  Are we open to receiving what that student has to give to us?

In the past week I've been making an effort to observe more teachers at the charter school where I'm teaching.  I was also able to attend a meeting/presentation on behavior management and classroom culture.  And through these interactions I've come to learn that many, if not all of the teachers there, struggled with feeling successful in this teaching system at the beginning.  Even those that had been very successful teachers in other schools in the past had a hard time adjusting.  But this school demands a lot to be considered successful.  There is constant monitoring of classes by administration, constant feedback, collaboration among teachers.  It isn't without stress, but it also isn't without support.

I've been practicing framing my directions in the manner that the school uses.  The presentation gave some very specific pointers about lesson planning, giving directions, and managing behavior in the moment.  And today was a lot smoother.  In fact it was incredibly rewarding to work with the students during that time and I felt a feeling of satisfaction that was very complete, even if not fully grown.  I am so incredibly aware that this is fleeting.  There will be more bad days when I'm less on my toes, less practiced, had less time to fully think through a lesson plan.  But a beginning is a beginning and the reward for sinking into this challenging work is there.  I can see it.  It feels good to be working towards something that has so much to offer.

There will be days when it will cost a lot more, when I will want to walk away.  But this is here, putting a little more weight in this direction.  Trying and trying.  There is always another way to teach, another way to learn, another way to try.  If I don't do it myself, how can I give it to others?

Shim shin talyune

What if we lived in a voiceless world, in a blind, soundless space?  If I had never seen something beautiful, perhaps I would not be so plagued by a desire to find it.

So often in a new place–how often does it happen?–I feel one voice leaving me and another weakly trying to take on the weight.  How many times are we petrified in our lives, dissolved and constructed again?

New York is a wonderful place.  There are so many things happening and I am surrounded by all the resources I could wish for.  The energy is all kinetic.  Spices from around the world, newspapers in different languages, plays, concerts, lectures, intriguing and inspiring people and voices.  Life is full of action.

But this morning, after several weeks of separation, I was able to workout remotely with the Madison Tae Kwon Do club.  Madison, a place with big sky, where people meditate and eat locally.  I miss the centered feeling that comes from group workouts with the club, but even from far away I can feel it and hear it, I can see it in the way that people stand as they listen to the instructor.

Every sparkle of the world is worthy of attention in New York.  People meditate on the samsara that is living around us because that is the essence of being alive here.  In New York, life is engaged in itself.  But there is another way of being that I remember.  There are many different ways of being that I can remember.

And yet right now, I know that becoming the best teacher I can learn to be from all the resources around me is the goal.  There are many techniques to this: ways of explaining something, of managing focus, of breaking down concepts and choosing an order for delivering them.  It is another skill set to acquire.  Another thing towards which to strive.

I think it is another step in becoming a New Yorker, to be striving for something, to be unsettled, and yet to have a foundation in that striving, to find a center there comprised of the stress and growing that it is a part of living in this city.

I would like to write more, I would like to practice more, I would more more more.......

Classroom Learning

This is a challenging teaching job.  There are many challenging aspects to it, many questions that it inspires.  What is the most important thing that I teach?  Why are we all doing this?  What is the role of education in society, or public education?  What is knowledge, what does it mean to be educated?

The scholars that are in my class are varied.  There are some that have a hard time sitting still, have a hard time giving attention to something that isn't interesting to them.  Some are more capable of putting things together, of synthesizing, than others.  Four of them are beginners three have played for a year and this poses a challenge as the new ones need a lot of input to get them actually playing.  But these are all challenges that have possibilities and as challenging as it is, it is also engaging.

But a week ago, in the perpetual effort to get them onboard, I slipped, and yelled at them.  It was a mistake or a moment of weakness and I felt terrible after it.  I made it to the end of my extended day, walked in the door of my apartment and cried.  Teaching has the ability to eat one up, because in principle, everything is under your control but only to the extent that those who you are teaching give you that control.  Only to the extent that you earn it.  It hurts to be ignored in the classroom.  It hurts to be ignored in life, and yet when I look at adults, I realize that many have still not learned.  It is a skill that one must acquire, some more naturally than others.  Listening.  It's one of the most valuable things that one can learn to do.

I've been doing a fair amount of reading to understand the context of charter schools in education.  Diane Ravitch offered an interesting definition of what it is to be well-educated:  "The well-educated person has learned how to explain ideas and listen respectfully to others."  I like this because it implies that nothing else is needed to be "well-educated."  That to be "well-educated" is to have these skills.  We think of education as years and years of inputs and it is important to know things, but more valuable is being able to have the skills to interact with ideas.  Articulation and engaged listening seem quite pertinent.

I want to teach my scholars to listen.  When I've engaged them in reflections on why it is important to listen, often their answers come back to getting in trouble if they don't, or perhaps missing information.  These are very good motivations for them to have and completely appropriate for being 10-year-olds.  But I would like to broaden and deepen their understanding of the importance.  And I don't know how to do that.

The answer certainly not yelling.  And since that day, I decided to just keep trying.  I gave up on my lesson plans that day and I've decided to no longer do that.  Everyday, to keep trying, changing based on what I'm learning but to keep trying.  There are a number of things that make this a uniquely challenging situation but I have to find ways to work with them.  They have no idea how difficult they are and why that is hurtful to all of us.  And I have no idea what they need.

But I know that they need more chances to be successful and fewer chances to fall off the behavior wagon.  And so tomorrow I will try a restructured break and new method for transitions.  I will try to get as much playing or various kind of musical interaction as possible.  I will try to break them up into groups so they can work with one another.  I will try to time everything and just keep moving.

And I will try to continue to maintain a tone that is mine, a tone that is the courtesy and respect I want them to hear and to have.  A tone that has trust rather than fear or confrontation.  I need to strengthen that tone so that it is demanding but still loving.  We all have things to learn in this.

Remembering New York

I've come and gone from New York a lot in the past week, and the presence of my younger brother has been an additional refresher to the city.  The trip to Washington DC made me love coming back to the city, the walks through Central Park and Prospect Park through the fall leaves have made me realize the natural beauty that coexists with the millions of people tightly crammed here, and the return from a weekend in Burlington, Vermont has reminded me of how much I love the activity here, the many possibilities, the people and diversity.  It is an exciting place to live.  Jazz combos and steel drummers in the subways, the faint small of pizza in the train station, a person succinctly announcing his intention to get off the train to get people to move out of the way.  It's good to keep coming back.

It has also been great to see new things in the past week.  My brother and I went to the Metropolitan Art Museum and in the midst of a quest to discover what is valuable in education, I was reminded of the creativity, reflection, history, philosophy that is embedded in the the visual arts throughout the history of humanity.  This was such an important part of my education, of learning to reflect on the inner world and possibilities of expression in myself and others.  It is not the world of test-taking and point giving.  There is something very rich in it.  And I would like to share this richness, this sense of empathy and inter-reflectivity with my students.  What do you hear, what do you feel?  How and why did another create such a thing?

And the natural world of trees.  Vermont, the Green Mountain state.  The branches were mostly bare but still holy and cathedral-like, framing the setting sun over Lake Champlain. It was a reminder that in most lives, in most lands and waters, there is a stillness in which I do not live.  I live in a land of people, of heavy footfalls and places to be; of forward and direct rather than exploratory and free. 

 

But it is good to be back here because it still feels so unique and special, so important.  There will likely be a time in my life where I will no longer live in the center of the peopled world and will feel even more comfortable living in a new center for it having been there.  There may be a time when I exchange art museums and huge parks for expanses of forest and large lakes, local crafts and cheeses.  But for now, I'm happy to be here and happy to have the reminders of it.