A Berlin state of mind

I’ve been infatuated with her for quite some time now and I long for her when I’m away. But it wasn’t love at first sight; I can still recall standing in front of the Brandenburg Gate, squinting overwhelmingly at map, trying to find my bearing in vain. The first time around, Berlin came across as daunting and scattered. Since then, I’ve visited this city several times, and now I'm back again. But while I’m starting to wrap my head around her physical form, she's still very elusive. Don’t you hate it when you know that there’s a story that needs to be told, yet you struggle to grasp it? You see, although I’ve always felt a deep connection with this city, I haven’t been able to put into words. Not until now that is.

A German friend of mine once told me that Berliners live the carefree way. If you’re in Berlin, you’ll sense it straight away, but it goes beyond the countless subcultures people identify themselves with or the buzzing artsy scene in Kreuzberg. The people you'll meet aren't all metal studded punks with neon green hair or pierced goths: Berliners, no matter how uninteresting or extravagant their lifestyles might seem, all share a common demeanor; they are uninhibited and non-judgmental. Unlike other German cities, living in Berlin isn’t about conforming to rules or expectations; instead, Berliners are refreshingly liberal and most importantly, it's genuine. 

So, why is Berlin so different than your average traditional German city? I’ve lived in Dresden for four years and they’re lightyears apart. So is Munich or Frankfurt. Just like these cities, Berlin has had to endure many hardships. In the 20^th century alone, it was the backdrop of many world changing events, whether it was the rise of the Nazi party and the terror that followed, the invasion by an equally terrifying Communist regime, the Russian-imposed division of the East from the rest of Berlin, or the end of the Cold War, just to mention a few. Indeed, this city, like no other, has had to endure suffering and destruction.

The ghosts from periods past are omnipresent in Berlin. You can see them in the bullet-riddled columns outside the Pergamon, which bear witness to countless adolescents who perished defending the city in vain from Russian retribution.  You can perceive the past still hauntingly alive in the murals, which narrate a time when people were stuck within the bleak confines of paranoia; or the bland buildings surrounding the Ostbahnhof, relics from the Cold War frozen in time; or Alexanderplatz with its vast open space, a bleak reminder that at any time somebody could be watching you.   

So, once again, why Berlin? What makes it so special? I think it’s the dignity with which she has managed to bounce back from all the mishaps. Many cities in Germany and elsewhere have been through a lot of suffering over the years, but Berlin’s resilience is what sets her apart from the rest. In my eyes, she was able to come to terms with its horrendous past and rather than resenting or succumbing to the trauma, she has let herself be textured by it. Ironically, by letting herself be shaped by the events that were forced upon her, Berlin has managed to stay true to her own identity. 

So it’s no wonder why Berliners are such a distinct breed. The feeling of self-efficacy they exude mirrors the dignity she has so humbly resorted to over the course of the years. The victories and the downfalls were many but they’ve all learned to coexist with one another just like her buildings where the old and the new blend harmoniously with one another. In any other place they simply wouldn't fit, yet in Berlin it all makes sense. 

I guess the reason I keep coming here is my yearning for her transcendence.   

On suffering and dignity

The dentist prepared herself to anesthetize me with that large needle, which she kept out of my sight while I braced myself for the impending discomfort of the drilling. As the lidocaine flowed through my gums, I stared back at that ominous spotlight; if there's a moment in which I feel helplessly vulnerable, it's when I'm lying under that blinding light with an abundance of alien gadgets embedded in my mouth. After a few minutes, drill in hand, the dentist asked that I'd let her know immediately if I felt any pain. Needless to say, at the faintest hint of discomfort, I threw in a hammy moan and got that extra shot.

Later that night, I kept on thinking about that experience and wondered, what is it with me and the fear of pain, or even better, the fear of the slightest sensation of discomfort. And it's not just the physical pain. Let's face it, I'm a 35-year-old, I haven't been in a serious relationship for quite some time now and the only commitments I have, apart from my job, are subscriptions to Netflix and Spotify Premium.  Yes, I could easily say that the older one gets, the pickier he becomes, which is partly true. Yet, the main reason why I'm still single is that it's easy and, most importantly, it's painless.

But this aversion to pain is quite common with my generation and society as a whole. If once we valued the importance of being able to make sacrifices because it's an essential part of the journey, now we are more likely to try to avoid the hard path, and take the easy one instead.  Many will read this as a generalization, and maybe it is, but there's definitely something to be said about how we are starting to lose sight of the value of suffering and sacrifice.

So why's this a problem? Our compelling fear of pain and our incessant need of instant gratification doesn't leave any room for us to confront our own demons: are you nervous about that long-haul flight? Then pop a sleeping pill. Are you feeling anxiety and you don't know why? Alcohol and antidepressants will do the trick. Is your current relationship requiring you give up a lot? Then simply call it off. And the list goes on and on. We spend way too much time protecting ourselves from any form of pain and if we can't prevent it, we simply numb it.

I had this realization while reading Man's search for Meaning; it is a beautifully-written book that delves into Viktor Frankl's harrowing experience in concentration camps during the Second World War. As one would expect from somebody who has witnessed those atrocities first hand, his writing is vivid and raw. In such degrading conditions, many prisoners simply resorted to apathy because they had nothing to live for. But Frankl makes the most profound of cases: one could strip away the most basic needs from a prisoner's life, yet, it was they who had the choice. They could either let themselves be robbed of their inner freedom and dignity or hold on to it. And the only way to do so was by owning the suffering and the pain: 

"When a man finds that it is his destiny to suffer, he will have to accept his suffering as his task; his single and unique task. He will have to acknowledge the fact that even in suffering he is unique and alone in the universe. No one can relieve him of his suffering or suffer in his place. His unique opportunity lies in the way in which he bears his burden."  (P.78)

Every time we choose not to confront our suffering we are simply putting our lives on hold. There's something to be said about the ability to endure it and the dignity it brings. After all, we truly start to love our body once we comprehend the magnitude of hardship it was subjected to in its quest for meaning. 

There again, I'm the same guy who begs for more anesthetic and is scared stiff of commitment, so I understand if you're taking this one with a grain of salt. 

It happens to the best of us

 

I have to admit that the first time I watched this clip I secretly rejoiced: it was about time that somebody called out on those art snobs, I thought. Let's face it, most of you who watched this video felt some sense of vindication. The fact, that a bunch of Dutch art experts mistake a cheap Ikea painting for a great masterpiece should make us think though. This is definitely a great reminder for us not to rely too much on what experts say and indeed, learn to question the status quo. But, no matter how tempted we might be,  it would be way too reductive if we dismissed them as phonies.

In this excerpt from "You are Not so Smart,"  David McRaney makes a compelling argument explaining why wine connoisseurs gaffed when they tasted dyed white wine, depicting it as red. It turns out that their judgment had been affected by the distorted environment (The brain saw red!) Just like the connoisseurs, the art experts were put off track because the work of art appeared in the National Art Museum--not in just any common art shop-- and that heavily impacted the way they perceived it. It makes sense, doesn't it?

We're all vulnerable to this because the way we experience things is heavily swayed by the expectations that we set. We would never expect a virtuoso violinist to perform at a train station, so we assume and we walk on. Many of us do this every day with the food they eat, the music they hear and the clothes they wear.

McRaney's premise is that we're really not that smart, so we fall victims to our own bias. This had me thinking hard. Frankly, I can live with being clueless when attempting to taste red wine or critiquing a piece of art --imagine if nobody ever found out it was, in fact, an Ikea piece? We'd be auctioning it to the highest bidder and studying about it on the art textbooks-- but what about things that really matter such as the relationships and the paths we choose to take? Do we have control over these or are our minds playing tricks on us in these areas as well?

Jung, you might want to dig deeper on this one

Artwork by Mitumi

We all like to take those personality tests that will tell us more about who we are. We're given random statements that we ponder about: you enjoy being surrounded by people;  others describe you as mellow and a good listener; you're the charismatic one in the group. As you fling yourself into those endless statements, rating each one meticulously, you somehow get to that much agonized "submit" button. You hold your breathe and you read the final verdict. Are you an introvert or an extrovert? 

We spend way too much time figuring this out when in reality it's all relative. If you think about it, being an extrovert doesn't really tell you much. There are extroverts out there who are invested mostly in their own advancement. They will schmooze and flatter you if it means they get to climb the ladder. But there are also those extroverts who are true givers and will go out of their way to lend a helping hand to others. The same goes for introverts. Just because you're an introvert, it doesn't necessarily mean that you're a nice sensitive person. Just like extroverts, introverts can be selfish and egotistical. 

In reality, the question you should be asking yourself is this: how much inner depth do you have? Having inner depth has less do with our extrovert/introvert tendencies and more to do with our connection to what many call the self. 

We live in a society that is way too latched to the mindless chase of money, fame or any other form of vanity metrics, and sadly this restrains us from becoming complete versions of ourselves. Too often we end up getting stuck in our own ego, dealing with our fears and anxieties.

The self, on the other hand, is the pristine side of us. When we take heed of that inner voice, we gain awareness. It's that same voice that allows artists to transform deep emotions into words, images and sounds. It's the idea of yearning for aloneness, because in our solitude we can relate to that intangible side of us, even though society might mask it as loneliness and tell that we should try to surround ourselves with as many people as we can (Let's make no mistake here, "extroverts" are just as able to seek solitude). Connecting to that spiritual side of ours--I said spiritual not religious--is the most solemn of experiences. It's the reason why we came to be in this world. 

So the next time you prepare yourself to take one of those tests, stop and think for a second. You might be better off searching for that answer somewhere else. Somewhere that's more personal. 

A husky's quest for identity

Photo by xlinnea from Imgur

Tally's a husky who was brought up by cats, and now she acts like one. Check out these photos of Tally, and you'll see her striking different feline poses just like a pro. This is not the first story of its sort, but it had me pondering about the power of social conditioning. What if you take enough huskies out of their "normal" environments and throw them in with the cats, will they start to tuck in their legs and tail when they lay down or even enjoy playing with cardboard boxes? Would such experiment change our perception of huskies and what they're capable of? If we let this experiment happen for long enough, would we eventually start to forget that huskies were "built" to endure extreme weather conditions and can be agile yet resilient, out there in the vast wilderness.

The huskies turned cats scenario is far-fetched, I know, especially if we take into consideration the important role that nature plays in the development of any living creature. Yet, just like Tally's, we've heard of stories of children who were brought up by animals and who adopted their behavior. Too often, we underplay the power of social conditioning, especially when dealing with children and teenagers.

The fact is that we all have our fixed notions of what adolescents are naturally capable of doing and not doing, and we condition them based upon those beliefs. We'll say that adolescents can not handle autonomy, so we deliver learning to them instead, and do all the thinking for them on how to go about finding the answers that we've created for them. And we don't realize that it's that very approach that is stifling autonomy in the first place because we're conditioning students to think within the limiting confines of what we call best practice. And why do we do that? Because we, in turn, have been conditioned to think and act in this way through that same system and sadly, that's all we know.

But just as some environments can stifle autonomy, others can stimulate it. This semester, I've seen my kids push boundaries. Equipped with only an overarching question-- how free are you?--and their own ingenuity, they were able to create their own projects from scratch. They're breaking down the classroom walls and going out in the field: they're pitching business plans to local supermarkets which will allow artisanal fishermen to receive a fair price for their daily catch; they're interviewing taxi drivers and experts to learn about informal economics and how it's saturating this sector; they're writing children's books and negotiating with local bookshops so that they can finance their undertaking. This came with many iterations and students have felt overwhelmed at times by all the uncertainty. But they're blossoming and it's been great for me to witness that process.

So let's go back to that "what if" scenario I started this post with. Wouldn't it be a pity to live in a world where all huskies were reduced to laze around the house playing with a yarn ball or hiding in a cardboard box. "That's extremely unlikely," many of you will say. Fair enough. But what if I applied that same example to children and adolescents. Would it be so far-fetched then?

A man-made tragedy

Some of my best childhood memories take me back to the Mediterranean Sea.  I remember how as a child my mother would take me to Birzebbuga Bay and I'd spend countless hours in the warm, turquoise waters playing with my red miniature makeshift ferry boat, shuttling Playmobile figures to imaginary destinations.  In all my imaginary trips, those passengers always made it safe and sound to their destination. While my head wondered in the sheltered confines of that bay, I felt just like those Playmobile figures; I was out of harms way. 

Just like me, the immigrants who sat sail from Africa use makeshift boats, but they're long haul voyages aren't imaginary. And they get to see a much different side of the Mediterranean: it's dark, it's freezing, it's savagely rough.   

Yet every week, refugees mostly from Sub-Saharan Africa, pay large sums of money in search of the greener pastures in Europe. But sadly, many of those frail vessels end up capsizing. Many immigrants have been rescued, but many others perish in the Mediterranean. Just imagine, only last night around 600 immigrants lost their lives off the coast of Libya. 600 bodies, including those of women and children dispersed in the vast waters of the Mediterranean. CNN estimates that only this year 1500 people have drowned in the Mediterranean.

The EU says that this matter needs to be tackled at its root, and many unwittingly-some knowingly- claim that the root cause is Libya's unstable government. If the government was legitimate, they say, there would be no boats leaving Libya in the first place. But that's only the tip of the iceberg: what many forget is that for decades Africa has been crippled by unfair subsidies and tariffs, aid has been ineffective, and most importantly, when the colonialists divided their priced toy-continent in the 19th and 20th century, they didn't take into consideration the ethnic and cultural divisions that they were subjecting the new states to. The fact is that, after its colonization, Africa was never really put into the condition to thrive as a continent. And that's on all of us.

There's a graveyard on Europe's doorstep, but many are turning a blind eye. We're all bystanders and just because we don't get to see the bodies of the sunken ones, it doesn't mean they're not there. So I cannot but think of those thousands of people who have perished in the inclement sea and whose stories have perished with. 

Selling out

Artwork by Gus Design courtesy of Design Crowd

When I write, I usually tend to put on something soothing, maybe some Ludovico Einaudi or an instrumental soundtrack to think better. This time though, I'm going for U2. I could be listening to One or Where the Streets have no Name; they're wholesome, they're U2 classics. But for this particular post, I'm blasting some brassier, unmelodious U2 stuff. This album is one misunderstood work of art. 

Some of you haven't even heard of POP, but if you're U2 die-hard fans, and I'm sure there are a few still around, then there's a good probability you dislike this record. The release of POP had been rushed. The band simply ran out of time in the making of it, so since it had already been pushed it back several times, the band went on to publish an unpolished version of POP.

Not only was this album unfinished, but the record's rawness didn't quite soothe the fan's refined palate. So they dismissed it as U2 going all techno. The band was a sellout. They couldn't have been more wrong.

This album can be deceiving because many will struggle to find meaning beneath the cacophony of Mofo or the triviality of Discotheque. The tracks in POP are layered differently, but they all ultimately expose the listener to the state of bewilderment we're often faced with, call it faith, call it relationships or call it our own identity. POP might sound rough and incomplete, yet, in many ways, the record's imperfections reflect our own. 

But I'm not here to defend POP. I'm just nostalgic for the U2 that once was. In the 90's this band was at the peak of its fame, yet Bono and Co still pushed their creative confines. It was exactly that kind of mindset that led to the inception of Achtung Baby. POP might not be up there, but it's a unique and highly creative work of art from that same period.

After the release of POP, U2 decided to go back to basics. The idea behind the album that followed POP- All that you can't leave behind- made sense at the time, but it all went awry after that. The last two studio albums have been pathetic versions of the ballsy band U2 once was.

The Guardian's Kitty Empire epitomized it best on her review for their most recent work, Songs of Innocence: U2 is trying to sound "like Coldplay sounding like U2." U2 hasn't been the only band to meet this fate; the list of musicians, ranging from REM to Dave Matthews, is endless. So what is it? Do these artists just grow old? Do they simply run out of ideas? I doubt it. How would you then explain those artists like Beck, who've been around for decades, and whose music is still eclectic and relevant? 

Like Beck, U2 was taking those great leaps in the name of art. Like Beck, they were experimenting and willing to seek new journeys. In fact with POP, the band was not selling out, far from it. If anything, the band started to sell out the very moment it tried to sound like the old U2. The irony. 

And as I internalize all this, there's a question that keeps pestering me. Who am  I? Beck or U2? 

Use it

We're not fleas. We might let our anxieties and fears get the best of us; our survival instinct might play dirty tricks on us and make us resist change, but unlike fleas, humans have a brain that has evolved beautifully over the span of time. Unlike fleas, humans have the mental capacity to break down boundaries and explore.

The reason though that many of us choose not to use it is that it's an easier option. After all, when we choose to conform, we're not isolating ourselves from the rest of the fray, we're becoming part of it. And that's when the instinct kicks in again: we feel safe.

In my ten plus years of teaching, I've always found comfort in being part of a system and simply fulfilling my role within it. I just carried on with my work and did it mindlessly. It wasn't until I started reading educational literature that the deep questions started to flow, and the more I questioned, the more I realized that that we perceived the educational system just like fleas perceived their space. We fabricated mental boundaries that were holding us back.

So I chose to take a leap and be part of a startup company, the Innovation Academy, and set out to explore the unfamiliar. At this point, you might expect me to say that everything came up roses, but it didn't. Innovation is a darn hard process. Yet it was only through those hardships that I was able to learn these invaluable life lessons.

Feedback 

Some weeks ago, Matthias, a student of mine, wrote about how we have to use the feedback others give us to improve rather than letting ourselves feel diminished by it. I couldn't agree more, but here's the caveat: one has to always sift through the feedback and get rid of the pushback that comes from the naysayers. The naysaying is a result of people feeling threatened by what they don't know. Having said that, Bill, Corey and I have been very lucky to be challenged by people who genuinely care about what we're doing. Those are usually the people whose comments might be discomforting and messy, but at the end of the day, there would not be an IA if it wasn't for the feedback that forces us to think and question.

Photograph: Richard Rutledge/Merce Cunnigham Trust 

Self-doubt 

Like falling, self doubt can be an asset; it all a matter of perception. When we tread an unfamiliar path, we're bound to be faced with self-doubt, because novelty leaves little room for certainty. But when we harness it, we'll discover that the very emotion that once terrified us can indeed give us momentum. Often times this year, I've come to the realization that the doubts I used to loath so much, were in fact a blessing in disguise; as I learned to coexist with and seek to understand those doubts, I was able to question more and iterate forward. I'll even go as far as saying that if you're not doubting yourself, you should start to worry.

Time

One of the biggest misconceptions is that change can be instant. Disclaimer: it's not. It might take ages before you can start seeing the fruits of your labour if you'll ever be lucky enough to see them in the first place. So it's not just about dealing with uncertainty, but most importantly, you have to be able to power through it all over a long period of time. When I started teaching the IA, I assumed it would all fall into place straight away, and I couldn't have been more wrong. The process is strenuous and intense.  Thankfully, on those murky days,  I can latch to purpose, my inner bearing. The bottom-line is that, even though the process is messy and daunting, I've never felt this alive before.

I'll end this post in the same way that I started it: we're not fleas. We might have our flaws, our fears and our insecurities, but at the end of the day, we have no excuse. A bird's purpose is to fly, man's to tinker.

Don't be naive

Mark Zuckenberg and Steve Jobs dropped out of college and went on to change the world. Does it mean that you have to be a college dropout to leave your own dent? Of course not. 

You also don't have to attend Northern Michigan University just because Howard Schultz did and you want to become a great CEO someday. 

I majored in Italian and trust me that's not THE route to international teaching.

There's no such thing as a single path in life. If you believe it, you'd be ignoring the biggest variable, you. There are stories though, plenty of them, and you, my friend, will get to tell yours one day.

Keep calm and...yeah right

I remember the scene very vividly in my head. I was 21 years-old and had gone to pay my annual car insurance fee. As I sat and waited, I recall staring at the employees there. They were mostly in their mid-twenties and they seemed to go along their day with little concern for time or deadlines. But then, this gangly guy wearing a large suit caught my attention. He was somewhere in his early forties. He kept fidgeting uncontrollably and was sweating profusely as he wobbled from one cubicle to the next. He was the manager, but you wouldn't have been able to tell from his demeanor. The man in the shapeless suit who was having an awful day was at the mercy of his awkward gesticulations. He looked pathetic not only in my eyes, but, I guess, also in those of his colleagues who clearly didn't seem to care enough about his work-related woes. The 21 year-old me who thought he could be immune from all kind of mundane stress, smirked and thought to himself: "How pathetic, I'll never go down that road."

So, you can see where this is going, right? 14 years later I did end up going down that path and some weeks ago I came to that realization. I was having a bad day and caught myself going through the same comical motions as those of that unfortunate gangly guy years before.  I might not have been wearing a baggy suit, but I'm pretty sure I was having a mini-meltdown, and thank god, there were no 21 year-olds in the room looking at me. But looking back, I've had other ones and yes, students have seen me in such state.

The bottom line is that I was never immune from life's hurdles after all. And now that I'm coming to terms with my fragility in the face of stress, I know I need to have some coping mechanisms to deal with it. But no matter how many self-help books you might read, the hours of meditation you might invest and the countless counseling sessions, the fact is that you'll always find yourself in those kind of situations that too often will take the best out of you. So if there's one take-away, it's this one: do something in your life that's worthwhile. Choose a calling over a career, because when you will have to endure those humbling situations, it won't all be in vain.  Most importantly, don't be the laid-back colleague who could care less.

The power of grassroots movements

Last week, I attended the four-day Innovate conference hosted by the Graded School in Sao Paulo. This year, the title of the conference was reimagining school; well, on paper this sounds straightforward enough, but in reality, teachers and administrators are faced with daunting structural limitations that curb their outreach.

So on my way back to Lima, I was left with more questions than answers: how much autonomy do teachers and administrators really have when it comes to reimagining education? Why are elite international schools some of the most timid when it comes to innovation? Should a school’s main purpose be solely to prepare students for university?

What’s certain though is that there are many educators out there who are trying to leave a mark. At the conference, I sat in on some thought-provoking presentations about technology in education,
redesigning learning spaces and student data. All these are great tools at our disposal, but they’re ineffective if we end up shoving them into the traditional 7 period schedule.

That schedule represents the educational paradigm that once was, but which, sadly, continues to be.  And in this constraining model, it’s easier to teach the same content to everyone, to stifle relevance and to test rather than to reimagine.

Andressa Lutiano

But it doesn't have to be this way. There are passionate educators out there who in the face of all these obstacles are still willing to search for ways of making the most with less. At the conference, we met Andressa Lutiano who started the Wish Bilingual School in a suburban area outside of Sao Paolo in 2008. She took this massive undertaking because she wanted her daughter to have a more purposeful learning experience. Even though she has very limited resources, her team is still able to put into practice a solid pedagogy for some hundred lucky K-11 students who get to collaborate across year levels on hands-on projects and get to plan their own weekly work schedule.

In Sao Paolo we also visited a small democratic school called Escola Politeia. Like Wish Bilingual School, it gives students a plenty of autonomy. They are the ones who get to choose the topics they want to learn and have a say in the big decisions that the school makes. In their assemblies, kids get to discuss how to best allocate the resources the school has and take a vote. The school might not have state-of-the-art facilities, but as we walked through those rooms, we could sense that what gels that community is the strong sense of identity it has. In that context, money becomes secondary.

Students from Escola Politeia

And these are only two examples of grassroots movements that are leaving a dent because their love for learning defies the educational status quo many schools find themselves in; in these blooming ecosystems, educators have the autonomy to iterate outside the boundaries of traditional education and that's true innovation.

These homegrown movements are distinct from one another; they all have their own dynamic and vibrant culture which reflects the community they’re in. What they do share is an unrelenting commitment to providing a learning experience that’s relevant, highly collaborative and transdisciplinary.  They’re indeed a reminder for all of us that we can indeed reimagine education.

Life according to Werner and Santi

Werner Herzog’s a peculiar guy. He has eaten his own shoe after losing a bet, he has jumped in a cactus field for the sole entertainment of his crew and cast, and has even gone as far as threatening to shoot the life out of the acting prima donna, Klaus Kinski on the set of Aguirre the Wrath of God.

It’s clear that nothing Werner says or does should surprise you too much. But even so, his view on happiness comes right out of leftfield:

““I barked at a Hare Krishna disciple one time at the Miami airport because he insisted I take the book he was offering. “Aren’t you interested in happiness,” he asked. “No!”” (Werner Herzog- a guide for the perplexed)

Is this just a rant of a cranky old man? We couldn't be more mistaken to think so. The reason that Werner doesn’t seek happiness is that he knows too well.  He can see right through the empty charm of such promises.

Santiago Gavidia has only lived a fifth of Werner's life. Santi is still a high schooler. He might not know all the ins and outs of life, but he certainly has profound things to say about our quest for happiness:

"People seem to be scared of sadness (at least I sort of  am), like we are supposed to be happy all the time, and in this eternal pursuit of happiness we forget that contrast is key. Sad moments eventually lead to happy times as so on. I guess if you're doing what you love most with the people that you love, you'll find your place in this world." (Santi's blog)

Santi is up to something here. If happiness is not a constant and it intertwines with sadness, then what is it that we should really aspire for in life? Finding purpose is key.

We live in a world often defined by vanity metrics. We look up to those metrics because of our unrelenting need of instant gratification that we equate to happiness. We chase the elusive ideal of happiness instead of asking ourselves if we’re serving our purpose. While fulfillment is a state of mind, happiness is a fleeting moment, just like serenity, self-doubt and fear.

Football is indeed one of the greatest metaphor of life, so here it goes: if we spend our lives pursuing happiness, we’d be just as foolish as the football supporter who’s expecting to see nothing else but goals scored by his favourite team  in a single game. The fans go to the stadium knowing that those ninety minutes will encompass an assortment of emotions, and that’s exactly what makes them love the game. The goal is merely a climax resulting from the combination of all those emotions. And often times-especially if you're an Inter supporter- that goal might not even come. But if you remove all those emotions you’d be killing the very game.

And this is why Werner dismissed that Hare Krishna monk. Werner found fulfillment in doing what he loves most: filmaking. But this was no bed of roses and he knew it too well. When he was filming Aguirre the Wrath of God in Peru, he often had to resort to humbling measures to make ends meet such as trading personal belongings for sacks of rice. He also had to fend off the naysayers, those who questioned his rather unorthodox vision and stand his ground.  When he came up with the idea of dragging a ship over a mountain in the thick Peruvian jungle on the set of Fitzcarraldo, people thought he had lost his mind. He was faced with many setbacks while creating that masterpiece, yet he persevered. Werner's life has been cast with struggle, but he has endured it all, because he knew that the road to fulfillment is an uphill battle.

If we spend our life chasing unrealistic goals we'll become frustrated and dissatisfied. With purpose comes perspective and that’s when those mundane emotions such as happiness, sadness and uncertainty take a whole new meaning. 

To quench a thirst

I ended my last blog post with a quote from Werner Herzog's A Guide for the Perplexed. And now looking back at it, I feel that my conclusion sounds cliched; after all, it's not the first time that we have read that education along with a solid health system can be the silver bullet to end all the suffering in the world. But we need to delve deeper

In A Guide to the Perplexed, Herzog uses filmmaking as a pretext, to share candid anecdotes about his life and talk about how important it is to remain through to oneself. Herzog refers to civilization "as a thin layer of ice resting upon a deep ocean of darkness and chaos" and that's where I had made the connection with education. Indeed, education can thicken that ice, but let's make no mistake: education ain't schooling.  Herzog, a proud self-taught filmmaker, had this to say about education, making a clear distinction between the 2:

"Everything we're forced to learn at school we quickly forget, but the things we set out to learn ourselves- to quench a thirst- are never forgotten, and inevitably become an important part of our existence." 

Last week, I trekked the W circuit on the Chilean side of Patagonia. There isn't a corner in that vast piece of wilderness that isn't breathtaking. Yet, looking back at the experience, it wasn't easy at all; trekking uphill carrying a 13-kilo backpack was actually quite humbling for a city boy like me so used to living in comfort. But I didn't flinch, I carried on. No matter how beat my body was, something deep down kept me going.

I wasn't always this keen on trekking.  I remember how back when I lived in Germany, my ex girlfriend had invited me to spend Christmas vacation hiking with her family in Rügen, an island north of Berlin. Unfortunately for her, all I did was whinge. At the time, I simply couldn't understand how people got a kick from walking so much and resented the whole experience.

Photo by Sean Marie Sweeney

So last week, while I trekked with my buddy Sweeners,  I recalled that experience and regretted having been so closed minded. I asked myself, what had changed over the course of the years? When did that click happen?

The fact is that back then, I didn't understand the purpose behind hiking, and quite frankly I felt it had been imposed on me. In such conditions, you could have taken me to paradise, but I would have resisted it with all my might. It took time for me to appreciate the beauty of being out in the wilderness, but that transition happened slowly and organically.

As a student I wasn't any different; I was a Maltese George Costanza, committed to my "work avoidance programme" and it seems I'm not the only one. Students might not be as eloquent as Werner Herzog in explaining to their teachers and parents why the system doesn't work for them. In fact, many of them will make it just fine. Some will even thrive through schooling. Yet we must ask ourselves, is this the best we can do?

In the last years, we've used some buzz words like differentiation, inquiry and student empowerment, and it has allowed us to enhance learning, but not to redefine it. These are all taught in a contrived setup and students see it from miles away.  I would give students KWL charts for them to fill out, yet in the end those ideas and questions would not really matter because I would have already designed that unit.

Real inquiry can only happen if we let students design their own learning experience. Inquiry is all about being able to figure out what it is that you don't know that you'll need to know in order to achieve an objective that you've set. This is darn hard, so we teachers do it for the kids;  we assume that students are too young to do it, but in doing so, we are stifling the very essence of higher-level learning and providing "the one size fits all" experience instead, assuming that everybody is at the same stage in the curriculum.

If, as from a tender age, we can get students in the mindset to have a thirst for knowledge, and show them how pursue it by planning their own learning experiences, we 'd be allowing them to become metacognitive learning machines.  In this new context, differentiation and student empowerment would take a whole new meaning because they'd be falling into place.

If you think this is too far-fetched you might want to check out Free to Learn by Peter Gray. There are schools out there such as Sudbury Valley which have been using this model for ages. Students there are in the driver's seat. Driving is certainly harder than simply tagging along in the passenger's seat, but you are more likely to remember and most importantly understand the route.

As for my Innovation Academy cohort, this semester the students will be getting in groups to plan their class projects. This is totally new and daunting for me, but I know it's going to benefit their growth. They will be the ones identifying what relevant skills and concepts need to be learned explicitly. I'll be there to support them and so will their parents; the students will be pitching the projects to them and getting their expert feedback. We refer to schools as learning communities; it's time we start putting it into practice by having parents play a more central role in their children's learning.

I chose this profession because of my deep belief that the world doesn't necessarily have to be resting on thin ice. A better world is one where individuals grow up understanding who they are and how they can bring value to the world. But for this to happen they must first learn how to identify what they thirst for and know how to quench it.

Donetsk Airport

In the last weeks, we've all seen on TV the sheer destruction taking place in war-torn Eastern Ukraine. Probably the image that stuck with me the most was that of CNN correspondent Nick Paton Walsh reporting from Donetsk airport, the once state of the art complex reduced to rubble in a matter of weeks. 

Donetsk Airport Before and After

This image is an admonishment for all of us: peace is not a given, peace is a privilege, and shame on us if we underestimate such basic fact. We always think of stability, especially in the west as a status quo, but this tragedy speaks volumes about our own fragility. Who would have ever imagined that events would escalate so dramatically in Ukraine, the very country which only 2 and a half years ago hosted the the Euro 2012? Did the architects who had so meticulously revamped that airport so that it could welcome the thousands of supporters flocking to Donetsk ever fathom that in a matter of months that building would come to symbolize this human tragedy?

And now, after a shaky truce has been signed by the parts and with a death toll that many believe may be higher than 5000, I cannot but think of Werner Herzog's ominous words: 

"Civilization is like a thin layer of ice upon a deep ocean of chaos and darkness" 

The ice is thin indeed, but that's exactly why education matters. Make it purposeful so that it can help thicken that ice a little.  

Trust me be

Many don’t understand what’s the big deal with a bunch of guys kicking a leather ball. Well, I don't either if we're referring to American football. However, when it comes to football--I won't call it soccer round here or I'll get lynched by the masses-- then you have my full attention. Football is a religion in the Mediterranean. Obsessions are irrational, and football fans aren't immune to it. They go through emotional rollercoasters that often border the farcical and the grotesque. My obsession goes by the name of Internazionale also known as Pazza Inter (That's also the name of the team’s main anthem). And by the way, just in case you’re wondering: Inter’s not crazy in the cool way; Inter’s the let’s shoot ourselves in the foot kind of crazy. I’ve seen champions of the calibre of Bobo Vieri and Ronaldo throw the towel inexplicably when they were only 45 minutes away from winning a much awaited and agonized championship. That’s only one of the countless memorable debacles by my beloved team. Football fans are resilient, but Inter fans are in a league of their own. Inter fans are masochists.   

My buddies Daniel and Cost are masochists too. We’re comrades who have had to endure a lot. So it would only make sense that we’d fly all the way to Milan to experience it all live. And being the devoted fans we are, it also made sense to buy tickets with the Ultras in the Curva Nord, the most hardcore and masochist group of them all.

As soon as we entered the Curva, we were hyped. I was there supporting my team with my people. When we watch the games on TV, my buddies and I bring the house down, and now that we were at the Meazza, the home of Inter, I knew we could unleash it all. 

But as soon as the game started, the head Ultras came facing the crowd and demanded we all sing their chants and clap all together. Fair enough. But they did this through intimidation and pinpointed those who weren’t clapping and cheering enough. My friend Cost was one of those who got reprimanded by one of the middlemen. It wasn’t pretty. What a great way to spoil the fun.

What at first felt like the genuine need to cheer the team I’m so passionate about, soon became a constraint. I found myself cheering because I didn’t want to get into trouble with those guys, and suddenly I felt deprived of what had been until then the innate urge to shout for my boys. 

Corey says that transitions are crucial, so here’s my segway: taken at face value, football chanting and education have nothing to do with each other, especially since in a school community I find myself surrounded by great human beings.  Yet, that's the power of the metaphor.  A smart man once said that all you need to do to suppress the appetite of voracious eaters is to force-feed them. That’s what had happened to us at the Meazza; that’s what I also felt was happening to my kids back when I taught them Humanities. No matter how interesting the topic was, for many of my students the grades took precedence over everything else, stripping them from their drive to learn. I was their teacher and in many ways, I felt culpable because grades weren’t simply one of the many diagnostics we use to give students feedback; grades had become the spoon being shoved in kids’ throats. So rather than being intrinsic, motivation was for the most part extrinsic, hampering deeper learning.

I’m currently reading Free to Learn by Peter Gray. This book raises some important questions about education: should we, the adults, be in the driver’s seat of our children’s learning because of the general belief that they’re too young to make their own calls? Should education equate to obedience training? Are those students who are achieving straight A’s truly gaining deeper mastery or is their learning shallow? I personally, don’t have all the answers. The IA is a great program but it’s not flawless; in fact, I still haven’t encountered a model that is. But this much I know: iteration is key. I’m lucky enough to be at a school, that trusts me be, giving me the autonomy to explore ways of educating rather than schooling. Education should be all about facilitating a meaningful learning experience for our children, organic and tailored to each individual sitting in front of us. And in this sense, the growth shown by the kids in the IA is very encouraging. In the IA grades aren't what drive student learning. 

The biggest disservice we can do to our children is to simply embrace the status quo just because things have always been this way. We owe it to them to keep on questioning the system, and ultimately questioning our own practice.  In fact, I only question the things I love most, and education is up there in my list.

I could throw at you all sorts of literature that delves more into motivation. I'll rather end with this: if I'm watching an Inter game, trust me, I'm gonna scream my lungs out even if the team ends up losing to Torino in the 94th minute (Sunday's happy ending). You don't need to intimidate me. Instead be there for me and help me find my way. Don't assume I'm like everyone else, because I'm not. Be there for me by genuinely caring about my self-discovery.

Harmony Part 2: A Beautiful Juxtaposition

Today, I woke up with an urge to visit a place from my childhood. The playground in Mellieha Bay is secluded behind the parish church and isn't that easy to find. I suppose one can see it overlooking the islands of Gozo and Comino driving up from the coast road, but the place doesn't stand out straight away. As I stood in front of the church, I didn’t quite know if I’d still find it there, but some places outlast the decades and this is one of them. Most of the equipment in the playground has been replaced-- there’s even a seesaw for disabled children now--but to my surprise, the old rocking horse is still there. The paint's wearing off but the children are still enthralled by its imposing structure. Seen through my toddler eyes, it seemed huge and indestructible. Seeing it now again after so many years, I reckon that my perception wasn’t that warped after all.   

It’s as if time pauses in this playground; one can hear the cars drive by on the coast road beneath, but the noise is quickly muffled by the peace up here. My parents used to bring me here on Sunday afternoons, and I’d spend ages immersed in my play. The place is only 20 Kilometers away from my hometown, yet it would take us at least 2 hours to get here, courtesy of the Maltese Public Transport Authority. But it didn't matter: as a kid I loved it because it felt like a legit traveling experience and made me appreciate this place even more.

Fast forward to 2015. As soon as I got here, I started to take pictures but didn’t really know what I was looking for. Was I simply going down memory lane? I knew I’d be writing a post about this place, but had no idea on what exactly. Most importantly, I kept asking myself what was it about this place that I still treasure so much. It’s in moments like these, that I realize how complex writing is: we become consumed by a feeling, an emotion, but how can we capture it in a word, a sentence or paragraph, especially when the memories date back to my early childhood? 

But then, suddenly, it all fell into place. Next to do playground there’s a tiny cemetery, and the two are separated by an old wall. Strangely enough the cemetery doesn’t feel eerie at all; instead it whispers cozy. I’m not a huge fan of burial myself, but I can understand why people bury their loved ones here. It's serene.

On the left hand side one can see the wall covered in plaques. 

And as I stood from a distance, I understood what made this place so special to me. From this vantage point, I could see the toddlers play only a few metres away from where the dead ones are resting. The same ones that not so long ago played there too. 

We usually don't associate playgrounds with cemeteries; we're either faced with the lightness of childhood or the heaviness of death. I came here thinking that what I missed was my childhood playground. It turns out that what I loved about this place is the beautiful juxtaposition between life and death. The 2 coexist peacefully here and strike that perfect balance. Life and death. This has been a leit motif in my recent posts but there again the more I think about these 2 combined, the more it all makes sense.  It’s the new that replaces the old. The cycle of life.  

I’ve now moved to the Seaview Snack Bar facing the playground. As I sip my cappuccino and type away, I take a glance at the lucky "heirs" who flutter around mindlessly. Who knows, maybe I'll bring an heir of my own here someday.  

Adulthood

This time last year, I read Joseph Conrad's Shadowline.  Conrad uses the metaphor of the captain who's out at sea facing the elements to capture the protagonist's transition from early youth to adulthood. In many ways, this novella was quite foreboding of the year that was to come.

2014 wasn't a very jolly year; it threw at me all kinds of curved balls in both my professional and personal life. I won't go into the details but trust me, it kicked me in the ass.

In the past, I would have repudiated this annus horribilis; I would have felt vindicated by the mere fact that 2014 was coming to a close and welcomed the new year with arms wide open. But then we grow up.

The fact is that at this time of my life, I find myself crossing that metaphorical shadowline.  This time is cast with treacherous storms that are still waiting to happen. This is adulthood. I've just stepped past that invisible line so I'm still figuring it all out. However, what I do know is that when I was confronted with what felt insurmountable, I was able to withstand it and grow. And it still wasn't anywhere close to the trials that people I know had to endure this year. This is only the beginning of this new period and I'm fully aware of it.

Wanderer above the sea of fog by Caspar David Friedrich

But most importantly, I know that all these hardships give me a deeper appreciation for life, because they're helping me get to know myself better. Pain can be excruciating but only by confronting it are we able to connect with our deeper, more spiritual self.

Yesterday, I spent New Year's Eve with my loved ones, but I ended up going home early because I wasn't feeling so well. Annus horribilis I'd be tempted to say. But as I laid in my bed all bundled up, listening to the ships' horns welcoming the new year from afar, I couldn't but feel grateful for 2014. It has been a tough teacher indeed but this is only the first of the many challenging years that lie ahead. 2014 has prepared the ground. Bring it on 2015.