Tag Archive: self-assurance

Reschooling Reason #2: Be a Grown-Up with No Regrets

WitchesI have a confession to make: Like a fairy tale witch, I secretly long to steal the youth of innocent children. When I see kids running about, carefree and laughing, I don’t think, “How wonderful, to be young!” Instead, I’m wildly jealous. These kids don’t have any debt, or much emotional baggage; they’re able to enjoy whatever they’re doing at the moment without dwelling on what happened yesterday or what will happen five years from today. They speak and act freely without concern for what others will think. Their instincts are intact, and their futures are wide open.

We grown-ups, on the other hand, have often made choices that limited our options. We may have mismanaged our money, failed to reach our potential in our schooling or career, or had kids of our own before we’d had enough time to be kids ourselves. These choices may have made us less playful and imaginative, and more stymied and fearful.

I expect that I’d be less jealous of kids if I could have a completely fresh start, putting any limiting experiences behind me and reconnecting with the optimism and self-assurance that I had as a child. I would like to return to square one and begin again, living my life completely on my terms without regrets or complaints. If I succeed in doing this, maybe I’ll become content with the grown-up life I’ve chosen. At the least, I hope to avoid becoming Old Lady Dicker, the resentful hag who throws rocks at the children who pass by her rundown shack.

This post is part of the series “Why Reschool?”

Reschooling Reason #1: Cure Impostor’s Syndrome

After 28 years on the planet, there is a lot I do know. I know how to make gourmet breakfasts in 5 minutes flat. I know when to use “who” versus “whom,” and how to offer constructive feedback to others. I also admit that my brain cells are being used to store all the lyrics to Young MC’s “Bust a Move” and dialogue from the movie 3 Ninjas.

Then there are the myriad things I don’t know. When Benazir Bhutto was assassinated, I had no idea who she was, nor who her father was. For a long time, I was embarrassed not to understand the sub-prime lending crisis. If I happened to get lost in a forest, I would be eaten by wolves before I could navigate my way out or build shelter. I imagine that I could learn these things if I just dedicated a bit of time, but it never seems to materialize.

I am a firm believer that knowing where to find the answers is much more important than knowing them cold. That said, it’s tough to sneak a Wikipedia search on my Blackberry when the crisis in Darfur comes up in conversation. I would feel a lot more self-assured if my knowledge exceeded the Tarzan level: “Global warming: bad. Civil rights: good.”

My familiarity with many subjects reminds me of a Woody Allen quote: “I took a speed reading course and read ‘War and Peace’ in twenty minutes. It involves Russia.” A friend of mine calls this “Impostor Syndrome”—knowing just enough to appear informed about a subject, fearing that at any moment someone will ask a question that reveals your ignorance. In a recent radio broadcast, This American Life called this charade “Modern Jackass.”

Instead of thinking, “I wish I had time to learn more about __________” (salsa dancing, the African Diaspora, designing web pages), as I have done for years, and constantly feeling ashamed at all the things I “should” know by now, I am finally going to make the time to learn them. I imagine that you have your own list, and I hope that you’ll join me in seeking a cure for Impostor’s Syndrome and ridding the planet of another modern jackass.

This post is part of the series “Why Reschool?”

All I Really Need to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten

“All I really need to know, I learned in kindergarten” was just a cutesy saying for me until I actually spent a day with kindergarteners. Now I understand.

I visited the kindergarten class in order to generate ideas for the first phase of Reschool Yourself, to decide  what I’d like to do in my old classrooms. I spent the day observing and interacting with the kids, ages five and six. I cut a cardboard box into a stage for a puppet show, listened to a story, and watched the kids practice movement and dance. I agreed to play tag at recess, and only then was informed that I was “always it.” As I chased the kids around the jungle gym, they joyfully teased me by sticking out their tongues and taunting me with singsongs of “Nanny nanny, foo foo.”

The day’s activities began with Kid Writing, a time for students to draw pictures in their personal journals and practice writing about them.

Max 2“Do you have a kid journal?” a boy named Max asked me. I told him that I didn’t.

“I’ll make you one,” he said.

He disappeared and then returned within a few minutes, presenting me with a paper booklet neatly stapled down the side. He had trimmed the side of the page “to make it look nice” and had printed the words, “Melia AND THE” on the fluorescent pink cover.

“Melia and the what?” I asked him.

“That’s up to you,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows, impressed by this 6-year-old sage. “Hmm, I’m not sure how to finish that,” I said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

Max looked me straight in the eye. “Sometimes it’s good to just do what you want to do,” he told me. “Sometimes that’s the best thing.”

I told Max that this was such great advice that I would write it down. I printed his words in oil pastel inside my new journal, on the paper with dotted lines for handwriting practice. When I showed him his own words on the page, he said, “This will be on the first page to remind you, for life.” This kid was a regular Yoda. I wished I could shrink him down to pocket-size and carry him around with me—my own insightful little Pez dispenser.

(more…)

I could have an itinerary, but I don’t want to

People have been asking me what my year of reschooling will look like: how long I plan to spend in my old classrooms, where I plan to go during my travels, what I plan to do when I get to each location. I haven’t known what to say, and the question has begun to stress me out. Until now, I had been planning from a practical standpoint: I would spend a few days in each grade at my old schools from August to December, then travel from January to June with a pre-determined itinerary. This plan made sense — I could find a place to stay and make arrangements for the learning opportunities in each location, well in advance of my arrival. But making a schedule seemed arbitrary and limiting.

I have been basing these plans on what makes practical sense, or what I think I should do, rather than what I really want to do. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become less sure of what it is that I want to do. I have so lost touch with my own intuition that making even the smallest decision becomes a cosmic crisis. Should I wear the black skirt or the jeans? Should I go jogging or lift weights? In line at Tartine Bakery, I nearly hyperventilate when faced with all my options — should I order the almond croissant or the chocolate? Or the bread pudding? My life is so hard!

(more…)