So many students today doubt the value of college because they don’t believe, first, that it has any practical value. Will it prepare me for a job? Second, time spent in college is time wasted when it comes to earning money, as far as they’re concerned. And the more time that it takes, the more money lost. Third, it is a lot of work, and they feel they have just put in a lot of work finishing high school, and they just can’t see putting up with a whole lot more of that “crap.”
Often, for these students, it is just these kinds of sentiments that help destroy whatever value there is in a college education—if they decide to pursue it, that is. Sometimes it is just these kinds of thoughts, too, that make failure in college a self-fulfilling prophecy. It is obvious these students haven’t been informed about the lessons colleges teach, listened because the sentiments above have loomed too large in their short-sighted, narrow minded, unimaginative little minds, or believed they are true.
Hard work. There are numerous lessons colleges teach that translate well into real life. It wasn’t unusual for me, as an adviser to many students (our major, speech-communication, often had the most students choosing it as their discipline in the entire university) to have freshmen come into my office who had just experienced their first examination failure. One of their predominant thoughts was, “I guess I’m not cut out to be in college.” It is a reflection of the society we live in today. Failure is a signal to quit and not try harder. It is not a signal to try another approach or seek help at once. What students don’t understand is that once they quit, it’s easy to do it a second time. It’s exactly the same in life. Why, for example, do people who decide to get a divorce rather than work at a marriage, discover that their second marriage is even easier to walk away from? The statistics support it.
College teaches students that if they want to succeed, they have to apply themselves. It can’t be a second or third priority after work, relationships, or partying. They must do things before examinations, during courses, after class meetings, and even on their own that will assist them in being the best they can be—applying all of their ability, talent, background, and knowledge to every assignment, project, paper, and examination. To give less often results in evaluations that are mediocre, less than desirable, or even failing.
Teamwork. This may not immediately come to mind as one of the “lessons” college teaches, however, if you consider the number of discussion groups, organizations, work groups, clubs, sports, fraternities or sororities, and other associations to which students often devote their time, one can easily see that there may be no better training ground for teamwork than college. It is certainly true to life. In the basic speech-communication course I directed for over twenty years, one third of it was specifically devoted to group participation and leadership. How many people can you think of who achieved success by themselves? The ability to work with others and help make them become the best they can be comes from lessons learned through practice in teamwork.
Rules. Rules seldom bend. Students may not like the rules, but they have to learn to live by them. Whether it is attendance, a performance date, a due date for a paper or project, or the day and time for examinations, students have to play by the rules, or they are penalized. Those students who are flagrant violators seldom succeed. And when students cheat—to attempt to succeed on their own terms—whether they are caught or not, it is an unfortunate reflection of life, as well. In some cases, when caught, they must learn the lesson the hard way. Although nobody likes it and would prefer not discussing it, there are cheaters in life. Sometimes they are caught, and sometimes they succeed in getting away with it. Despite all of that, the rules remain.
Rewards. Just as in life, there are many different kinds of rewards in college. Many are obvious, such as getting a good grade. Some rewards are personal, however. For example, because I directed a large basic course that involved public speaking, one reward I talked to my students about—especially my more shy or timid students—was just getting up in front of their fellow students and getting through a public presentation. Forget about the critiques, evaluations, and grades. “You have succeeded,” I would tell them, “and you deserve a personal reward of some kind, if you can just get up and successfully get through the speech you have planned.” Sometimes it is just such private, personal goals that can be the most rewarding. They can cause you to stretch and grow as nobody else would know or understand.
It is the same way in life. When there are no obvious grades to reward success, the private, personal goals can be even more motivational and rewarding. Think about doing something you have never done before such as learning to play an instrument, climb mountains, sky or scuba dive, ride a bicycle cross country, or learn a new language. When you have succeeded, just as you did in college, give yourself a well-deserved personal reward.
Life. Many times during my years teaching in college, I saw students turn their lives around because of a teacher’s influence. It happened to me in a basic speech course I was required to take, and from a pre-medicine program that had occupied my focus for almost seven years, I changed to become a speech major. To me, helping my students out of the classroom as an advisor was just as important as helping them become good students in my classes. A course covers only a short period of life, and then it’s over. A student’s life after classes, and how he or she lives it, is far more important.
Even as a director and lecturer in a large basic course, I was able to help students with certain basic “lessons of life.” For example, I lectured on time management, the importance of the language they use to express themselves, how to gain control of their lives,, the relevance of good organizing skills, how to establish credibility, and how to give the speech of their lives.
Students need to understand that if the point of life is to not just to run the race but to succeed, college helps teach them that what they sacrifice today, they will gain tomorrow. I know that for me college reinforced the importance of hard work, strengthened my ability to work as part of a team, underscored the value of playing by the rules, buttressed the role that rewards played in my life, encouraged my change in direction because of a teacher’s influence, and, in addition, deepened, enriched, and improved my ability to live beyond the college walls.
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At GetRichSlowly.org, the essay, “The value of a college education,” very effectively discusses the financial benefits and lists other benefits, too. But what is the most interesting on this website are the 133+ responses to the essay. The essay and all the responses are well worth your attention.
At the QuintessentialCareers.com, website, the essay by Katharine Hansen is entitled, “What Good is a College Education Anyway? The Value of a College Education,” is unbelievably thorough and complete. If you want to be convinced of the value of a college education, this essay by itself will do the trick!
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Copyright September, 2010, by And Then Some Publishing, LLC.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Essay anniversary III: A Writing Career And Then Some
If I had difficulty accepting the fact that I survived writing one essay a week for a year, then two years, it comes as a major shock to me to accept the fact that I have now been doing it for three years. Remarkable, to say the least! It is not just the fact that I have now published on the blog 156 essays (representing approximately 156,000 words!), but that it has taken place uninterrupted, that I had enough “unique” ideas to come up with that many essay topics, and that I have not only maintained interest in doing it but have had great fun as well.
I keep a list of the essays I write, and when one of them is posted on the blog, I put a big, bold, checkmark next to it. In that way, it helps me not to repeat posting an essay previously posted. I just counted the number of essays on the list without a checkmark next to it, and that total is 42. Forty-two unchecked essays represents ten essays short of a full year of essays, so the stockpile is sufficient, and essays are currently posted through the end of 2010. (There must be a stockpile to allow me time to pursue my other writing projects.)
Some of the essays I write are for cathartic release and will never see the light of publication on the blog. They are written for my own personal delight and satisfaction!
For this anniversary essay, I want to talk about more than simply what I have and haven’t learned from writing essays or the contentment and joy that has resulted from writing them. I have mentioned both of these in the previous two anniversary essays. Rather, I want to take a brief moment here to take stock. At the risk of sounding totally self-absorbed, self-indulgent, and self-important, I simply ask readers of my essays to allow my self-obsession in this single essay. This is my “taking stock” opportunity, and despite the egotism it reflects (those who know me well would never suspect the least bit of egotism! —I need a smiley emoticon here!), I will proceed unabated.
I took courses and fulfilled my master’s degree requirements with hours. I never wrote a master’s thesis at the University of Michigan, and I regretted passing on that opportunity, but it was the easiest route to completing the degree before leaving for Indiana University. I had written a number of papers for the courses I took, and I felt that I was a good writer (egotism displayed early!)
More papers accumulated at Indiana along with a dissertation, “The History of the Lyceum Movement in Michigan, 1818-1860.” The writing of that dissertation taught me two things: 1) I was not a very good writer, and 2) I could be a much better writer. But, the dissertation launched me on a professional academic career that lasted over thirty years.
The reason that choice—“a professional academic career”—is important is simply the “publish or perish” commandment that accompanies the choice. Some academics condemn it; some attempt to avoid it (often those drop out of academia); and some try to substitute for publications, other work (e.g., presenting papers at conferences, directing radio or theater productions, or serving in administrative positions). I accepted it and abided by it.
What “publish or perish” did for me was provide the motivation to write, and the beginning of my professional academic career certainly offers a benchmark for a high-level of productivity. I have to say, too, that there was another reason involved. Money. Financial incentives resulted primarily from publications, and when I determined that most of my faculty colleagues were not publishing and that an annual pool of “merit money” was available for distribution, I did everything in my power to obtain a portion of that pool—annually.
During my professional career I had 16 of my speeches published in Vital Speeches of the Day, and I wrote close to 100 “scholarly” publications. I place the word “scholarly” in quotation marks for a couple of reasons. First, most of the writing I did was of an instructional nature, and although the journals where those articles were published were academic, many were not really labeled “scholarly.” Second, when you read sophisticated theoretical articles that argued, advanced, or proposed new theories and then you read my contributions, you would quickly come to the conclusion that mine were not “scholarly”—academic yes, but not scholarly.
In 1973, a colleague of mine, Saundra Hybels, whom I met in a graduate class at the University of Michigan, asked me to co-author a college textbook called, Speech/Communication. This is when my textbook writing began. Counting just the textbooks (and not each of the revisions), I wrote close to ten. A couple of those were very successful. My book, Understanding Interpersonal Communication, went through seven editions, and my book (co-authored through 1999 with Hybels) Communicating Effectively, went through ten editions.
Because college textbook writing produces its own financial rewards, textbooks are given little credit when it comes to distributing merit. It is for this reason—as well as the desire to write a great new book (there’s that ego coming into play again!)—that two of my professional colleagues and I chose to write the book, Research in Speech Communication. At that time, it was considered the book for beginning graduate courses in speech communication.
When I began writing textbooks, I often thought about the time I could retire from teaching and just write for a living. When I chose to take early retirement from college teaching, I was able to spend time writing other things than “scholarly” articles and textbooks.
It was only after retirement from teaching that I began writing essays for The (Toledo) Blade—and only after the minister of our church at that time, talked about one of his that had been rejected. He cited the perameters of published essays in his sermon. I had sixteen published, but it ended abruptly with the retirement of the editor who began the column, “Saturday Essay.”
That was the time—the termination of that Blade column—that the web site, www.andthensomeworks.com was launched, and I began writing weekly essays and soon after, a five-day-a-week blog.
Soon after the creation of the blog came the establishment of my own publishing company, And Then Some Publishing, LLC, and the publication of my first collection of 50 essays, And Then Some: Essays to Entertain, Motivate, and Inspire, Having proven successful, I went on to publish five more books or collections: 1) Public Speaking Rules: All You Need for a GREAT Speech! 2) SMOERs: Self-Motivation, Optimism, Encouragement Rules, 3) You Rules—Caution: Contents Leads to a Better Life, 4) Relationship Rules: For Long-Term Happiness, Security, and Commitment, and 5) Laugh Like There’s No Tomorrow: Over 2,000 Jokes from the Internet.
That is the way my writing career has progressed; thus, this anniversary is more than a celebration of 156 published essays. It is, for me, a personal celebration that represents a successful writing career with more essays and books to follow. What’s fun about that is simply that it has been a writing career—And Then Some!
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At the Writer’sDigest web site, at “There Are No Rules,” Jane Friedman writes a delightful little essay, “Your Writing Career May Depend on Someone You Never Meet,” about Andrew R. Malkin. Friedman writes: “Read that blog entry describing [Malkin’s] history and his shift into the electronic book publishing industry and you may come to understand better "what" is happening to ebook publishing as the big guys take over, and why they do what they do despite anything we can do or be or become.”
At the web site, Best Children’s Books, Steve Barancik has written an essay entitled, “Here's an HONEST writer's bio of me, Steve Barancik....” This is an entertaining, very insightful, autobiography (year-by-year) of Barancik. What is so interesting about his development as a writer is that he is brutally honest. So, if you have any desire to become a writer, this is a great place to begin. Congratulations Steve! Great essay.
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Copyright September, 2010, by And Then Some Publishing, LLC.
I keep a list of the essays I write, and when one of them is posted on the blog, I put a big, bold, checkmark next to it. In that way, it helps me not to repeat posting an essay previously posted. I just counted the number of essays on the list without a checkmark next to it, and that total is 42. Forty-two unchecked essays represents ten essays short of a full year of essays, so the stockpile is sufficient, and essays are currently posted through the end of 2010. (There must be a stockpile to allow me time to pursue my other writing projects.)
Some of the essays I write are for cathartic release and will never see the light of publication on the blog. They are written for my own personal delight and satisfaction!
For this anniversary essay, I want to talk about more than simply what I have and haven’t learned from writing essays or the contentment and joy that has resulted from writing them. I have mentioned both of these in the previous two anniversary essays. Rather, I want to take a brief moment here to take stock. At the risk of sounding totally self-absorbed, self-indulgent, and self-important, I simply ask readers of my essays to allow my self-obsession in this single essay. This is my “taking stock” opportunity, and despite the egotism it reflects (those who know me well would never suspect the least bit of egotism! —I need a smiley emoticon here!), I will proceed unabated.
I took courses and fulfilled my master’s degree requirements with hours. I never wrote a master’s thesis at the University of Michigan, and I regretted passing on that opportunity, but it was the easiest route to completing the degree before leaving for Indiana University. I had written a number of papers for the courses I took, and I felt that I was a good writer (egotism displayed early!)
More papers accumulated at Indiana along with a dissertation, “The History of the Lyceum Movement in Michigan, 1818-1860.” The writing of that dissertation taught me two things: 1) I was not a very good writer, and 2) I could be a much better writer. But, the dissertation launched me on a professional academic career that lasted over thirty years.
The reason that choice—“a professional academic career”—is important is simply the “publish or perish” commandment that accompanies the choice. Some academics condemn it; some attempt to avoid it (often those drop out of academia); and some try to substitute for publications, other work (e.g., presenting papers at conferences, directing radio or theater productions, or serving in administrative positions). I accepted it and abided by it.
What “publish or perish” did for me was provide the motivation to write, and the beginning of my professional academic career certainly offers a benchmark for a high-level of productivity. I have to say, too, that there was another reason involved. Money. Financial incentives resulted primarily from publications, and when I determined that most of my faculty colleagues were not publishing and that an annual pool of “merit money” was available for distribution, I did everything in my power to obtain a portion of that pool—annually.
During my professional career I had 16 of my speeches published in Vital Speeches of the Day, and I wrote close to 100 “scholarly” publications. I place the word “scholarly” in quotation marks for a couple of reasons. First, most of the writing I did was of an instructional nature, and although the journals where those articles were published were academic, many were not really labeled “scholarly.” Second, when you read sophisticated theoretical articles that argued, advanced, or proposed new theories and then you read my contributions, you would quickly come to the conclusion that mine were not “scholarly”—academic yes, but not scholarly.
In 1973, a colleague of mine, Saundra Hybels, whom I met in a graduate class at the University of Michigan, asked me to co-author a college textbook called, Speech/Communication. This is when my textbook writing began. Counting just the textbooks (and not each of the revisions), I wrote close to ten. A couple of those were very successful. My book, Understanding Interpersonal Communication, went through seven editions, and my book (co-authored through 1999 with Hybels) Communicating Effectively, went through ten editions.
Because college textbook writing produces its own financial rewards, textbooks are given little credit when it comes to distributing merit. It is for this reason—as well as the desire to write a great new book (there’s that ego coming into play again!)—that two of my professional colleagues and I chose to write the book, Research in Speech Communication. At that time, it was considered the book for beginning graduate courses in speech communication.
When I began writing textbooks, I often thought about the time I could retire from teaching and just write for a living. When I chose to take early retirement from college teaching, I was able to spend time writing other things than “scholarly” articles and textbooks.
It was only after retirement from teaching that I began writing essays for The (Toledo) Blade—and only after the minister of our church at that time, talked about one of his that had been rejected. He cited the perameters of published essays in his sermon. I had sixteen published, but it ended abruptly with the retirement of the editor who began the column, “Saturday Essay.”
That was the time—the termination of that Blade column—that the web site, www.andthensomeworks.com was launched, and I began writing weekly essays and soon after, a five-day-a-week blog.
Soon after the creation of the blog came the establishment of my own publishing company, And Then Some Publishing, LLC, and the publication of my first collection of 50 essays, And Then Some: Essays to Entertain, Motivate, and Inspire, Having proven successful, I went on to publish five more books or collections: 1) Public Speaking Rules: All You Need for a GREAT Speech! 2) SMOERs: Self-Motivation, Optimism, Encouragement Rules, 3) You Rules—Caution: Contents Leads to a Better Life, 4) Relationship Rules: For Long-Term Happiness, Security, and Commitment, and 5) Laugh Like There’s No Tomorrow: Over 2,000 Jokes from the Internet.
That is the way my writing career has progressed; thus, this anniversary is more than a celebration of 156 published essays. It is, for me, a personal celebration that represents a successful writing career with more essays and books to follow. What’s fun about that is simply that it has been a writing career—And Then Some!
-----
At the Writer’sDigest web site, at “There Are No Rules,” Jane Friedman writes a delightful little essay, “Your Writing Career May Depend on Someone You Never Meet,” about Andrew R. Malkin. Friedman writes: “Read that blog entry describing [Malkin’s] history and his shift into the electronic book publishing industry and you may come to understand better "what" is happening to ebook publishing as the big guys take over, and why they do what they do despite anything we can do or be or become.”
At the web site, Best Children’s Books, Steve Barancik has written an essay entitled, “Here's an HONEST writer's bio of me, Steve Barancik....” This is an entertaining, very insightful, autobiography (year-by-year) of Barancik. What is so interesting about his development as a writer is that he is brutally honest. So, if you have any desire to become a writer, this is a great place to begin. Congratulations Steve! Great essay.
-----
Copyright September, 2010, by And Then Some Publishing, LLC.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
There is no way to capture the effect teachers can have on you
It was a simple conversation in our living room when Madison (age 11), our oldest of nine grandchildren, said, in front of both her parents and grandparents, that she wanted to be home schooled. As it turns out, one of her friends is home schooled, and I think Madison just thought it would be fun. Asked how that would happen, she thought she would spend time on the Internet and watching television. Both of her parents, without hesitation or reservation, told her directly that there was “no way that was going to happen.” It was a message Madison had heard before; thus, she wasn’t surprised, but I used the opportunity to talk about teachers and their value.
My first comment was how much knowledge and information teachers brought to their classrooms because of their individual preparation, background, and experiences. What I wanted to do was impress Madison with the fact that there is no single person who can possibly represent all that preparation, background, and those experiences. One of the tremendous advantages of school is having all those different teachers.
My second comment was that you never know from where inspiration is going to come. Teachers, in addition to sharing knowledge and information, are motivators and inspirers. When students develop an interest in learning outside of or beyond the classroom, in general they can point to a single teacher who nurtured that interest. It is precisely when that transition occurs that real education begins. It is when that transition occurs that the teacher begins to reside within us, and we follow the directions of an inner voice, an inner educator, an inner motivator. It is when that transition occurs that education becomes immediate, relevant, personal, and meaningful.
Unfortunately, because of other things, our conversation about the value of teachers ended there. It ended with some strong encouragement from Madison, who said, “Grandpa, you ought to write an essay on this topic.” And that is the etymology of what you find here.
As individuals, teachers did not make impressions on me until I was in junior high school. They were all good, it seemed to me, and all of them taught me, motivated me, and inspired me. I can’t think of a single negative experience I had with teachers during the entire course of my educational career. Perhaps it was luck, but I think teachers like good students, and I was definitely a good student. It wasn’t because I wanted to be “good”; it was because I loved to learn. Everything just seemed so new, intriguing, and fascinating. I was captivated.
Ms. Irene Smith, one of my junior high school math teachers, would ask students questions, then she would stand to the side of the classroom, waiting for an answer, while she rolled chalk between the palms of her hands. Each time the chalk crossed her wedding ring, it would made a loud click, as if she was counting the seconds before she asked the same question of another student. It was as if we were in the military, and these were our daily drills. I kept up with my homework, I liked math, and I learned to love being put on the spot. I knew the answers, and although most students did not like Ms. Smith, I did.
It was Mr. Snyder, my ninth grade social studies teacher, who truly guided my early interest in becoming a medical doctor. The whole focus of his class was the preparation of a career notebook, and Mr. Snyder had us develop it throughout the term, in steps, and with his assistance. It was wonderful, and I found Mr. Snyder not only supportive and encouraging, but he would continually suggest where additional resources could be found. I always followed his leads, and I developed the largest, most impressive, and complete career notebook of any member of the class. (That was one of my goals!) This was a project I devoured, and I spent more time on Mr. Snyder’s project than I spent on anything related to school thus far.
I never knew what subject he taught, but Mr. Marquart was the junior-high-school football coach. I was in the ninth grade, and I decided to go out for football, but because I was so small, I was put on the “freshman” (seventh grade) team. Because of my maturity—I was two years older than anyone else on the team—I was a starter, and it was Mr. Marquart who made me an end. I could run and catch passes, but the beauty of our team was John Charles Morton. We really didn’t need a quarterback, full back, or even an end. If we just gave the ball to John Charles, he would make the touchdowns. We were number one, and we never lost a game. John Charles was not just the key to our success, he was the team, and I loved running interference for him for the few steps I could stay in front of him. Because of my size, I would throw a block, and John Charles would pass me in an instant headed for the end zone.
Mr. Barclay taught biology in junior high school, and every day was an inspiration. In his droll, serious, and knowledgeable manner, he would direct our attention to so many fascinating aspects of science that class was full of amazing revelations. We dissected mice and birds; we drew pictures of what we dissected; and we learned so much about life and the way our bodies worked. He did not teach by lecturing; his method was to demonstrate. And he immersed his students in the wonders of life and all of its facets.
Mr. Barclay served as a reference for all of my future science teachers. In college, I created a notebook of leaves in botany, a notebook of all the constellations for astronomy, and I had a notebook—actually a workbook—in zoology which allowed me to draw all the organs of the bodies in the numerous dissections in which we engaged. I loved science, and it is a credit to Mr. Barclay and his enthusiasm for biology that paved the way for my continuing interest.
One of my outstanding teachers, too, was Mr. Granville, my ninth grade English teacher. It was advanced English, and Mr. Granville, a very small, stout, gentle man, offered me some of the most profound and encouraging advice of any teacher I had had. He said that I had the gift of a writer, and if I studied hard, wrote a lot, and pursued my studies with zeal (he liked that word!), that I could be a successful, accomplished, and satisfied writer. Mr. Granville was a walker—it kept him thin—and it was a sad day when I learned that he had died of a heart attack on one of his daily walks.
These are some of the teachers I had before I arrived at college. I know my parents could have home schooled me if they had chosen to because both were teachers, but I would never trade the knowledge, background, and preparation of even these few teachers for what might have been a home-schooling experience. It was from these teachers that my inspiration for learning began.
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At the National Association of Independent Schools (NAIS) website <>, there is a long essay, “The Influence of Teachers---On Rewriting, Character Education, and the Future of America,” by John Merrow. In the first paragraph, Merrow writes, “So it was to my great surprise when, in 2006, 40 years after I last entered a Schreiber classroom, some former students invited me to their 40th high school reunion. How could they possibly remember me, I thought? And how could I turn down such an opportunity? I accepted the invitation and prepared myself for a sentimental stroll down memory lane. What the day ended up offering me, however, was something altogether different: a powerful reminder of the lasting influence teachers have on the lives of the young, as well as some insights into where education in this democratic nation has missed the mark in recent years.” That is what Merrow’s essay is all about.
At The Quad, the student newspaper of West Chester University <>, there is an interesting and powerful essay, “Teachers have a continuing influence on students,” by Suzanne Brady, which she ends by saying, “[I]want to aim high in my life and hope that teachers and parents will realize how much of an influence they are on our future leaders of America. Please keep in mind that our students and children today are our future leaders of America. We need to help them stay motivated and learn as much as they can. There is a great amount of knowledge out there that is available to our students and we need to help instill that yearning in our students for the good of every generation to come.” This is an enjoyable essay to read.
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Copyright September, 2010, by And Then Some Publishing, LLC.
My first comment was how much knowledge and information teachers brought to their classrooms because of their individual preparation, background, and experiences. What I wanted to do was impress Madison with the fact that there is no single person who can possibly represent all that preparation, background, and those experiences. One of the tremendous advantages of school is having all those different teachers.
My second comment was that you never know from where inspiration is going to come. Teachers, in addition to sharing knowledge and information, are motivators and inspirers. When students develop an interest in learning outside of or beyond the classroom, in general they can point to a single teacher who nurtured that interest. It is precisely when that transition occurs that real education begins. It is when that transition occurs that the teacher begins to reside within us, and we follow the directions of an inner voice, an inner educator, an inner motivator. It is when that transition occurs that education becomes immediate, relevant, personal, and meaningful.
Unfortunately, because of other things, our conversation about the value of teachers ended there. It ended with some strong encouragement from Madison, who said, “Grandpa, you ought to write an essay on this topic.” And that is the etymology of what you find here.
As individuals, teachers did not make impressions on me until I was in junior high school. They were all good, it seemed to me, and all of them taught me, motivated me, and inspired me. I can’t think of a single negative experience I had with teachers during the entire course of my educational career. Perhaps it was luck, but I think teachers like good students, and I was definitely a good student. It wasn’t because I wanted to be “good”; it was because I loved to learn. Everything just seemed so new, intriguing, and fascinating. I was captivated.
Ms. Irene Smith, one of my junior high school math teachers, would ask students questions, then she would stand to the side of the classroom, waiting for an answer, while she rolled chalk between the palms of her hands. Each time the chalk crossed her wedding ring, it would made a loud click, as if she was counting the seconds before she asked the same question of another student. It was as if we were in the military, and these were our daily drills. I kept up with my homework, I liked math, and I learned to love being put on the spot. I knew the answers, and although most students did not like Ms. Smith, I did.
It was Mr. Snyder, my ninth grade social studies teacher, who truly guided my early interest in becoming a medical doctor. The whole focus of his class was the preparation of a career notebook, and Mr. Snyder had us develop it throughout the term, in steps, and with his assistance. It was wonderful, and I found Mr. Snyder not only supportive and encouraging, but he would continually suggest where additional resources could be found. I always followed his leads, and I developed the largest, most impressive, and complete career notebook of any member of the class. (That was one of my goals!) This was a project I devoured, and I spent more time on Mr. Snyder’s project than I spent on anything related to school thus far.
I never knew what subject he taught, but Mr. Marquart was the junior-high-school football coach. I was in the ninth grade, and I decided to go out for football, but because I was so small, I was put on the “freshman” (seventh grade) team. Because of my maturity—I was two years older than anyone else on the team—I was a starter, and it was Mr. Marquart who made me an end. I could run and catch passes, but the beauty of our team was John Charles Morton. We really didn’t need a quarterback, full back, or even an end. If we just gave the ball to John Charles, he would make the touchdowns. We were number one, and we never lost a game. John Charles was not just the key to our success, he was the team, and I loved running interference for him for the few steps I could stay in front of him. Because of my size, I would throw a block, and John Charles would pass me in an instant headed for the end zone.
Mr. Barclay taught biology in junior high school, and every day was an inspiration. In his droll, serious, and knowledgeable manner, he would direct our attention to so many fascinating aspects of science that class was full of amazing revelations. We dissected mice and birds; we drew pictures of what we dissected; and we learned so much about life and the way our bodies worked. He did not teach by lecturing; his method was to demonstrate. And he immersed his students in the wonders of life and all of its facets.
Mr. Barclay served as a reference for all of my future science teachers. In college, I created a notebook of leaves in botany, a notebook of all the constellations for astronomy, and I had a notebook—actually a workbook—in zoology which allowed me to draw all the organs of the bodies in the numerous dissections in which we engaged. I loved science, and it is a credit to Mr. Barclay and his enthusiasm for biology that paved the way for my continuing interest.
One of my outstanding teachers, too, was Mr. Granville, my ninth grade English teacher. It was advanced English, and Mr. Granville, a very small, stout, gentle man, offered me some of the most profound and encouraging advice of any teacher I had had. He said that I had the gift of a writer, and if I studied hard, wrote a lot, and pursued my studies with zeal (he liked that word!), that I could be a successful, accomplished, and satisfied writer. Mr. Granville was a walker—it kept him thin—and it was a sad day when I learned that he had died of a heart attack on one of his daily walks.
These are some of the teachers I had before I arrived at college. I know my parents could have home schooled me if they had chosen to because both were teachers, but I would never trade the knowledge, background, and preparation of even these few teachers for what might have been a home-schooling experience. It was from these teachers that my inspiration for learning began.
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At the National Association of Independent Schools (NAIS) website <>, there is a long essay, “The Influence of Teachers---On Rewriting, Character Education, and the Future of America,” by John Merrow. In the first paragraph, Merrow writes, “So it was to my great surprise when, in 2006, 40 years after I last entered a Schreiber classroom, some former students invited me to their 40th high school reunion. How could they possibly remember me, I thought? And how could I turn down such an opportunity? I accepted the invitation and prepared myself for a sentimental stroll down memory lane. What the day ended up offering me, however, was something altogether different: a powerful reminder of the lasting influence teachers have on the lives of the young, as well as some insights into where education in this democratic nation has missed the mark in recent years.” That is what Merrow’s essay is all about.
At The Quad, the student newspaper of West Chester University <>, there is an interesting and powerful essay, “Teachers have a continuing influence on students,” by Suzanne Brady, which she ends by saying, “[I]want to aim high in my life and hope that teachers and parents will realize how much of an influence they are on our future leaders of America. Please keep in mind that our students and children today are our future leaders of America. We need to help them stay motivated and learn as much as they can. There is a great amount of knowledge out there that is available to our students and we need to help instill that yearning in our students for the good of every generation to come.” This is an enjoyable essay to read.
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Copyright September, 2010, by And Then Some Publishing, LLC.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Romantic notions help us maintain balance—a stable, steady footing—in our lives
All my life I have held a romantic notion about living in a remote location with my computer along with a subsistence level of survival—just enjoying the wilderness, a “green” existence, and the essentials of survival and nothing more. After all, I am a writer. It is a lonely profession in which I need solitude, great chunks of solitary confinement, and license to exist by myself out of reach of civilization.
A recent cruise to the Inside Passage of Alaska began to shake some of my romantic notions. I talked, for example, to some of the residents of Skagway, Alaska, just to see why they choose to live there year round. Skagway was once Alaska’s most populous town. Now only four blocks wide and just over twenty long, it is nestled into a cozy and picturesque setting between the 7,000-foot Coast Mountains (Canadian boundary). Many summer residents, of course, only live there during the tourist season when as many as eight cruise ships at a time, may add from 15-20,000 people to a permanent village population of only about 841 people.
One employee of a small tourist shop said he had chosen to live in Skagway year round because it is a great place to bring up your children. He said he had three kids. The schools were great, with lots of individual attention for students, the atmosphere is clean and healthy, and, he said, you can leave your kids outside all day to play without supervision. He said the crime rate in Skagway is negligible. (He suspected that whatever crime rate there is, is a direct result of the tourist industry, but it disappears as quickly as the ships slipping away from their dockside ports after only several hours of being in town.)
Interestingly, the shop employee said that the only time he and his wife had to be outside with the kids was at dusk and after dark. That is the time the black bears come into town from the surrounding forests. He said it wasn’t unusual to see one right in the middle of the road outside his shop. They scavage for food in the town’s outside garbage containers, but they are as scared of humans as humans are scared of them; they are just more imposing.
Our female guide on our Skagway shore excursion, an extroverted, humorous, single writer for the local Skagway newspaper published with local news only every-other-week, and who looked and sounded like Barbra Streisand, had stayed in Skagway for three years and had an interesting view of life there. She was waiting for her boyfriend to come home from Iraq and, originally, had decided to give Skagway but six months as a live-in trial.
She said that life there was definitely unique. Everything in town (including cars) had to be shipped in by barge. When the barge arrived (usually once a month), the townspeople would flood the local supermarkets for the freshest fruits and vegetables they could find. What the food barge brought in was what was available for the next month or so.
There was no doctor, dentist, health-care professional, or hospital in town. Those with serious health problems had to be flown to another town.
During the six months of winter, it was dark most of the time. At the height of the winter months, there was a mere twenty minutes of sun, and that was like dusk. Also, being part of a massive temperate rain forest system, during the summer it rained almost every day, and if it was not raining, it was overcast much of the time. Talk about gloomy weather! Alaska, and Skagway contributes its fair share, has the highest suicide rate of any state in the nation, and one can easily see why that is true.
There is a third feature of the weather in Skagway that makes that location unusual. During three weeks in January there is an intense, non-stop wind. Skagway is located just on the other side of a long mountain range that separates the town from Canada and the inland. During the winter, air pressure accumulates on the Canadian side of the mountains, and as it builds it pushes the clouds up vertically toward the top of the mountain range. Our guide said that when the clouds begin drifting over the mountains in January, that is the sign that everyone in Skagway must go out and purchase provisions to supply themselves for three weeks and then go home and batten down the hatches.
Located in a large U-shaped groove between the 7,000-foot mountains, fashioned thousands of years ago by a massive glacier, Skagway provides a conduit for the air from the buildup on the Canadian side of the mountains to reach the water—the glacier-carved Lynn Canal fjord. Our guide reported that winds maintain a constant speed of 60-70 miles per hour, nonstop, for three solid weeks when you can’t even open an exterior door to your house.
It isn’t any single factor—the dependency on the barges, the lack of medical-service personnel, or the weather—that made me second-guess my romantic desire for isolation. It is the total picture. When you’re accustomed to having many choices—fresh fruits and vegetables, meats and poultry, and all brands and kinds of products—it is difficult to make a decision to give all of that up.
When we were in Australia for 6 months, our choices were limited, but we discovered that it doesn’t take long to become accustomed to it. When we returned home, we even discussed the possibility of limiting what we needed to live comfortably, but it isn’t long until the supply catches up with what you want—not what you need, but what you want. Soon, once again, you begin to appreciate all that you have and all the choices you have in order to have more!
I still retain some of my romantic notions regarding living in a remote location; however, I now know for certain it won’t be in Alaska—specifically, Skagway. It is like many places we have visited throughout our travels. It is a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.
So often, I think, the romantic notions we have about how we would like to live are just that—romantic notions. There is no need to prove them, live them out, or fulfill them in any direct manner. They are pleasant, comforting, and adequately soothe our idyllic, picturesque, fairy-tale side. They offer, too, more than just a reason for living; they are, indeed, a placid, warm, snug, and cozy place where our thoughts can reside in a calm and peaceful manner without agitation, distress, or upset. We need romantic notions to maintain a balance—a stable, steady footing—in our lives.
-----
At Askville.com (sponsored by Amazon.com) , the question posed is: “Have you ever thought about becoming a hermit/recluse?” The readers responses are varied, interesting, and worth a read.
At Success From the Nest , there is a post called, “Are you becoming a home-based hermit?” by Jon Morrow, that offers a number of useful tips. The 24 reader comments on Morrow’s post are also fun to read.
-----
Copyright September, 2010, by And Then Some Publishing, LLC.
A recent cruise to the Inside Passage of Alaska began to shake some of my romantic notions. I talked, for example, to some of the residents of Skagway, Alaska, just to see why they choose to live there year round. Skagway was once Alaska’s most populous town. Now only four blocks wide and just over twenty long, it is nestled into a cozy and picturesque setting between the 7,000-foot Coast Mountains (Canadian boundary). Many summer residents, of course, only live there during the tourist season when as many as eight cruise ships at a time, may add from 15-20,000 people to a permanent village population of only about 841 people.
One employee of a small tourist shop said he had chosen to live in Skagway year round because it is a great place to bring up your children. He said he had three kids. The schools were great, with lots of individual attention for students, the atmosphere is clean and healthy, and, he said, you can leave your kids outside all day to play without supervision. He said the crime rate in Skagway is negligible. (He suspected that whatever crime rate there is, is a direct result of the tourist industry, but it disappears as quickly as the ships slipping away from their dockside ports after only several hours of being in town.)
Interestingly, the shop employee said that the only time he and his wife had to be outside with the kids was at dusk and after dark. That is the time the black bears come into town from the surrounding forests. He said it wasn’t unusual to see one right in the middle of the road outside his shop. They scavage for food in the town’s outside garbage containers, but they are as scared of humans as humans are scared of them; they are just more imposing.
Our female guide on our Skagway shore excursion, an extroverted, humorous, single writer for the local Skagway newspaper published with local news only every-other-week, and who looked and sounded like Barbra Streisand, had stayed in Skagway for three years and had an interesting view of life there. She was waiting for her boyfriend to come home from Iraq and, originally, had decided to give Skagway but six months as a live-in trial.
She said that life there was definitely unique. Everything in town (including cars) had to be shipped in by barge. When the barge arrived (usually once a month), the townspeople would flood the local supermarkets for the freshest fruits and vegetables they could find. What the food barge brought in was what was available for the next month or so.
There was no doctor, dentist, health-care professional, or hospital in town. Those with serious health problems had to be flown to another town.
During the six months of winter, it was dark most of the time. At the height of the winter months, there was a mere twenty minutes of sun, and that was like dusk. Also, being part of a massive temperate rain forest system, during the summer it rained almost every day, and if it was not raining, it was overcast much of the time. Talk about gloomy weather! Alaska, and Skagway contributes its fair share, has the highest suicide rate of any state in the nation, and one can easily see why that is true.
There is a third feature of the weather in Skagway that makes that location unusual. During three weeks in January there is an intense, non-stop wind. Skagway is located just on the other side of a long mountain range that separates the town from Canada and the inland. During the winter, air pressure accumulates on the Canadian side of the mountains, and as it builds it pushes the clouds up vertically toward the top of the mountain range. Our guide said that when the clouds begin drifting over the mountains in January, that is the sign that everyone in Skagway must go out and purchase provisions to supply themselves for three weeks and then go home and batten down the hatches.
Located in a large U-shaped groove between the 7,000-foot mountains, fashioned thousands of years ago by a massive glacier, Skagway provides a conduit for the air from the buildup on the Canadian side of the mountains to reach the water—the glacier-carved Lynn Canal fjord. Our guide reported that winds maintain a constant speed of 60-70 miles per hour, nonstop, for three solid weeks when you can’t even open an exterior door to your house.
It isn’t any single factor—the dependency on the barges, the lack of medical-service personnel, or the weather—that made me second-guess my romantic desire for isolation. It is the total picture. When you’re accustomed to having many choices—fresh fruits and vegetables, meats and poultry, and all brands and kinds of products—it is difficult to make a decision to give all of that up.
When we were in Australia for 6 months, our choices were limited, but we discovered that it doesn’t take long to become accustomed to it. When we returned home, we even discussed the possibility of limiting what we needed to live comfortably, but it isn’t long until the supply catches up with what you want—not what you need, but what you want. Soon, once again, you begin to appreciate all that you have and all the choices you have in order to have more!
I still retain some of my romantic notions regarding living in a remote location; however, I now know for certain it won’t be in Alaska—specifically, Skagway. It is like many places we have visited throughout our travels. It is a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.
So often, I think, the romantic notions we have about how we would like to live are just that—romantic notions. There is no need to prove them, live them out, or fulfill them in any direct manner. They are pleasant, comforting, and adequately soothe our idyllic, picturesque, fairy-tale side. They offer, too, more than just a reason for living; they are, indeed, a placid, warm, snug, and cozy place where our thoughts can reside in a calm and peaceful manner without agitation, distress, or upset. We need romantic notions to maintain a balance—a stable, steady footing—in our lives.
-----
At Askville.com (sponsored by Amazon.com) , the question posed is: “Have you ever thought about becoming a hermit/recluse?” The readers responses are varied, interesting, and worth a read.
At Success From the Nest , there is a post called, “Are you becoming a home-based hermit?” by Jon Morrow, that offers a number of useful tips. The 24 reader comments on Morrow’s post are also fun to read.
-----
Copyright September, 2010, by And Then Some Publishing, LLC.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Learning how to fly
When I was nineteen and living in East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) with my parents, I worked at the United States Information Service (U.S.I.S.) making an enormous amount of money and having no way of spending it all. The choice to take flying lessons occurred because I had the money, time, and interest. The plane was a single engine, dual-open-cockpit, bi-wing, Tiger Moth—the same kind flown by Snoopy — and lessons took place weekly on a remote, unused concrete airstrip outside of Dacca, the capitol city. It was, by far, one of the most exciting, risky, and adventurous events in my life.
Why would my lessons in learning how to fly merit an essay? Because, I feel, the requirements that go into learning how to fly are similar to those that signal when a little bird is ready to leave its nest — or, when a child is ready to leave home. Not to fill the basic prerequisites is likely to create major problems if not disaster.
What I was told as I began my lessons was, first, to take a trial flight just to see what it would be like. It is similar to sticking your big toe into the bathtub to make sure the water isn’t too hot before getting in. That trial flight whet my appetite like nothing else could. The wind, noise, and speed charged-up my engines like only adrenaline could, and it took just one circle around and above the runway to know that I was ready to begin.
Having a skilled (English-speaking) and knowledgeable instructor was important, and after that trial flight we were not back in the air for another week while I read about the instruments, learned the rules, regulations, and laws, and took a very basic medical examination. Admittedly, the instrumentation in the old Tiger Moth airplanes was simple compared with airplanes today, and the rules, regulations, and laws governing our flights (and any future flying I was to do in East Pakistan) was uncomplicated. My physical health turned out to be excellent, and not being prone to heart attacks, effects of heights, or weaknesses in either sight or hearing, my clear bill-of-health allowed lessons to begin at once. My teacher was both patient and understanding, and he relished the opportunity of teaching an American. I was an eager and willing student.
Every lesson I took began with a briefing, and the first one was no exception. The first one included what to do in emergency situations like engine failure or rapidly deteriorating weather, and the first instruction was simulated only. In other briefings, my instructor explained in detail principles behind the forthcoming flight and what I could expect to make sure that I understood what I was about to learn. In every case, too, he gave me plenty of time to ask questions. He knew I couldn’t remember everything, and that much of what he covered would become clear once in the air. The briefings were simply overviews.
My instructor obviously had confidence in me for he let me take control of the instruments the first time we were in the air, and after a number of air maneuvers that helped me understand how the plane moved in response to what I would do in the cockpit, we began to do take-offs and landings, which are—by far—the most difficult part of flying. I found take-offs and landings to be the best part of flying because there were so many variables involved in trying to get them perfect, and, yet, there was such a tremendous sense of satisfaction when everything came together to yield a perfect take-off or landing.
Usually your first solo comes between 10 and 20 hours of time in the air. My first one came between 5 and 10 hours because my instructor felt I was ready. He wanted to know if I thought I was ready, and my reply, as a cocky, confident, and self-assured teenager was, “Definitely.” It was, to be sure, one of the most exciting moments of my life. I’m not certain I would have been ready to handle an emergency situation at that early stage in my training; however, the goal of my instructor — on that very calm (no wind at all) and beautiful day — was to instill greater confidence and certainty in my skills and abilities.
Given the same situation, if I had been the instructor, I don’t think I would have been as willing to turn that Tiger Moth — one of the sources of my income as the instructor — over to a brash and arrogant American 19-year-old!
I remember it well. The take-off went smoothly, and there was a wonderful sense of command and control knowing that I was in charge of this airplane. I rose from the end of the runway out over the lush, uninhabited, green of the forests below, and once I leveled-off at about 500 feet off the ground, I banked into a comfortable left turn, and I could look down on the runway not far below. I could even see my instructor standing and watching me. I made a big arc, and I gave myself plenty of room as I made the final left bank to line myself up with the runway out ahead of me. There was no center line because this was a very old, unused airstrip, so I just centered my plane as best I could and slowly began to push the yoke (or stick) away from me to lose altitude. Fortunately, I was right on target gauging from the number of practice runs I had taken with the instructor, and as I came closer to the runway, I adjusted my flight altitude by pulling the yoke toward me to bring the nose up, up, and further up until I felt the wheels hit the runway. It was a perfect landing, and I simply used the rudder to control my path down the runway, ever so slowly beginning to brake my speed until I came to a complete stop. What a thrill that was.
There was no computer screen, no auto-pilot, and no bells and whistles. There was a great deal of control over everything that happened, and my confidence was rewarded.
There really isn’t a great deal of risk in learning to fly. It is, instead, depending on what you have learned, practicing the fundamentals, and relying on yourself — your knowledge, your experience, and your skills and abilities. If you do what you know you will be successful.
Learning how to fly — becoming independent — is much the same as learning how to fly. Learn the fundamentals, gain as much experience as possible, then rely on yourself. Many people say it requires a willingness to let go; however, I would contend that it requires use of all your resources. Your instructor — just like your knowledge and experience — stay with you and, mentally, continue to provide suggestions and guidance. You never “let go.” If you have the commitment and the patience, you, too, can learn to fly.
-----
At the Silver Express website, in an essay from the 1996 Flight Training magazine, “Twenty life lessons I learned from becoming a pilot,” Susan E. Paul said she learned patience, the need to keep a step ahead, how to communicate effective, clearly, and concisely, conserve and control your energy, be thorough and precise, relax, face your fears, take care of yourself physically and mentally, use all of your senses, know yourself, focus, practice and be proficient at the basics, be light at the controls, accept responsibility, know your priorities, follow through to the end, be courteous, persistent, flexible, and to keep it simple. In the essay Paul discusses each of these elements.
At the Lessons From the Cockpit website, Christopher Laney writes an essay, “White-Knuckle Living: How to Succeed by Letting Go,” (really just a post on his blog), where he talks about the lessons he learned from learning how to fly: 1) give yourself permission to make mistakes, 2) recognize that you know more than you think you know, and 3) let go (which is the best entry and includes five separate items that tend to hold people back). Also, Laney has included 22 reader comments to his post.
-----
Copyright September, 2010, by And Then Some Publishing, LLC.
Why would my lessons in learning how to fly merit an essay? Because, I feel, the requirements that go into learning how to fly are similar to those that signal when a little bird is ready to leave its nest — or, when a child is ready to leave home. Not to fill the basic prerequisites is likely to create major problems if not disaster.
What I was told as I began my lessons was, first, to take a trial flight just to see what it would be like. It is similar to sticking your big toe into the bathtub to make sure the water isn’t too hot before getting in. That trial flight whet my appetite like nothing else could. The wind, noise, and speed charged-up my engines like only adrenaline could, and it took just one circle around and above the runway to know that I was ready to begin.
Having a skilled (English-speaking) and knowledgeable instructor was important, and after that trial flight we were not back in the air for another week while I read about the instruments, learned the rules, regulations, and laws, and took a very basic medical examination. Admittedly, the instrumentation in the old Tiger Moth airplanes was simple compared with airplanes today, and the rules, regulations, and laws governing our flights (and any future flying I was to do in East Pakistan) was uncomplicated. My physical health turned out to be excellent, and not being prone to heart attacks, effects of heights, or weaknesses in either sight or hearing, my clear bill-of-health allowed lessons to begin at once. My teacher was both patient and understanding, and he relished the opportunity of teaching an American. I was an eager and willing student.
Every lesson I took began with a briefing, and the first one was no exception. The first one included what to do in emergency situations like engine failure or rapidly deteriorating weather, and the first instruction was simulated only. In other briefings, my instructor explained in detail principles behind the forthcoming flight and what I could expect to make sure that I understood what I was about to learn. In every case, too, he gave me plenty of time to ask questions. He knew I couldn’t remember everything, and that much of what he covered would become clear once in the air. The briefings were simply overviews.
My instructor obviously had confidence in me for he let me take control of the instruments the first time we were in the air, and after a number of air maneuvers that helped me understand how the plane moved in response to what I would do in the cockpit, we began to do take-offs and landings, which are—by far—the most difficult part of flying. I found take-offs and landings to be the best part of flying because there were so many variables involved in trying to get them perfect, and, yet, there was such a tremendous sense of satisfaction when everything came together to yield a perfect take-off or landing.
Usually your first solo comes between 10 and 20 hours of time in the air. My first one came between 5 and 10 hours because my instructor felt I was ready. He wanted to know if I thought I was ready, and my reply, as a cocky, confident, and self-assured teenager was, “Definitely.” It was, to be sure, one of the most exciting moments of my life. I’m not certain I would have been ready to handle an emergency situation at that early stage in my training; however, the goal of my instructor — on that very calm (no wind at all) and beautiful day — was to instill greater confidence and certainty in my skills and abilities.
Given the same situation, if I had been the instructor, I don’t think I would have been as willing to turn that Tiger Moth — one of the sources of my income as the instructor — over to a brash and arrogant American 19-year-old!
I remember it well. The take-off went smoothly, and there was a wonderful sense of command and control knowing that I was in charge of this airplane. I rose from the end of the runway out over the lush, uninhabited, green of the forests below, and once I leveled-off at about 500 feet off the ground, I banked into a comfortable left turn, and I could look down on the runway not far below. I could even see my instructor standing and watching me. I made a big arc, and I gave myself plenty of room as I made the final left bank to line myself up with the runway out ahead of me. There was no center line because this was a very old, unused airstrip, so I just centered my plane as best I could and slowly began to push the yoke (or stick) away from me to lose altitude. Fortunately, I was right on target gauging from the number of practice runs I had taken with the instructor, and as I came closer to the runway, I adjusted my flight altitude by pulling the yoke toward me to bring the nose up, up, and further up until I felt the wheels hit the runway. It was a perfect landing, and I simply used the rudder to control my path down the runway, ever so slowly beginning to brake my speed until I came to a complete stop. What a thrill that was.
There was no computer screen, no auto-pilot, and no bells and whistles. There was a great deal of control over everything that happened, and my confidence was rewarded.
There really isn’t a great deal of risk in learning to fly. It is, instead, depending on what you have learned, practicing the fundamentals, and relying on yourself — your knowledge, your experience, and your skills and abilities. If you do what you know you will be successful.
Learning how to fly — becoming independent — is much the same as learning how to fly. Learn the fundamentals, gain as much experience as possible, then rely on yourself. Many people say it requires a willingness to let go; however, I would contend that it requires use of all your resources. Your instructor — just like your knowledge and experience — stay with you and, mentally, continue to provide suggestions and guidance. You never “let go.” If you have the commitment and the patience, you, too, can learn to fly.
-----
At the Silver Express website, in an essay from the 1996 Flight Training magazine, “Twenty life lessons I learned from becoming a pilot,” Susan E. Paul said she learned patience, the need to keep a step ahead, how to communicate effective, clearly, and concisely, conserve and control your energy, be thorough and precise, relax, face your fears, take care of yourself physically and mentally, use all of your senses, know yourself, focus, practice and be proficient at the basics, be light at the controls, accept responsibility, know your priorities, follow through to the end, be courteous, persistent, flexible, and to keep it simple. In the essay Paul discusses each of these elements.
At the Lessons From the Cockpit website, Christopher Laney writes an essay, “White-Knuckle Living: How to Succeed by Letting Go,” (really just a post on his blog), where he talks about the lessons he learned from learning how to fly: 1) give yourself permission to make mistakes, 2) recognize that you know more than you think you know, and 3) let go (which is the best entry and includes five separate items that tend to hold people back). Also, Laney has included 22 reader comments to his post.
-----
Copyright September, 2010, by And Then Some Publishing, LLC.
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