On Learning

Dear John,

I don't want you to think that the intent of this project is for me to live your life for you. I know I've outright said as much, but I want to expound upon that long enough for you to understand where I'm coming from and what I hope this project will be for you.

Everyone learns differently. As a teacher, I learned that the hard way. Finding a way to make information accessible is something most teachers struggle with through their entire career. And that's just in school! Imagine what it's like to learn in any sort of informal setting – like at home, or your own life experiences.

Every teenager I've ever met, myself included, thinks they've got it all figured out. I would not be surprised at all if the same thing happens to you. Don't feel bad if it does – it's perfectly normal. I consider it a rite of passage to not figure out until you're at least 25 how much of an idiot you were at 12.

The reality is that the world will always be both bigger and smaller than you can possibly imagine.

Bigger, because there will always be other cultures, other people, other places, other experiences that can shape who you are. You cannot possibly experience everything, and therefore, there is always the chance that you will experience something that will change your perspective. This is not something to be feared; rather, this is something to be embraced.

Smaller, because you will always encounter people who can relate to the experiences you've had, and with whose experiences you can relate. Maybe you know the same people; maybe you went to the same places or the same events. You can form a bond over any of these things. Sometimes, though, it's not the same experiences or the same kinds of stories that bond you to other people, it's finding out that you've made the same life decisions through entirely different means.

An example: We spent Christmas Eve with Chris' family this year. I love going there; imagine if you took our family and shrunk all of it down to 1/3 size, but kept all of the energy and idiosyncrasy and close ties. (Someday I'll finally get around to having you see for yourself. I think you'd love it as much as I do.) Sometimes, at big gatherings, I like to just sit back and watch (or listen), because I love observing how people interact with each other. I also like it because it gives me time to process, which is why I like to call it my downtime.

At one point while I was having my downtime, Chris' cousin Tommy was talking about a book he was reading, in which a guy lived with one of the tribes of the Amazon (I think) and had some incredible encounters with nature while there, and how so much of that is borne of a different way of thinking, of responding to the world around us. I don't remember the whole story at this point, but I remember being interested enough to stop observing and start really focusing on listening to what he had to say. We wound up moving into a quieter room so we could talk more easily, and he told me a story about a person who'd been born to an African tribe, kidnapped and raised in a Western lifestyle, finally returned and re-initiated into his tribe through a series of ordeals, only to be told he needed to go back out and tell his story to Western cultures again. Tommy had heard the man speak (or something to that effect) and had found his story very powerful and enlightening.

We talked some more, about teaching philosophies and learning mechanisms; I told some of my stories from teaching sex ed (including all the requisite innuendo), and about things I'd learned from training people at work, and that sort of thing (all of which you'll hear more about later, I promise), and Tommy told me more about some of the experiences he's had, especially while doing some of his primitive-skills training and teaching.

What's the point of all this? Tommy and I could not possibly have come from different backgrounds, especially sociologically speaking. There is a reason why people from different regions of the U.S. say that going to other places is like going to another world, after all. Going from a small family farm in a small and decidedly lower-to-middle-class town in practically-rural New Jersey to, well, basically anywhere in Nassau County (Long Island) is kind of a huge cultural difference as it is. But growing up “farm” leads to a whole set of experiences that can't really be had any other way, and since I don't know any other way of growing up, I can't really describe it. However, I know from the stories we've shared that my experiences have been very local-centric and rather mainstream in this regard, whereas Tommy's experiences are much more geographically and culturally widespread, and rather off the beaten path.

The point is that although Tommy and I have such fundamentally different backgrounds and our own collection of experiences that have only rarely crossed paths, we've managed to come to the same conclusions about teaching, and about learning. The point of listening to the teachings of others is not to live vicariously through them, or to obey without questioning. The point of listening to the teachings of others is to hear what they've experienced, and then decide for yourself what you're going to do with it. You can follow in their footsteps; you can go in an opposite direction; or you can do any combination thereof.

It is your life to be lived; I simply offer these stories as a guide when you feel you need it. As the great Morpheus said, I can only show you the door; you are the one that has to walk through it.

Love,

JRM

On Friends as Family (Part 2 of 2)

(Note: This is Part 2 of a post.  Part 1 can be found here.)

Example 2:

I started working at Roche in October 2002. I was a very slow starter in terms of warming up to people there, especially since they didn't really seem to have a plan for me when I first started. I just kind of floated around for about a month, until I finally got placed in one of the groups that did testing for the manufacturing team. Our testing site was about 50 miles away from the manufacturing site, so the rest of our department was all located at the other site. As a result, we were a very tight-knit little group, relying on each other for everything because we were all we had, and we became resilient and remarkably effective because of that.

Our manager, Pam, was a very strong advocate for getting to know the rest of the manufacturing team that we now worked with. She organized a little field trip up to the manufacturing site, where we met with people, talked about how processes worked, and tried to figure out how we fit into the scheme of it all. I admit I don't remember very much of the trip, but I did meet an awful lot of people that day. Hell, I still wasn't real clear on who the people in my own group were, let alone the 30 or 40 other people I met. But apparently I made an impression on at least a few of them...

Fast forward a couple of years. I'd been reorganized again, and I was absolutely miserable. I'd been taken away from the rest of my little group, ostensibly so that I could learn more about new processes and take on new responsibilities – but what actually happened was that everything I'd built up so far had been taken away from me, and I was expected to start from scratch. Obviously, I didn't respond well to that prospect, and I was doing anything I could to get away from that situation, without much success, so I was starting to self-destruct. One day, I got an email from one of my former coworkers in the manufacturing team – he'd recommended me for an open position they had, doing projects for their group. I put in my application right away, of course, and was almost immediately accepted.

Transition into the new position was tough. The woman who was training me retired before my transition finished, so I had to do everything I could to get information and support when I needed it. More often than not, I ended up going to the person who recommended me for the job.

Somehow, I was still the same slow starter, at least socially, when I moved into the new position. But as I started to get more comfortable in my work, I started to open up a bit. Once again, more often than not, I ended up with the same person.

John.

It started slowly, like most friendships do as adults. As you grow up, you'll be less willing to trust people automatically, at least past a certain level. So it started with him showing infinite patience and support for my work. I had a LOT of questions, and he always made time to help me. He'd stop by once in a while just to chat, or I'd go over to ask him a question and end up staying for half an hour or more. I started finding myself listening to him in a way I hadn't done in a long time – there was always something to learn if I listened long enough. So, I did.

I'm embarrassed to say it took me a while to realize that I'd probably learned to listen to him because he was so damned good at it himself. He'd remember things I'd mentioned in passing. He'd notice when I needed help or support or a friendly face, often before I'd even gotten a chance to ask. As I started paying attention, I noticed the care that he put into all of his work, and the respect he has for the needs of those around him. (Those who know him might be surprised by that statement, to which I simply say, look closer.) More times than I care to admit, I've found myself in a difficult situation – whether work or personal – and I've always been able to turn to him for the support, understanding, and insight I've needed. And never once has he ever asked for anything in return.

Of course, this has come to mean that I will always do the same for him.

In a lot of ways, I think I recognized a lot of the same qualities in John that I see in myself. Listening to his insights is like seeing into my own soul. Like Molly, he believes in doing what's right and what's best for everyone. He's good, and caring, and generous, and self-sacrificing to a fault – in a lot of other ways, I think he's the kind of person I aspire to be. What continually amazes me about John is that he sees so much of the hidden parts of people, which often gives him a deeper faith in other people than they have in themselves. For all that we got a slow start, it didn't take long for him to become one of the most important people in my life. I'll be forever grateful that he stuck his neck out for me, because it gave me the opportunity to know him.

Example 3:

There aren't a lot of people who can say that they made a friend via what might be construed as sexual harassment. I'm proud to say I'm one of the few.

It was 2001. Chris had joined an internet community and was making friends. I'd joined, but not really participated, so I didn't really know people. Some of Chris' friends had a housewarming party just after New Year's, and we decided to go. There were a LOT of people there, and I was kind of overwhelmed. Chris went up to the loft to play guitar with a friend, and I sat on the couch downstairs by myself and just watched. After a while, a guy came over, introduced himself, and struck up a conversation with me. A couple minutes later, a female friend of the guy came up to us, informed me that the guy was gay and didn't like boobs, and convinced me that the best thing to do about this was to bump into him repeatedly with our chests. Well, given how bored I'd been, this sounded like a stellar idea to me.

Afterward she introduced herself as Jess. We talked for a while, had a good time, and hit it off pretty well. A few weeks later, she had a going-away party for her boyfriend Matt, up in Rhode Island where they were in college together. Matt was spending a semester in France, and she wanted to give him a surprise sendoff. She invited a bunch of people from the internet community, including me and Chris. (I guess the boobs made an impression, so to speak?) Chris and I had always talked about how the farthest north we'd been was New York City, so this seemed like an ideal opportunity to rectify that.
We had a grand old time at the party (as did the rest of the folks). We wound up staying with Matt and Jess overnight, getting to know them a lot more, and … this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Since then, we've traveled together, visited each other, been in each other's weddings. There's been laughter, tears, fighting, making up, you name it. Even though we're so far away, we've been through so much of life together – through phone calls, email, online chatting, visiting for weekends or longer...
I remember a couple of occasions where I'd get a phone call at a random hour of the night (usually not too terribly late, but random enough). She'd be upset over something Matt had said, and she'd tell me about it, and I'd help her see where he was coming from (even if she didn't agree). It's almost uncanny – she thinks so much like Chris, and I think so much like Matt, that each of us can help the other figure out how to deal with any difficult situations.
At the same time, whenever I'm frustrated, or am thinking something stupid, or just need to vent, Jess is one of the people on whom I rely most. She's so often the voice of sanity for me. She's not afraid to tell me that I'm being stupid, or tell me I'm wrong, or just that maybe I'm not seeing the whole picture. And I know that she'll be honest with me, tell me what I need to know and not what I want to hear. And I know that when she needs it, I'll do the same for her, because we both know that it's coming from a place of love. Jess loves openly, honestly, and deeply, and I am eternally grateful for her choosing to share that with me.



I'm going to let you draw your own conclusions from these stories.
Love,
JRM

On Friends as Family (Part 1 of 2)

(Note: this letter is so long, I split it.  Part 2 tomorrow.)

Dear John,

You might wonder why I've chosen to include friends with the rest of my family. Then again, you might understand, given Uncle August and Aunt Chris, Uncle Jerry and Aunt Joanne, … you get the point. Your family consists of the people you carry in your heart, blood-related or not.

I'm sure you wonder how you're going to know that a friend will be the type you can consider family. The truth is, it differs in every situation, but ultimately, adopted family meets the same requirements as blood family – they love you for who you are, at your best and your worst, and you feel the same about them. It's been said that in a sticky situation, a friend will help you, but a true friend helps you hide the bodies. I'll offer a few examples, and maybe you can see how to figure it out on your own.

Example 1:

The first month or so I was away at college, I didn't know anyone, so I hung out with my roommate, the girls next door, and a couple of other girls down the hall from us. We'd have lunch together, hang out on weekends, that sort of thing; but I never felt like I fit with them. Some of them were rather fond of picking on one of the other girls on our floor; I don't remember what they would say, but I must have found it a bit far-fetched or something – she actually remembers better than I do. In her words, I “decided to see what all the fuss was about”. And so, in October 1994, a friendship was born between me and Molly.

To call Molly brusque was generous. Molly liked to argue, and she was very knowledgeable – a formidable combination. Inexplicably, or perhaps perfectly naturally, I took to her like a duck to water. We talked about everything, learned about everything, did everything together for the rest of the year, with her even moving in during the “Big Room Swap” in March 1995. A lot of people didn't understand why I would want to take her in, given that I could have gotten a single room out of the deal. (I think about 15 people switched rooms; if I hadn't taken her in, it would have stopped about 8 of the moves.) But Molly was the best friend I'd ever had – why would I not want to get to spend MORE time with her?

Sophomore year, we lived together again. Everything started out OK – we were sophomores, and the new girls looked to us for support and experience – something which I think we both enjoyed more than we let on (although we clearly enjoyed it at least a bit). But something spiraled out of control that year ... ok, fine, it was me. I found the Internet, and, well, let's just say things were not cool in our little world. For about 6 months, I saw Molly for an average of about 20 minutes a day – our class schedules didn't overlap very much, and I spent most of my free time glued to a computer, talking to my first “boyfriend”. (More on him later.) When I finally broke up with him after 5 awful months, I took it VERY hard. Probably a lot harder than I needed to, in fact, given the situation that precipitated the breakup. (Girls do that – you've been warned.) I didn't appreciate how she responded to the situation – which was basically that this was all a long time coming, and she wanted her damn friend back already – and I got mad, because I wanted to wallow in my misery and be pitied and have people tell me what an ass my ex was. As it happened, this was room selection time for the coming year; another friend of ours, Amanda, asked me to move in with her for the next year, since I was clearly getting along better with her than I was with Molly (meaning I was getting what I wanted), and I agreed.

I'm pretty sure I broke Molly's heart a little bit by doing that. I admit it was a cold move. There was an awful lot of personal convenience involved in me moving in with Amanda. She and I had almost all of the same classes, so we split books; she was supportive of my horrible Internet addiction, so I didn't have to worry about arguing about it; and I was one of her first friends in the program, too, so I was pleased to have her around. And frankly, I was a little tired of the arguing – you'd think it was a hobby, since that's what Molly and I did most.

So junior year, I didn't get to see very much of Molly. I was lazy and addicted to the Internet, and most of the time, she was all the way across campus in art classes or in her own dorm on the opposite edge of campus from mine. By the end of fall semester, Amanda and I were sick of each other. We only had a couple of classes together spring semester, and she started spending more time with other friends so she didn't have to be around all the time. Toward the end of the year, when room selection time came around again, Amanda announced that she would be rooming with another friend, and I agreed that that was a good idea. Around the same time, Molly and I … I don't remember who called who, because I think we were both thinking the same thing. We met up, and walked around campus for awhile, and decided that we wanted to live together again, and frankly, had probably made a mistake not staying together in the first place. We agreed to limit the arguing as much as possible, and senior year, we got a pretty ridiculously awesome room together.

After graduation, I kind of lost touch with a lot of my college friends. I was pregnant, then in graduate school, then trying to get a job. Molly was training to join the Army, then in the Army, then getting married, then trying to get a job. Yet somehow, every time we reconnected, it would be as though nothing had changed. We could still talk to each other about anything, share anything, do absolutely anything together, and it would be as though the last time we'd seen each other was yesterday.

I missed Molly's wedding. I was in graduate school and could barely afford my apartment plus expenses, let alone plane fare to Texas. It still breaks my heart that I couldn't be there for one of the most important days of her life. So of course, I made up for it by asking her to be my matron of honor – which was her fifth trip down the aisle in that role.

The thing I value most about Molly is that Molly believes in doing what's right. Not what's easiest, not what's the most fun or exciting, but what's best for everyone involved. She's a deeply caring and loving person, and I'm proud to say that she's my friend. She and I have been through an awful lot together, from losing family to getting married. I'm glad that I've had her on my side for all of it – even (and especially) when I couldn't recognize that she was on my side.