Country Sketches [Part 2]

Last post, I wrote about the appeal of country living even while admitting that the reality is probably much less idealized. I wrote quite a bit in positive terms about what opportunities are there. However, a lot of the appeal in country life lies as much in what is not there as what is. So much we cannot imagine being without (or escaping, as the case may be) is missing in the country -- barrages of billboards alongside massive highways, large-scale manmade lighting systems, the many inconveniences (e.g. traffic, pollution, garbage, etc.) of many people living somewhere without any real sense of ownership, etc.

Perhaps the most notable absence in the country is noise. There is a difference between sound and noise. A bird singing is sound, an approaching thunderstorm is sound, a deer breaking branches as it walks through the thicket is sound. Cars, TV, radio, refrigerators, computers, leaf blowers, lawnmowers, tractors, conversations we overhear that do not concern us -- all these things are merely noise. Noise is audible clutter. Noise is intrusive. Noise is artificial and unnecessary while sound is natural and naturally part of an environment. Noise means nothing, yet it is everywhere.

While I was growing up, my father loved yard work, and he was sure to include me as much as possible with or without my willingness. This resulted in some really good conversations and also some time to think. I believe that in contemporary society, many people deprive themselves of the privilege -- the pure joy -- of merely thinking and meditating. Meditating is an art, when done correctly, and all too often it seems it is becoming a forgotten art. I am reminded of the student last semester who said she couldn't plan and write an essay without the TV. She said she couldn't "concentrate" on writing -- couldn't think -- unless she had the background "noise" of people talking. This student reminds me of the much more extreme example of Guy Montag's wife in Ray Bradbury's novella Fahrenheit 451, who is so lost amid the audible clutter of pointless TV shows that she can't remember attempting suicide or where exactly she met her husband of 10 years, but nonetheless, can't be happy until she gets the fourth wall-size TV screen to complete her viewing room. Although the wife is an exaggerated type and the student is -- well, a typical 18-year-old -- I have met more people addicted to TV and noise than not, and it seems meditative thinking -- indeed, critical thinking in general -- is an increasingly rare practice. These are probably generalizations, but generalizations generally have some degree of truth, however small, underlying them. And, by the way, I do not consider myself immune from occasionally (albeit, very occasionally) becoming entranced by sports programs (e.g. the NCAA basketball championship comes on tonight).

One type of meditative thinking I've found beneficial is reflection. In fact, the pedagogical uses of reflective writing in the classroom served as one of my interests in graduate school, and without getting into the pedantic details, I require all my students to write short reflective essays accompanying every major essay they write. The reason is not to make them do busy work, although I'm sure many of them initially feel this way, but to challenge them to think about the process of writing and purpose of the assignment beyond just the product and grade. And I have found that, not surprisingly, students who take the reflection seriously write better essays and earn better grades than those merely concerned with "making the A." Now before you accuse me of being a pedagogical weenie (besides, my students will speak otherwise about the intellectual rigor I require), I wonder: What would happen in the realm of business ethics if executives thought about the process of their actions as much as the product of profits? What would happen if politicians thought about the process and real purposes of leadership more than the product of another term in office? What would happen if the general public shut-up about the product of "good test scores" long enough so educators could attempt instilling in students an appreciation for the process and real purposes of learning?

Regardless, the reflective essay has been an incredibly beneficial and useful pedagogical tool, and many students began to see their writing (and thus grades) improve once they began taking the reflection seriously and actually came to enjoy (relatively speaking) writing reflectively (except the girl who admittedly "didn't like to think deep"), although it requires more work. This result is no surprise. As far back as Socrates ("The unexamined life is not worth living"), reflecting on process has been a cornerstone to improving any "product:" from learning and leadership to art and religious living.

One of my professors and mentors, Dr. Samuel Watson -- or as he prefers, just Sam -- incorporated reflective writing into his classroom for decades. He deeply believes in the benefits and uses of exploratory and reflective writing, and I am naturally drawn to this type of writing as well (perhaps because of my natural draw to philosophy?). Sam has published articles and classroom-based studies on the uses and benefits of reflective writing, not only in the writing classroom but across the curriculum and also in the workplace. Donald Schon, author of the wonderful book The Reflective Practitioner, has also been an influential voice on how professionals can use reflection. I highly recommend his book to teachers and non-academics alike.

Problem with reflection is, you have to make time to do it, and you have to find a place quiet enough to do it. No TV blabbering, no radio spouting off, no cars whizzing, no refrigerators buzzing, no computers humming, no one talking, etc. You have to find a place that doesn't have noise, and if you live anywhere remotely urban (even a small town), this is more challenging than at first it appears.

I imagine that in the country there is the space and isolation necessary to sustain engaged reflection without nearly as much interference from noise. Although there may be plenty of sound, I imagine you do the type of work that allows you to hear yourself think. And, I suspect, if we take time to think, reflect, and sit in silent contemplation for extended periods of time, we would begin to realize just how much life we're missing while we're busy living.