Stunned, silent children:
No good words yet to describe
Open to learning
Teacher at the front of the classroom, warm, friendly and assessing the rumpled classroom. Summer-fresh children gaze back, sun-kissed, relaxed bodies forced into tight rows or tidy circles, awkward in strange-smelling desks.
When you look over the sea of kids, they might appear dour, sullen, checked-out, dragging themselves along, acknowledging only their friends. Parents and teachers smile behind their hands, knowing the harsh reality of long days of tests, droning instruction, meaningless, disconnected information, just like they experienced when they went to school. That’s the way it is.
This view also includes the mirror image group of smart and accomplished kids, the ones who shoot their hand up into the air to answer (or don’t, if they’re shy), who play it safe, do all their homework all the time without stall or evasion, get the best grades, ace standardized tests, participate fully in the dizzying array of extracurricular activities that will get them into the best schools, the best jobs, and the best life.
However, when you examine individual students in detail, the scene shifts. There is the bright-eyed girl, bow perked up high, clutching her plush pink pony with the purple mane, eager to make new friends and do real calculations and play on the jungle gym. Over there is the little boy who stares out the window, not because he’s bored or longing to go outside, but because he’s working on his story or wondering.
The ones who don’t conform, don’t fit, don’t keep up, who read ahead in the story, or sneak into school when they’re not supposed to be indoors are the ones to be cherished, mentored, and understood. There’s something different about them, something we need so badly it makes our brains hurt and our hearts ache.
These kids come with curiosity. They are aware enough of themselves to know what they want and to understand what school, activities and all their other responsibilities fit into their lives. Protect that, get them what they need, and get out of the way.
School is a means to an end, not an end in itself. Acing the test, being the best student in the grade, and exceeding all measures on standardized tests can be a terrific stepping stone, but those aren’t life, aren’t what really matters in the end.
What matters in the end is being curious and staying curious, all your life. What matters is being like water or a determined toddler, finding that nearly invisible crevice, going around and through mountains, and ultimately wearing down the toughest barriers.
A young friend is struggling at work, especially in important meetings with colleagues who seem to dismiss her ideas because she is young, doesn’t use the jargon, doesn’t bludgeon others with data and thick reports, and, she fears, because she is female.
I ache for her pain, her downcast eyes and sense of defeat. Then something wicked and wonderful rises up and suggests that she be like curious water, learning, probing for the points of entry because they are there. Perhaps there is someone who seems more open to her; befriend and collaborate with this person. Where a group can be intimidating and unified, individuals rarely are and alliances can be developed. Plus, she made it in the door, so now she can capitalize on it.
More ideas come bubbling up: Ask a senior manager for their view of the situation and advice — consider reaching out to others in another department or company. Approach the boss and even their boss if possible, as courtesy and to understand their priorities and how they see things. Learn the jargon, become familiar with the trusted authorities — and consider ways to use these to advantage, to bring in new ideas, different points of view, alternative ways of doing things. What’s more, exploit the obvious difference in gender, age, and background; she has experiences and knowledge that will contribute mightily to success.
It sounds simple — possibly because it is: Know what you want and put your best thinking and energy into that. Be curious water: lean in, go under the table, take a break, keeping doing all that you can and trying every way that you can come up with to get where you want to be.
Now that I’ve thought about our last conversation when she choked out frustration and fury, I’m thinking curious water might be the way to go.
Louise Foerster 