Last week I started to read The Farther Reaches of Human Nature, a book of Maslow's essays which I believe were written later in his career. Some years ago I read Toward a Psychology of Being. Actually, I read it twice. The first time was in the 1990s as I was trying to catch up on theory about learning, while doing my campus job as an ed tech administrator, where I thought that background was necessary. Educational technology was about learning as much as it was about the technology, maybe even more so. The next time I read it was perhaps a dozen years later, when I was near retirement, where it was more pleasure reading and to gain some further self-understanding. In both instances I found that much of what I read in Maslow spoke to me directly, as if he was explaining my behavior, especially when I was writing or concentrating while making some Excel learning object.
I am somewhat reluctant to call myself a self-actualizer, because Maslow thought that those who are in this category represent only a small fraction of the population, and I am loathe to self-diagnose in a way that makes me part of an elite group. Doing so seems egotistical. But some realizations as of late make me more willing. For one, periods of complete absorption into some task happen less frequently for me now. Indeed, I'm finding that much more often I can't read straight through to the end an Op-Ed in the New York Times. In the last few years, where I've spent quite a lot of time sitting in front of my computer, I've acquired a kind of ADHD. I will speculate on why that is and what I should be doing to reduce its incidence, though much of this will come as no surprise, for it seems that everyone who is in front of a screen may be experiencing something similar. The other part is that Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs should be reconsidered to allow being on several different rungs of the hierarchy, more or less simultaneously. Most people these days are exposed to stress, from a variety of different sources. Coping with those, sometimes by caving in, other times by an inelegant approach so definitely not self-actualization in that domain, does not preclude that periods of intense concentration may accompany a writing activity or some other project I happen to be engaged in at the time. In Maslow's terms, health and sickness co-exist in me. It is not all of one and none of the other.
I suspect this is true of most people, but in varying proportions. And what I want to know, which is why I'm writing this piece, is for college students, such as the ones who will take my class this fall, having made their deal with the devil where they've opted for a non-creative path through school, is it worthwhile to encourage them to reconsider that choice, as a way to make them more effective at lifelong learning, or will there be a pernicious effect as a consequence from having pointed out their inadequacies without giving them sufficient training on how to remedy those? At present I'm opting for making the point rather forcefully, but then not belaboring it. I do believe the choice is ultimately for the students to make. My job then is only to make them aware of the decision, not to foist it upon them. But I will criticize that the "good students" in the crowd over program themselves and are constantly juggling the various activities that they've committed to. This juggling is inconsistent with deep concentration on one activity only. It may be that they've become addicted to keeping all those balls in the air and consider it something of an accomplishment just to be able to do that. Yet they are shortchanging themselves on depth of experience that way.
Let's turn to child development and what in it might encourage the creative attitude as the kid matures. It occurred to me to go back to my "report cards" from nursery school, which gave written evaluations only, no letter grades. There are two of these, one from January 1960, reporting on my progress from the previous fall, when I was 4, the other from June 1960, reporting on my progress that spring, when I was 5. The first area of the report is on physical development, where I struggled because my fine motor skills were lagging behind the other kids and because being a larger kid I may have been grouped with kids who were a bit older, even then, so this limitation may have felt even more extreme to me. The other two areas are on intellectual development and social development. There it seems my performance was much better - eager to try new things, a strong sense of completed work, a good memory, a high level of concentration, and a pleasing sense of humor. Without seeing the reports on other children, so to learn how much of this was fluff and how much was an accurate representation of the kid, this does seem quite a good foreshadowing of my adult self - at least on my good days.
Taking that as a starting point, I want to consider further developments that in retrospect seemed to matter for the creative attitude. When I grew up kids didn't get pacifiers and, as a result, thumb sucking was pretty common. I'm quite sure I did it a lot, till about age 7. I also had my favorite security blanket, so held that in my left hand while I was sucking the thumb on my right hand. That's the way I went to sleep. To give up such an ingrained habit it probably helps a good deal if whatever else comes along next satisfies the same needs in the kid. Somewhere around that time I read my first real book, Charlotte's Web, and did so sitting in an overstuffed chair in the basement with nobody else around, which provided quite a comforting environment for me. So I was able to associate this sense of security with the joy of reading. This joy was accompanied by some sense of control as to what would be read, as my school had a program of Individualized Reading, and my dad made sure I had ample reading materials, either from books we had at home or by taking me to the local library. I wrote about this in a post called Read The Book and Find Out, the invariable closing line to the book reports students did in class then.
I want to be clear here. I certainly got recommendations of what to read from adults, teachers and librarians. From that I developed a pattern. If I liked the suggestion, as I usually did, I would then read several other books by the same author and of the same genre. Eventually I'd want to move on. When I was early in this pattern, at that time I would elicit another recommendation for a different author and perhaps on a different topic. Eventually I made those choices for myself as well. Random House had a series of books for kids, biographies of famous Americans and sometimes histories of famous events. I believe these had various authors, but were written according to a style the publisher specified. I stuck with that series for quite a while and became excellent in social studies as a consequence.
While most of this reading was done outside of school I also want to note that especially in sixth grade, but perhaps in fifth grade as well, I spent a significant chunk of time doing school stuff on my own. One thing, and lets remember that in the 1960s there was no such thing as a personal computer, I had a book to teach grammar that was designed to be interactive like a learning system, such as the Plato system developed at Illinois. A little lesson was in a text box that took up part of a page. Below that was a question to test the understanding of the lesson. The answer, with an explanation, was below that. Of the two or three kids who got this sort of instruction, we were told to cover up the answer and then see if our selection was correct. If so, we could proceed. If not, we were to go back to the lesson and see if we could figure out what we didn't understand the first time. Only a few kids in the class got this programmed instruction and now, as an adult, I would love to know why I was selected to participate in it. What I want to note here is simply that at this early age, I was 10 or 11 then, the teacher encouraged me to teach myself, given the programmed learning book. I believe it reinforced the reading I was doing as another source of self-teaching.
The next step up on the path to creativity happened in 8th grade, when my math teacher asked me to join the Math Team, something that wouldn't have occurred to me on my own then. I am extremely grateful to her now for making that suggestion. As I've written about this some time ago in a post called Math as a gateway to creativity, let me only note that as a prelude to addressing open ended issues which have no known solution, working on a hard math problem while knowing in advance that there is a solution, though it's not obvious what that solution is, offers an excellent way for the mind to explore possibilities and not give up too early. I found I had some aptitude for this, a definite plus. And I found it engaged me, in the same way that many people become engaged by a puzzle that doesn't admit an immediate solution. Somewhere along the way I also developed a sense of either - I should be able to get this or this is beyond my capability. That intuition matters a good deal. It can't be perfect ahead of time. As an adult working on something much more complex than a math team problem, I still had this same intuition about whether I should be able to get a pleasing answer. Even now, I become bothered when I have that feeling, but have yet to produce something that cuts the mustard. In my class, where I do want to bring Maslow's essay to the attention of students, I will make some mention of Grit and associate it with this notion of being bothered. I persist because I can't let go when in that state of mind. Then I'm operating under a certain tension. I want release of that, but release can only come if the issue is resolved. I'm incapable of saying, let's move on and perhaps return to it later. This type of persistence as response is learned, in the sense of a habit that has formed, one which I choose not to break. While it is happening it is vexing. After the fact, the stick-to-itiveness proves remarkably productive.
Now I want to take on what is something of a puzzle, why I didn't write more in those years, particularly in high school, beyond what was required in the classes I took. I did write some, contributing an article here and there to a school publication. But I didn't feel a need to produce piece after piece, as I seem to feel now. Here are some of the reasons why. Probably most importantly, I had friends with whom I could talk about my formative ideas and learn about theirs. Having such conversations, the urge for writing was less for me. Then there was the mechanical aspect. My handwriting was atrocious. I had to slow down a lot to write out something that eventually would be typed up for publication. That made the writing activity itself more of a chore. I did learn to touch type in the summer after 10th grade, but the electric typewriter we had was in the den, the same room where my mother did her foreign language tutoring and where my parents played bridge when they had friends over to the house. So it was only available to me at certain times. Then, I pigeon-holed myself some. My older sister had friends who could quote Shakespeare, in the context of the current discussion. I definitely could not do that. Plus, in English class I often couldn't make headway with the symbolism in the poetry we read. So I didn't consider myself artsy. For that reason, I never followed through on the encouragement I got from my ninth grade English teacher to try writing for the school's literary magazine. For me, that was the road not taken.
I want to fast forward some and talk about productive habits I developed when doing research as an assistant professor, which morphed into something far less so after I retired. It would take two or three months of serious thinking to work through a model, fully digest its implications, and then write that up in a paper. I learned that between papers there needed to be a time interval for the mind to be fallow, a period of rejuvenation. Some of that would happen during the work day while I was doing my research. Doing the Times crossword, usually in the morning, and playing bridge at lunchtime provided such relief. And then I would jog or play golf, to get some exercise and have a different sort of diversion. Beyond that, however, between projects I would veg out even more - junk TV a source of downtime then. The pressure put on by publish or perish then, and later when I was an administrator to the more or less constant demands on my time, would serve as a discipline device so that the fallow time was limited. Unfortunately, many of the activities in it had their addictive aspects, so when the discipline device was eliminated, I began to indulge more than was really healthy for me. This is the underlying reality for me on which the new addictions from Facebook, Twitter, etc. have worked their evil magic.
The obvious answer is that when I'm not writing or researching a new topic to write about, I should step away from the computer. I would like to think I have the resolve when reading online to stick with that piece of reading. But the reality is that too often I bounce from one thing to another when at the computer. I may go back to reading books on paper for this reason.
Yet even in retirement there is work to do - for the class I will teach in the fall, for the volunteer organization I help to support, and once in a while trying to touch base with the ed tech universe that was my stomping grounds a decade ago. And some of this work entails its own creative activity. So I continue to delude myself that the periods intense concentration will return on their own.
Maslow is right to glorify those episodes. They are precious indeed. One may not realize that when partaking in them. After the fact, it's a different story. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
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