Do to Learn; Learn to Flow; Flow to Do

By Jonathan Lam on 04/20/16

Tagged: the-homework-life the-homework-life-thought

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See the footnotes 1 and 2.

Writing is difficult. I've felt it first-hand, especially with this speech. I had so much to say, ideas sketched out on beautiful flowcharts in my mind, abstract syntheses from specific experiences developed and concrete analyses mapped out with crisp detail. Or so I thought.

With little more than a vague idea in mind, I sat there at my computer, blank screen and blinking cursor two feet from my face. Where had those ideas gone? And I decided to take a break to think up some ideas to write, and so I went for a little walk. A walk to the fridge. And when I returned, invigorated with fresh nutrients in my arteries, I realized I still hadn't thought up what I was to write. And so I thought of Dan's speakout idea on multitasking and decided to stare at my computer some more and wait for some creative magic to happen. After a few deleted drafts, I thought that perhaps keeping my mind off of the task entirely would give me some room for random, relevant thoughts to appear. And so I left, ignoring the empty draft.

And this happened for several days. Distracted thinking and no writing. Sometimes distracted writing and no thinking. Either way, I was left with nothing after the period of time that I had allocated for this task. I have plenty of time, I thought. No need to worry. But time ticked on.

And then came April break. On Saturday, I said to myself, I want to finish my homework before I go away. That gives me four days. I rushed to finish my homework, leaving the speakout towards the end so I could focus on it by itself. And by Saturday, all those other homework assignments had gone. And now I was left with this. An essay. A speech. A presentation. An alien, strange piece to write.

And I thought some more. What was holding me back? In the desperation of my inactivity, I had turned to other homework assignments, played piano (which I generally loathe and do not spontaneously do), answered a few math problems on coding-math site Project Euler, contributed to some repositories on code-version-control site GitHub, and even begun reading my Algebra and Trigonometry math textbook— yes, literally reading it word-for-word, from the beginning. Save the first two tasks, I had turned to more desperate and non-essential measures to avoid the necessary task that I had to do. In other words, I was heavily distracted.

After this little bit of metacognition, I was disturbed. I am a student and, in most respects, an awkward, introverted teenager: I am frightfully shy around strangers; I dislike many social activities and parties; I probably interact more with digital devices during my day than I do people; but strangest of all, I often take enjoyment in schoolwork. So where does the difficulty lie? What is my problem?

At that moment, I likened the current feeling most to what I might imagine an adult might feel during the long endless hours of work.

We the students of Barlow have a full-time occupation. We are all students now, and we work, in some respects, as any parent of ours in their everyday job would for a living. Grades are the rewarding salary of our toils; recommendations and scholarly awards are the promotions and vocational honors; and many of us take on this “studenting” role of society because it gives us hope for a better future. It's just like a job, isn’t it?

No. False. Incorrect. Wrong. Doubleplusuntrue.

Despite the fact that studenting may resemble a profession, it is the role a person assumes leading up to a job. And yet, because it is an infinite process— there is never a lack of things to learn— it progresses throughout any occupation and continues through the rest of a lifetime. Learning, as all mental actions, is not something so black-and-white as an ordinary job.

But there lies a problem with this eternal action. It is long and tedious at times, and many times what is “necessary” to learn does not align with personal views on what is “fun” to learn. This translates to the fact that school is not fun. It is, to many people, simply a job.

Unfortunately, our student population has grown to loathe school and related institutions. Many of us are students of the affluent, modern, first-world realm that takes the world for granted— we have lost the will to learn just to learn. Why take the effort and learn when it is just hard work? When there are video games and TV channels and pop songs and friends and sports? What good is school nowadays when there are so many other outlets of expression and talent and so many inlets for fun and enjoyment? The education system in America is a huge, inefficient (as Nathaniel will (had) talk(ed) about), socialist bureaucracy— so why bother? What best could I squeeze out of this education?

On that note, I returned to this speech. What was I to get out of this speech? I figured I wouldn't know until I had finished, but I was still very much stuck. At that moment, there were only so many things I could do. I could worry less, and simply write all the thoughts I had relative to the idea and then polish it later. Or perhaps I should worry more about it, more thoroughly planning out the writing with a specific structural model. Or I should simply write as we do a free-write, getting as off-task as I wanted to, but again trying to find meaning and finding a tangible train of thought. I decided to follow through with the third idea, and so I wrote. Perhaps this introduction isn't as coherent as I would have liked because I took this approach, but now I have an exposition. In one rush of mental expression, I now have an introduction. An almost tangible proof of my work.

And all it took was a little bit of mental exertion. A little metacognition. A little motivation. I took a little time to overcome my momentary indecision and voila!

Given all the thinking exercises we've had to do in English class, to you, my fellow period-2-Mrs.-Huminski-peers, may not seem like a problem at all. In fact, this is exactly what we do in English class for our free-writes: just start writing, and don't stop. Or perhaps it is similar to one of our discussions in class, in which we build a stream of consciousness, and come to interesting conclusions. The problem is, I have never really put it into practice beforehand. I've always stuck to long, windy thought processes and a hope that I will eventually reach an interesting yet logical conclusion— throughout the past few year of middle school and high school, I could never overcome my pet peeve of not starting without thinking everything out— unless I am forced to, such as on the English finals.

But despite all that previous teaching, it never really stuck in my mind until that moment. A moment when I was alone, working on something I was determined to finish. In a few minutes, I had put down a few words and accomplished more than I could do in the few weeks since I had been given the assignment. It might not be the best example, given your familiarity and ease with the skill, but it is relatable and relevant. So there. It works. The beginning of my speech. Done.

What an amazing little trick!

And at that moment, I had picked up something new, a little tidbit of information, a little discovery. Although probably imperceivable with my monotonous, untrained voice, I was ecstatic at the moment. So this is what Mrs. Huminski meant by writing to figure out! Perhaps I should try this more often. I longed to try it again, my mind filling up with the new possibilities— for this new discovery, however superfluous it may seem, opened up an infinite avenue of possibilities that lay hidden. It is a tool that I can use in the future to garner up some new ideas or write quicker and more creatively— and that is limitless. And it is a tool of the mind— a tool that can last forever, one that surpasses the warranties of any ordinary tool. And it is one that you can give your two cents about, a piece of advice and experience that only can be shared and passed on indefinitely.

I can only hope to try and convey this emotion, but it is indescribable; it is in part an feeling, but also a realization and conscious thought.

And in that moment, my mind and happiness opened up in a new way, and this was as a result of my education. Of school.

And this, I believe, is the reason for school— to guide us for those little moments of discovery, those little Eureka!s. Notice, however, that it only serves as a directional aid, not the direct source of the epiphany. It gives the foundation for inspiration, and your motivation delivers it.

In other words, consider education is the teacher. You are the student. It gives examples, provides help when asked for, lures out new understanding. Simple as that.

But it's not so simple. Many of us are no longer students. Many of us don't learn to gain knowledge and wisdom. We learn to gain a competitive edge in this world of globalization. And even more of us have simply given up.

But this is wrong. Utterly wrong. I believe that much of this straying from the role of studenting is caused by misinformation. Misjudgment. A false sense of the word "learning." In the world of today, when education is not a must to live a better life, many of us do not seek to find a greater joy in the realm of education. If we don't have those moments of discovery, why should we?

I have faced this dilemma multiple times in my recent studenting career. I've strayed many times to prioritizing many other, more fun activities over school. If you have video games and you can "get by" your classes, why try harder to learn? If you can program computers for fun and pass your classes, what is preventing you from taking breaks from schoolwork to hop on your computer? If you can play a Varsity sport well enough to get a full scholarship to a prestigious university, why divert your focus to mental activities?

In other words, what happens when we get more passionate about other activities? What do you do then?

Where does passion come from? A passionate gamer is one that is strategic, one who wins often and perhaps even boast his talents on social media. A passionate hacker is one that has a great ability, knowing a great deal about programming techniques, structures, and platforms. A passionate runner is one that knows good running form from experience, one who trains and listens well to Coach's advice.

But we often overlook something. As mentioned earlier, learning is an everlasting process— it can stand on its own in a dedicated studenting position, or it can compliment other occupations. The gamer is one who starts from scratch, building up and learning strategies from experience or from the observation of others. The hacker uses an extraordinary amount of mental exertion to understand poorly-written technical documentations, attempts to gain from collaborating with others and looking at their code, and learns from his own, grievous mistakes that "blow up" his computer. And the runner could not be the star he was without carefully analyzing his own running style and strengths from experience and from the outside view that his coach provides.

In every case, learning is the key to these passions Learning from experience or observation or advice, but learning nonetheless.

And is it not the same case with the idea of discovery? When that gamer applies a new trick, does he not cheer in excitement, a new skill borne to him that he can use forevermore? And when the hacker discovers the missing semicolon at the end of line five thousand seven hundred thirty-two at two o'clock in the morning, will he too feel the wonderful excitement when the week's project works beautifully? And when a runner discovers that a tiny change in movement will give him the "kick" that provides the speed to overtake his opponents, will he not be content with a new confidence in his heart that had not hitherto existed?

What makes this any different from the role of an intellectual? Is it not true that when a little piece of advice strikes us in class, we should all jump up and cheer in excitement? Is it simply because we may not "be good at" something that we do not endeavor to find the beauty behind what we learn?

For example, when you learned the elegant proofs for the Pythagorean theorem or the quadratic formula, did they not amaze you? Did it not leave you in awe when you discovered that e^(2pi*i)— an expression with two famous irrational numbers, one of which is imaginary and part of an exponent— can be equal to the wonderfully simple number, 1? And if they did not, was it the apparent difficult and sophistication that masked your confused eyes? Admit it— when we performed various experiments with hydrochloric acid, could you imagine what a tiny, two-atom acid had the potential to do? Or even in this class, when Siddhartha taught us that all is transitory and fake without the opposite being equally true— we can only live because there exists death, and we can take the chance to learn what is right only because there is an ignorant crowd threatening to perform the rash and unjust.

Therefore, education is all about the epiphany— the moments of little enlightenment that brighten up the future with hopes of something new. The essence of school lies not in the everyday lectures, but instead in the revelations associated with them. Worksheets, projects, and assessments are realistic tools that teachers can wield— methods hated by the students, but they are effective.

Often, however, the workload overshadows the importance of the meaning of school, and we students are left in a state of despair. Students cuss, cram, and cheat more often than ever before to simply get the work done, but at that point they have lost sight of the goal they should be reaching for. As I had said previously, they are no longer the student, but simply charlatans in their false quest for amassing knowledge through memorization. At this point, there is no learning, but a temporary receptacle for necessary but unwanted information.

I've always believed in the maxim, "the more you know, the less you know." In my mind, it is a wonderful paradox: the more you explore the world around you, the larger it gets. In other words, the harder you try to learn, the more you realize you have left to learn. It seems that it would be an extremely demotivating factor, but it is paradoxical in that sense as well: it is in fact a snowball effect, a virtuous cycle that pushes you to learn more.

For instance, when I had discovered this new technique to read more, there was not a trace of worry in my mind that there would be too many things to discover; instead, I had overflowed with the excitement of the prospect of new learning. How many new limits was I to overcome, when I could now express my thoughts more freely and undercover even more meaning— hence beginning a new cycle of understanding. Opening up the world to your mind is truly a never-ending exploration, and the deeper you dive into it, the exponentially farther you can go. And when you can continue subconsciously, indefinitely surpassing previous borders with new knowledge, this is the state of flow. Of happiness. Of learning.

But in a world where school is worse than work, this is largely lacking in society. The vast majority of my peers and friends would rather not be in school, nor do their schoolwork. Finishing mathematics textbook homework is tedious, mistake-prone work; annotating a packet for English class is long work; writing an efficient prime-sieving algorithm in a computer sciences class is mind-wrenching work; writing an argumentative paper on your position on America's international role is boring— and, when compounding many days' equivalent of this endless toil, there seems to be no end to this effort. This hard work. This job.

And because of this constant difficulty, I've seen these same peers, who were mighty scholars in the elementary and middle school days, begin to lose focus. Many of them have turned to other hobbies, other passions, other goals— and yet I often see some who are still lost. They are restless, undecided because they are unwilling to put in the effort to complete the difficult tasks that await them in school and elsewhere. People resort to cramming, cheating, quitting.

I've often felt the same way. For the past few years, when my grade in English has been lacking, this class was my least favorite. I procrastinated on every essay, cramming it in at the end; I still often am tempted to do so, as I've mentioned earlier about this selfsame essay. And my mind is often distracted when I sit down on the piano bench to practice the same song for dozens of days, the same instrument for thousands of days. Even in the middle of some coding projects that I already had well planned-out, a few syntactical errors can ruin my motivation for several days, severely hindering my progress with learning and accomplishing. My priorities are sometimes not taken into account when I have my computer close-by and I am able to program or check my email and Facebook, and I even turned to popular video game Clash of Clans as a reprieve from my homework, a release that eventually took up enough time to make the situation worse. And cross-country is probably the best example: running is pain, I'm not the best runner, yet I still do it. Why?

Because I try. I am a so-called "try-hard," and I will not let myself do any worse than my best. You might not believe what the slightest bit of constant effort can do you. To get past the pain, the boredom, the anxiety, the depression, the dismay, just take a little conscious reminder, and it will soon build up the momentum to continue spontaneously. With just a little bit of effort, you can reach the almighty idea of "flow"— it just needs sufficient "activation energy," the initial speed to get it going.

Put a smile on your face. Stop saying, "I hate this class." Be prepared for class. Find out what you love to learn. Make connections. Do your work without complaining. Diagnose distractions with metacognition. In other words, learn to love school. Flip around your mindset so that you can view your studies in a different light— one of discovery and enjoyment, not the odious profession that you may falsely make it out to be.

Of course, if you really do love learning—which is probably true for many of us in this challenging advanced English class— this does not apply to you— but still, try to take into consideration the importance of the epiphany. Make sure not to forget the joy in learning.

1: This is my "sophomore speakout" first draft. It is piece directed at my English classmates, and it is meant to be an impactful speech.

2: The image is from a large raster image from Google Images — with Inkscape I managed to turn it into a vector graphic that is less than 10% the original size, and it scales infinitely!