Be it the vexing half-hour chirrup of the old wall clock, Professor Litfin’s pager beep, or perhaps the sighs of the student beside you, it’s hard not to be cognizant of time’s passage. In the classroom, we are beholden to this ever-present tick-tock. We’re getting older by the second, damnit! Even closing our eyes, as we do in contemplation, does not “shut off” this inner metronome: if anything, in that dark eyelid space, the ticking’s exacerbated. We squirm with unspent energy, sensing the shortening of telomeres and our asses flattening like pizza dough in the chair. The professor leads us through contemplation, gentle prompts regarding “breath,” “attention,” or gravitational pull (vis-à-vis those asses). As Honors students in 2017, we may be particularly susceptible to racing minds: we’re over-achievers, eager to make the grade, to fit it all in (& then some; does not this post count for extra credit points, hello?!). Technology has scorched our ability to focus: we’re paced at sound-byte, at Tweet ping, capped off at 2-minutes lest another cat vid snatch our atten—LOLZ.
So when a keen classmate asks sincerely from the corner when we’ll start “actually learning stuff?”–the entire room halts. Even the wall clock raises an eyebrow, perked: Did Tim just ask that?
Indeed, he did.
“I feel like we’re just chatting, not really getting anywhere” (we had been “debriefing” and addressing housekeeping matters for a solid 20 minutes). “Until then,” he shrugs, “I’ll just keep drawing.” And draw he does, scritching into the margins of his notebook.
Did Tim just hold a speakerphone up to a collective unease? Were we all kinda-sorta thinking something similar? That is, did this slower pace, the agonizing molassesness of the class, feel torturous to the rest of us? Was it, as he suggested, so numbingly doodle-worthy?
Part of me was angry. Who is he to claim that, up until that moment, we hadn’t been “learning” anything? Sure, discussion had yet to spark, the engine not yet revved on ferocious discourse–but surely we’d get there. All in good time, right? And is there not something to be said about using class time as necessary exhalation from the heavy onslaught of text we’d read for homework? Ours is not a light topic: rather, “Planetary Politics” is a harrowing head-trip. Content can be disconcerting, depressing, Trumpian. Balancing stats, reconciling personal agency, guilt, “analysis paralysis”–the tonnage burdens a backpacked scapula. In this tender space, room 228, can’t we unwind–together–to counteract the syllabus?
Is contemplation a waste of time? That question implies that time, Tim, is a precious commodity—something to be spent wisely or foolishly. My budget as a college kid is thin: I’ve only got so many spendable minutes in my Patagonia pocket. Humans didn’t appear until, what, the final second in the 24-hour history clock? And yet we’ve still royally botched this orb in the interim. We aren’t really ones to talk about wise spending.
What if slowing ourselves down to contemplate the present—like Superman, flying backward, to twist the earth—can actually offset some of that go-go-go? Is it futile to consider Tai Chi a form of radical political action? Can “ohm” be a battle cry for the Anthropocene?
I’ve taken a risk in posting this, as I recognize its controversy. My intention is not to take Tim to task, for I’ll admit, at times I’ve felt that same restlessness (“ugh, enough already with the meditation–! give me the PowerPoint!”). Rather, I want to discuss, candidly but with respect, the feelings y’all might have w/r/t “learning stuff” and optimization of 392 time. Do you feel that the slower pace of the classroom environment hampers your ability to synthesize or make meaning of the material? Do your brains work better with pressure and hyperspeed? And what was your experience–if you had one at all–of the moment Tim spoke up? Were we grateful for his spur-kick, a necessary fuse for an otherwise lethargic Tuesday? Do you need more time to meditate on that answer?
“Don’t worry. As long as you hit that wire with the connecting hook at precisely 88 miles an hour, the instant the lightning strikes the tower… everything will be fine!
-Doc, from Back to the Future
P.S. Tim: would love to see those doodles.
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