A marshmallow world

Though not what Carl Sigman, Peter DeRose, Bing Crosby, or Dean Martin meant by the phrase, we created our own marshmallow world in class this morning. Graduate students in a multi-disciplinary course in Innovation and Creativity took The Marshmallow Challenge.  It was engaging, fun, and a good way to start a snowy, cold Monday.

The best educational experiences provide both the experience itself and a tool for later use.  Building a free-standing structure of spaghetti, one yard of tape, one yard of string, and one marshmallow (which must be on top) in 18 minutes is a quick way to illustrate the value of  prototyping, the importance of diverse skills, and the many marshmallows we encounter in whatever work we do. The students enjoyed the challenge and the winning team (all male) sent photos to their moms.

It's a marshmallow world in so many ways.

The winning tower at 28 3/8 inches.

Minds traveling

Last week, we visited the clock tower on campus. A group of 19 freshmen and I walked through the corridors of a historic classroom and office building to see the original bell (from the bell tower located at the other end of the building), the history of the clock tower that had no clock for most of its life, and the mechanism that currently produces the Westminster Chimes heard each day between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m.

The clock tower is both a working tower and a museum (albeit on a small scale) to honor history and tradition.  For me, it is a reminder of childhood days spent in Germany, where church bells and manicured cemeteries are ubiquitous. In fact, I found myself explaining to the students the unique sound of Westminster Chimes (yes, I was singing; there's really no other way) and searching for a connection that would resonate for most of them.  The one that worked? Mary Poppins.  The movie.  With The Palace of Westminster and Big Ben in the opening scenes.

When we returned to class, I offered a brief explanation of my fascination with pendulum clocks and the various chimes associated with Bavaria.  And I've been thinking for several days now about how each place I've traveled (Panama, Canada, Mexico, the United Kingdom, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Switzerland, Austria, France, Belgium, Holland, and the majority of the 50 U.S. States) has influenced my thinking, my preferences, my attitudes, my reading...an impact that reaches far beyond the actual time spent in traveling:

• Cemeteries I visit and photograph: Germany.  
• Tulip bulbs in my garden that herald Spring: Holland. 
• The locks of the Panama Canal that fascinate me: Panama.
• Quality chocolate : Switzerland, Belgium, France.
• Classic movies I enjoy watching: Germany, Switzerland, France (Paris), the United Kingdom (London)
• Trains I ride as often as I can: Europe

The list goes on, as I age, travel with my daughter (most recently London; next up New York City), and encourage students to look beyond the immediate to see the past as something other than a history text to endure, to experience the present unfolding both in their own community and in the communities of others, and to image the future differently because of those experiences.  Whether we travel by way of reading, by way of theory (Stephen Hawking is one of my favorite role models for mind travel), or by way of imagination, it's important that our minds travel.  

As a case in point, after class I did a bit of reading about Westminster Chimes and learned that they are also called Cambridge Chimes.  St. Mary the Great, located in central Cambridge, is the home of the chimes which have always been Westminster Chimes to me.  

Minds traveling are minds learning.

Expert risk takers

Decisions not to pursue a course of action unless we are reasonably certain of success. Taking the safe path.  Calculating the odds.  Weighing the alternatives and choosing with care.  One really can't argue with any of these.  On the other hand, there would be no air travel, vaccines, tall buildings, or world records if everyone calculated, weighed, and chose safely.

Why is there not room for both in my workplace, my class, my family...and my life?  And what is the role of education?  What about the role of learning?

I recently watched Erin McKean talk about lexicography (that seems a safe enough topic) and was struck by her assertion that "paper is the enemy of words"...that the book-shaped repository for words is self-limiting.  What makes these statements powerful is that Erin McKean is a lexicographer who loves books and words with a passion I admire. Able to embrace both the historical paper dictionary and the limitless online dictionary, McKean provides both reassurance and challenge:

There will still be paper dictionaries.  When cars became the dominant mode of transportation, we didn't round up all the horses and shoot them.

Exploring alternatives does not necessarily eliminate the historical voice.  What if embracing both the limits and the limitless allows more people into the conversation?  If encouraging risk is important, perhaps the challenge is being open to the who, what, when, why, and how questions that all curious and creative people ask.  They just ask them differently...or refuse the accept the old answers.

I am not advocating foolish or ill-advised risk in the classroom or in life.  Rather, I am wondering why we ceased to provide the solid foundation of knowledge that allows room for experimentation, risk (failure?), discovery, and innovation. It's the experts who seem to make the best risk-takers.

At what cost humor?

I just searched the inbox of a rarely-used email address in the hope (faint though it was) that I might find an email from CD Baby.  I found it:  

Your CD has been gently taken from our CD Baby shelves with sterilized contamination-free gloves and placed onto a satin pillow.

A team of 50 employees inspected your CD and polished it to make sure it was in the best possible condition before mailing. 

Our packing specialist from Japan lit a candle and a hush fell over the crowd as he put your CD into the finest gold-lined box that money can buy. 

We all had a wonderful celebration afterwards and the whole party marched down the street to the post office where the entire town of Portland waved "Bon Voyage!" to your package, on its way to you, in our private CD Baby jet on this day, Wednesday, October 24th. 

I hope you had a wonderful time shopping at CD Baby. We sure did. Your picture is on our wall as "Customer of the Year." We're all exhausted but can't wait for you to come back to CDBABY.COM!! 

Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Sigh...
--
Derek Sivers, president, CD Baby
the little store with the best new independent music

Notice the date.  October 24.  That's October 24, 2007.

How often does a company send a "your product has shipped" email that customers remember?  For five years?  And what made me remember this one?  It warmed my heart...it felt personal...it made me laugh.  It made me want to teach my very own cd baby to laugh, to love, and to write well.

A perfect blend of information, humor, and quirkiness made such an impression that I have referenced this email in conversations and in classes for over five years.  I've been providing free marketing for an innovative small business.

Life lessons in unexpected places

First night of Comedy College and it was awesome.  Awesome not to be the instructor, awesome not to have homework to grade, and awesome just to be there.  Did I mention it was awesome?

There are seven of us who considered a class in improvisational comedy a good idea.  It turns out we were right, though maybe not for the reasons we thought.

I already knew that being funny was not required for improv; otherwise, I wouldn't have considered the course. What I didn't fully appreciate is that improv is a skill, one that involves listening, being in the moment, focusing on one's partner(s), and viewing ourselves and others without judgment.  The most important element of improvisational comedy is genuineness.

Who knew?

Earlier today, I was talking with a student about the 88 keys on a piano...and how a magnificent piano can sound very different when played by a student at her first recital than it sounds when played by a virtuoso.  In music, in management, in improvisational comedy, who we are makes all the difference.  

I suspect that many of my students, my colleagues, and my friends struggle with whether to be successful as defined by society (or family, in many cases) or to be true to who they are.  It's a decision we face many places in life, even in a class on improvisational comedy.

Related Ramblings:

Medici at the improv

We talk too much

It's not that I'm opposed to conversation; I thrive on razor-sharp dialog, lightening-quick humor, and premise-challenging interactions.  What I want to stop is the habit of lecturing that we've somehow substituted for teaching.

My semester is off and running and I am reminded (yet again) how much I enjoy the craft and calling of teaching...and how frustrated I am by the myriad forces that have created an increase in the size and number of lecture courses.  I am one of the fortunate ones, afforded the opportunity to work with smaller, specialized  undergraduate classes and the ubiquitously-diligent graduate classes.  Even there, however, the method of teaching is not always ideal, as noted by one of the exiting graduate students this summer:

There was no course in the MMBA program (where) we were able to get one-on-one or even group interaction with a professor.

This bothers me, as an educator, as the parent of a near-college-age student, and as a citizen.  The advent of classrooms and schools rather than individual or small-group interaction (think "Socratic method") were an attempt to be efficient and effective in educating more people more quickly.  Good idea.  Good intention.  Mediocre implementation, taken as a whole.

This is on my mind, of late, due to the steadily growing body of data that indicates we have a better way to educate--one that is efficient, effective, and replicates many of the best aspects of the mentor, the dialog, the one-on-one.  But don't take my word for it. Listen to Daphne Koller, who has enough academic credentials and research experience to be more than credible when she says:

We should spend less time at universities filling our student's minds with content by lecturing them, and more time igniting their creativity...by actually talking with them.

Medici at the improv

Focus. I admire focus.  Occasionally, I emulate focus.  Far more often, though, my mind flits or races in seemingly random ways, seeing intersections that beckon and distract.  The cost to my ability to stay on track and complete something (anything) is high, but the benefit to my imagination and curiosity is equally high.  And I've been willing to pay the price, largely because I can't seem to function any other way.

So imagine how much fun it is to hear "I have a book for you"...and find that seeing intersections and asking lost of questions is the subject of the book called The Medici Effect.  Part of the appeal of the book is the historical linkage to the Medici family and their influence in making Florence the culture center of Europe around the time of the Renaissance.

Perhaps The Medici Effect explains why I recently sign up for improvisational comedy classes.  That explanation works as well as any other.

Creative destruction

What is the tipping point that determines when one thing (a wall or a tree, for example) should be destroyed to make room for another, presumably better, thing?  How do we know?  How do we decide?  And who gets to make the decisions?

Today, I can see--and hear--the removal of the top layer of a brick wall, brick by brick. The construction fences, scaffolding, and machinery disrupt the flow of traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, as the noise disrupts the flow of thought.  Large swaths of trees, pavement, and buildings are disappearing to make way for something else.

Yes, there is the need for change and progress.  I teach these topics, so I know these things.  I know that backing up is sometimes necessary to go forward, that disruptive technology can also destroy, and that loss accompanies all growth.  But there is a part of me that mourns the loss of a majestic tree and questions the removal (at some unknown cost for man and machine) of a perfectly good wall.

The changes I initiate (and support) should make sense to me.  And the others?  The ones I don't initiate?  They should make sense to someone...

The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself.  Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.  -- George Bernard Shaw

You just can't plan these things...

Today, in a completely unexpected encounter, I found myself talking about the Capstone course to an executive at a large retail company.  In the midst of a discussion about sustainability, I went off (or on and on, depending upon perspective) about the shift I had observed in students who took the Capstone course this summer.

I found myself explaining that I'd taken a risk (which is not a surprise, by now, is it?) by substituting 'the lens of sustainability' for the traditional business simulation associated with Capstone.  As I rhapsodized (you had to be there) about the shift I'd observed in some of the students over the course of the semester, I heard myself explaining how some students moved from a negative or skeptical perspective (about the relevance of sustainability for business) to a recognition of the business value in thinking about the world--and the people in it--as a resource worth safeguarding.

And then?  She asked to see how I'd designed my course.  It seems that her job is, in part, helping consumers make the same shift from skepticism--which, in a retail context, may be more accurately described as cynicism--to understanding, if not embracing, the value of protecting and renewing resources.

Who knew?

Food for the soul

I'm in the midst of another (new) course and find myself richer for the experiences I had and the risks I took with the phenomenal students in the Spring.  In Innovation and Creativity, for example, the final assignment was one of four options:

1. Provide a course review (what I have learned, what was most/least beneficial, what I will use, etc.).
2. Write a personal assessment (my Myers-Briggs type, my strengths/weaknesses, etc. and how/whether those attributes will contribute to or hinder my ability to be creative and drive innovation in my job).
3. Create a presentation (Prezi, cartoon, poster board...anything other than PowerPoint) that expresses my view of (a) what it means to be creative and (b) the value of innovation.
4. Research and package/present the best sources to nurture and support your personal and professional creativity.

I received things that made me laugh.  A few surprised me, either in content or in sheer creativity.  Some made me think.  Others touched me on a personal level:

Although many of the assignments were frustrating at first, as I was completing them I found that I actually enjoyed completing them. My favorite assignment was the “thinking about thinking” assignment. I honestly did not realize how routine and unnecessarily stressful my daily life was until I completed that assignment. By doing something different every day I found myself feeling more accomplished and comfortable with more creative efforts. It has motivated me to make a conscious effort to incorporate change in my daily routine, and aim to try new things whenever possible.

Similarly, despite the fact the class constantly forced me to work outside my comfort zone, the days when we sat on the floor or listened to music were among my favorites because it was a refreshing change from the typical class. I enjoyed the class session focused on design and the utility of Google reader and blogs. I have discovered a new love for blogs. I use Google reader on a daily basis, and I find that I know have started seeking and searching for information in a completely different way. I feel more connected to the world and informed about current issues.

The most important thing I am leaving the class with is that I have a need to be creative. I discovered that many of the class assignments were the only source and outlet of creativity in my life. After completing many of the assignments I felt satisfied, almost like a feeding a hunger pain. The class reconnected me with my creative side, which seemed to be buried underneath all the accounting curriculum and the “hustle and bustle” of everyday life. It has inspired me to start a blog and even extend my creative efforts to the kitchen. Being creative has become a release from the tasks that consume my every day, and it is necessary to my well-being and future happiness.

There's really nothing else to say...

Accounts receivable or accounts paid?

This is the last week of classes for the spring semester.  Students have mostly checked out, instructors are wondering why they assigned all the work that requires grading, and everyone is counting the days until the semester is over.

In the graduate-level Innovation and Creativity class, groups are making presentations about innovations within the industry they chose. Today, a group of six, all of whom are graduating with a Masters in Accountancy, almost brought tears to my eyes.  For their presentation on "An Accountant's Guide to Creativity," each student wore a white t-shirt with one of the following in simple black letters: 

• Be Audit You Can Be
• Nice Assets
• It's Accrual World
• Filing Single?
• Straight Line Inebriation
• Let's Get Fiscal

They were well-prepared, proud to be part of the accounting profession, and full of the confidence, hope, and promise associated with youth.  As a group, they took a risk, stepped outside the expectations associated with their profession, and lampooned the stereotypes about accountants (including a video of John Cleese...how great is that?).

They hit a home run.  They rocked.  They made me proud.  And the photo they took of themselves and sent to me after their presentation?  Looking at it makes me smile.

Learning can be painful for the instructor

In the final stretch of the academic semester, the interest always builds.  Not in the content of the course, however, but in The Grade and what it will take to get The Grade by the end of the semester.  It's perilously close to the end of my first semester to teach innovation and creativity.  I am not happy with the method I established at the beginning of the semester for determining grades and neither is a subset of my students.

In courses I've taught before, I have a reasonably robust method of assessing student learning.  I've clarified the expectations, developed rubrics (where they are of benefit), and created assignments that measure progress toward course objectives...more or less.  Because I'm never completely happy with whatever process is in place to determine The Grade.

In the innovation and creativity course, my logic at the beginning of the semester was to assess completion (rather than quality) of assignments in the majority of the homework or in-class work.  Thus, there have been frequent, short assignments with low point value (10-20 points), so that students could be candid or creative or selectively omit assignments.  The total number of points earned (at least in some portions of the course) was left to the student.  The unintended consequences were a record-keeping challenge for me and a fallacy of composition for students.

I ended up monitoring submission and/or completion of numerous assignments with low point value for 35 students; some of the students chose not to complete early assignments (due to the low point value) and are now unhappy with The Grade.  The goal of allowing students freedom to be expressive, take risks, and manage their level of interaction has worked very well for some, well enough for most, and extremely poorly for the rest.

The easy solution is to limit the number of assignments and provide more structure relative to the content.  But since the easy solution seems to defeat the purpose of the course, I have more thinking to do about how to determine The Grade when I teach this course again.  And I intend to solicit as much input as I can get from my current students...particularly the unhappy ones.  At this point, I'll take any suggestions I can get.

Our childhood stories

The majority of the 35 graduate students who were asked to write about a children's book--a book which might hold lessons for their professional life--chose to write about their favorite book from childhood.  I'm not sure why that surprised me, but it did.  And I was equally surprised by how many of their selections are on my own list of favorite books:

• Encyclopedia Brown by Donald J. Sobol
• The Little Engine That Could by Watty Piper
• If You Give a Mouse a Cookie by Laura Joffe Numeroff
• If I Ran the Zoo by Dr. Seuss
• Curious George by Margret and H.A. Rey
• Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
• You're You, Charlie Brown by Charles M. Shultz 
• The Tale of Benjamin Bunny by Beatrix Potter
• The Berenstain Bears and the Messy Room by Stan and Jan Berenstain
• The Missing Piece and the Big O by Shel Silverstain

What touched me were the personal stories woven into the beloved books from childhood.  Books read by mom or dad...the first book they remember reading alone...the book that helped make sense of the world.  One student told me about going home over the previous weekend and asking her mother about Plateo.  Mom had forgotten about the book and, once reminded, didn't know where it was.  But the student searched, found the book, wrote her assignment, and brought the book to class. 

One doesn't expect a graduate student in accounting to bring a children's book to share with her teacher.  And I didn't expect to see her eyes light up when she talked about Plateo (Guy Gilchrist's Plateo's Big Race: A Tiny Dinos Story About Learning), her memories of the book and the character, the scribbling (her own) she'd found in the book, the message she remembered, or how happy she was to have reclaimed this piece of her childhood.  She brought the book to class so that I could see it, touch it, and read it. She brought a reclaimed piece of herself to class and it was the best moment of my day.

No place like home

It has been a month ("how did that happen?" I ask myself) since I wrote, the first gap of that length since I started a blog.  Some of what I've learned:

• Students absolutely must have the structure imposed by a syllabus, course calendar, and clear assignments.  Otherwise, they will do exactly what I've done this semester and put off whatever does not have a deadline and/or cause some pain (to grade, salary, etc.).
• It's difficult to balance the demands of ones job with the desires to learn anything not required for the job.  (See previous point.)
• Though I have enjoyed the challenges of my non-teaching semester, nothing has captured my enthusiasm as much as the recent preparation for teaching.  I have missed this.
• I do not have to present my course content in the linear format preferred by most academics. The overview and "course calendar" for the Innovation and Creativity course are now in Prezi  so that I could capture as closely as possible the 3x5 cards and sticky notes I used to design the flow of the course.  
• Everything is (still) connected to everything.  The acquired knowledge about standards, certifications, strategic decisions, data requirements, and other components of sustainable business practices are enriching my preparation for the courses I will teach next semester.
• Several of the business people with whom I've developed relationships over the past six months are willing (and incredibly capable) guest lecturers in their area(s) of expertise.  Everybody wins.
• Once you take on a new role, it's hard to give it back; thus, I will juggling more responsibilities next semester than in any previous semester here.  The synergy works, though, at least with careful planning and multi-tasking.
• I miss being in the classroom.

Perfect moments

Today I watched a master teacher.  He'd met his students for the first time this morning and spent the day with them; the result of their collective work was perfect.  As I watched those students, everything in me wanted to freeze the moment, hang onto it, and squeeze the last drop of meaning and awareness for them.  It's not that the students weren't enjoying the moment; they were, with every fiber of their beings.  It's that they will soon be adults; their lives will accelerate, some will go to war (in fact, the only student I knew in the group is in the midst of ROTC interviews) and, in the words of T.S. Eliot, they may have "had the experience but missed the meaning."  And I was humbled thinking about the beauty of the teaching moment.

When Don Bailey took the stage to conduct 20 senior high school musicians in the All-Region Jazz Band, he brought his heart and soul--his passion--and electrified the students, the stage, and the entire high school auditorium.  His ability to ignite the passion of the students and fan the flames of the collective talent was magical and time stood still in that auditorium for me today.

Don has been teaching at his current location for 25 years, bringing 10 years of prior teaching experience with him.  When he calls roll at the beginning of the semester, Don says he asks students two things--their name and their passion.  And to the students who ask how to know their passion, Don's response is profoundly simple.  Your passion, he says, is what you must do...when asked why you do whatever it is, the only response you can make is "because I have to." 

It's important to have a marketable skill and to be productive members of society.  But far too often, I think, it comes at the cost of the passion that sustains us.  Though I didn't intend to spend part of my afternoon watching a senior high jazz band, it may be the most perfect moment I've witnessed lately.

A jinx on both your classes

I wrote a few weeks ago about the oxymoronic exhortation to be spontaneous.  Closely related is the conundrum of being labeled "creative," a surefire way to create a self-consciousness that rarely co-exists with creativity.  Next semester, I have the opportunity to take all of this to new heights by teaching a class entitled Innovation and Creativity for which I will be "perfect" because I am "so creative."  Oy vey.

Honestly, I like marching to a different drummer, singing my own song, taking the path not traveled, and seeing things from a different perspective.  But the minute you label them as unique or try to teach them to others....well, they kind of become mainstream and defeat the intended purpose of expressing uniqueness.  So, I tend to let others teach it and write about it ("it" being "how to be different") and just do what seems to work for me in any given moment or situation.  Now, however, I'm supposed to teach a group of graduate students how to be "it."  Oh my.

Yes, I love to teach.  Yes, I love a challenge.  Yes, I think it's important to find a unique contribution to the world.   I'm just not sure I know how to teach something I've never stopped to analyze or study and which seems to be nothing more than how I make my way in the world.

I have textbooks and a syllabus from the previous semester, both of which I am devouring in the hope that I will discover some magic formula for teaching something that seems both ineffable and idiosyncratic.  Perhaps it wouldn't be so daunting if I didn't feel the pressure to BE CREATIVE in front of 30 students who assume I know this stuff.   If chaos is in any way linked to creativity, then I'm feelin' real creative about now.  And that real creative feeling is temporarily getting in the way of preparing for both my Spring classes, as I'm having trouble with the focus part of creativity.

I started writing this blog to remind myself how it feels to be the learner; I am considering myself reminded.

Maybe we should have left it as it was

John Basinger recites Milton's Paradise Lost--the entire 60,000 words--from memory.  He started memorizing the poem when he was 58.  (You can listen here.)  I can't decide what fascinates me more, that he started at 58, that he was able to memorize Milton's entire work (I have trouble with my grocery list), or that he learns something new (what he describes as "a delicious possibility") with each recitation of the 60,000 words.

So, when Newsweek reported (this month) the data demonstrating that creative thinking is declining in America and explained that "those who diligently practice creative activities learn to recruit their brains’ creative networks quicker and better," I wondered again why we've abandoned the rigor that shored up innovation.  Some of the highlights:

• A recent IBM poll of 1,500 CEOs identified creativity as the No. 1 “leadership competency” of the future.
• When scholars gave creativity tasks to both engineering majors and music majors, their scores laid down on an identical spectrum, with the same high averages and standard deviations. 
• A lifetime of consistent habits gradually changes the neurological pattern.

And the last quote reminded me that I've written before about Proust and neural networks and the possibilities for change--change at a fundamental, personal, neurological level.  We can alter our own realities (we can debate the limits another time), far later in life than previously thought and far more rigorously in the service of creativity, education, and innovation.  The education of our grandparents and great-grandparents was largely rote memorization, which has been widely vilified in favor of more open-ended instruction.  Rigor and creativity are inextricably confounded; why do we persist in attempts to separate them academically?