Surfing the Flux into the 21st Century

At the Aalto Systems Forum in Finland, 2014, Peter Senge asked participants if humanity is going to be an agent of change that will shape the planet then what is the

Retrieved from: https://phys.org/news/2017-07-humanity-sustainability-abandoning-planet-earth.html

consciousness that will be required to do this successfully? According to Senge, we cannot exist, as a species, without some thinking, some ethos, some set of ideas, some sort of overarching way of thinking and talking that will enable us, since language is so important, to exist in a niche (26:15). Senior Lecturer at the Sloan School of Management MIT, and cofounder of the Academy for Systemic Change, Senge made a very persuasive argument for why we need to teach systems intelligence in schools alongside math, language arts, and music. This argument made me look at the Redesigned BC Curriculum and the term “21^st century learners” in a different light. Schools are not turning out future factory workers, we are educating mindful, ethical, conscious agents of change.

Ostrich or Agent of Change?

This morning, while enjoying my coffee and LinkedIn newsfeed, I stumbled onto an

Retrieved from https://www.zooportraits.com/portraits/common-ostrich/

intersection of thought that needed further pursuit. I have been reading All Systems Go by Michael Fullan (2010), a thought provoking text on how to create whole system reform in education. Although I’m dipping my toes into this debate 8 years past the publication date, Fullan’s message is timely and still sparks deep discussion. I, certainly, have much to mull over as an educator and member of the human system.

Are you the right Alice?

This one line from the 2010 movie, Alice in Wonderland, directed by Tim Burton and starring Johnny Depp has stuck with me for 8 years. It calls to mind the philosophical questions we ask ourselves on a day to day basis about our identity, our purpose, and our goals. As a teacher, and more recently as an administrator, asking these challenging questions of myself has led me through a few interesting doors. Like Alice, I have sometimes found myself in gardens where I am either too big or too small, and I’ve questioned my purpose for being there. On many an occasion, I have echoed the caterpillar’s question, “Who are you?”

Equalizing flow for success

DYNAMIC SYSTEMS THEORY and SUCCESSFUL WRITING GROUPS

DYNAMIC SYSTEMS THEORY: A graphic representation of a complex system found in the text, Thinking in systems, by Donella H. Meadows has me considering the flow of my creative writing group and how that flow has effected our emergent writing careers.  Meadows used a bathtub to demonstrate, on a simple level, the workings of a complex system. The water in the tub, is the system. Turning the faucet and adding water is “input” and pulling the plug is creating “output”.  Now, if you were to simply pull the plug the water would, of course, empty completely which is not a very self-sustaining system. On the other hand, if you were to never pull the plug two things are going to happen. If you, at the same time, don’t turn off the taps the water will overflow creating a very messy output. If you do turn off the taps and keep the plug in, then you will stop both input and output. The water in the tub will eventually cool, probably turn a little scummy, and over time grow some pretty nasty mold.

THE FORMULA FOR A SUCCESSFUL WRITING GROUP: Luckily, according to Meadows, there is a solution that will avoid both flood and stagnation.

Phantom Queens and Pockets of Order

When I originally wrote Phantom Queen a few years ago, my beginning premise was to write a story about an antihero who is a catalyst for change in other people’s lives. To make things interesting, I chose to write in a genre called magical realism because it allowed me to combine elements of the natural and supernatural. The main character and her side-kick, Mori, were meant to be enigmatic assassins, sent to this world to change the course of reality for one woman, Ana Mundi. To complicate matters, once materialized in physical form, the reason for seeking Ana remains elusive, hidden behind a mist of amnesia. The Phantom Queen or Crone, once removed from her metaphysical body, cannot remember her past and is overwhelmed by the numerous futures before her. Her only point of certainty is Mori, a primordial being, who assures her that her misguided choice of human form is an ongoing miscalculation that is detrimental to their mission.

Gap or Abyss

I have decided that it is time to check what I think I know about the conditions and processes needed to cultivate a culture of emergent thinking. Emergence is the process of shifting our attention to future possibilities; of investing in hope; and allowing theories or creations to grow out of the collection of data or resources.

Brené Brown in Daring Greatly talks about the vulnerability that is associated with choosing hope and uncertainty. Since we don’t know for sure how the future will unfold, it is a risk to let go of what we know for a simple promise. Compounding this risk is the fact that we live in a society more focused on scarcity and fear, than on enough and belonging. Giving up a sure thing to try something new is discouraged more often than not, and in a scarcity culture mistakes are sources of shame.  Brown stresses the importance of cultivating shame resilience in order to counteract the debilitating effects of fear.

Serendipity

The question of the scope of emergence also concerns the question of how widespread emergence is. For example, many contemporary philosophers think that emergence is a rare and special quality found only in extremely distinctive settings, such as human consciousness. Others think that emergence is quite common and ordinary, applying to a myriad of complex systems found in nature. For those who think that nothing is truly emergent, the question still arises whether this state of affairs is simply an accident or whether the very idea of emergence is incoherent (M. Bedeau, Emergence, 2008, p. 4)

I’m not sure if I can answer Mark Bedeau’s question about the scope of emergence, yet. My inner Romantic would like to believe the former, that it is a “rare and special quality”, whereas my pragmatic Virgo would argue that if we were willing to open ourselves to the possibility we would see emergence everywhere. This conflict stems from the fact that emergence is paradoxical in its complex simplicity. The sense of emergence resonates on a limbic level, but try drawing this knowing into the cerebral cortex to shape it into words and suddenly it becomes increasingly complex.

It was serendipitous, therefore, when my husband tipped his iPad in my direction to show me a cool art video that a friend had posted on Facebook. Augusto Esquivel’s art leapt off the screen as a perfect example of emergence in action. I could not ignore my inner Virgo’s emphatic yes as I watched this talented artist assemble unique sculptures out of the most common material – buttons.

Emergence and vulnerability

Getting up from your place of safety, walking across an ever expanding tiled floor, and receiving feedback about your work in front of the whole class –

We’ve all been there, but, some of us may not want to admit that standing in front of a teacher is possibly the most horrendous thing that could happen to you on a given day.

Although I had told my own English students that I got it; that I remembered how horrible it used to feel to have to talk to my math teacher when I was their age; that I used to spend more time concentrating on not crying than actually learning algebra –

it wasn’t until this summer that I had the opportunity to re-experience this particular type of vulnerability.

During our five week on-campus Masters’ session, I not only completed two courses but also time traveled back to my high school math class. This bonus trip was made possible by sheer exhaustion. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, Emerging Thesis, I had created a super myth about the Masters’ program that not only got me up at 6:00 a.m. to start work, but kept me going throughout the school day (9:00 – 4:00), and fuelled my research efforts from 6:00 p.m. to midnight. My personality, being tenacious, tends to bite into a subject and not let go until there is completion. Add to this the sheer joy of having the time to dip, dive, and wallow in books, discussions, and coffee chats with my fellow travellers and you have a recipe for fatigue. Even though I knew that the Masters’ journey was a year-long endeavour rather than merely a five-week sprint, I threw myself wholeheartedly into the experience.

Even now, I don’t think that I would change my experience this summer. Challenged, tired, emotions bared for all to see – it was a little bit like going to a brainy boot camp. You know, Outward Bound for book enthusiasts. The turning point, my time travel, occurred when the professor called me up to his place at the front of the class to review my mini-thesis proposal. When I stood up from my laptop I was a 52 year old woman, a district principal, and an experienced teacher. I was an Honours Specialist in English Literature, an artist, and a writer. When I sat down, looked into his eyes, and heard his first words about revising my proposal I was my seventeen year old self in math class struggling to hold back tears.

By mutual agreement, we took our conference outside. Amidst the July shrubbery and Smokanagan-laden breeze we held the space. Not much was accomplished regarding my thesis proposal, but I did learn something about vulnerability.

When listening to Brené Brown’s Ted Talk  I connected instantly to her research that vulnerability is necessary to living in a whole hearted way (10:03). Vulnerability is not comfortable but it is part of collaboration, creativity, consensus, and many other good things. Being vulnerable is being willing to try something you’ve never done before, to “breathe through” tough moments, and to continue on a path in spite of uncertainty. My seventeen year old self did not learn much about math because she couldn’t talk to her teacher. She survived math class by sitting in front of the smartest math student and asking questions. She could not allow herself to be vulnerable.

I’m thankful that both my fifty-two year old self and my professor were more comfortable with the uncomfortable. In the end, it resulted in clearer communication and a stronger mini-thesis proposal.

My parting thought is to consider Brené Brown’s assertion that you cannot have creativity without vulnerability. If this is true, can the same be said for emergence?

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