The Power of Perspectives

I recently watched this SmarterEveryDay video, where toward the end Destin talks about how he failed to see things from his collaborator's perspective, and emotionally tried to block him out, rather than seek understanding.

I keep having to relearn this, the power of perspective, the power of seeing from multiple perspectives, and how experience and education can actively block efforts in that direction, especially when the retreating mind resorts to emotional tricks to further cloud the rational mind.

While between jobs in early 2017, I spent 6 months volunteering full-time as an algebra tutor at a high school whose mission was to target students who were failed by other schools in the district (in both senses of the phrase), especially those who were about to age out of the system.  Many of these students had life stresses with which I had no direct experience whatsoever: Homelessness, violence, poverty, and more.  Yet they kept showing up to school, despite having jobs to help support their siblings, and personal problems including addictions and psychological issues.

My first day there, the principal told me something it took me weeks to fully understand: "Don't waste their time."  At first that took me down a peg, since I had been thinking the school was fortunate to have an engineer with three decades of experience volunteering his time to tutor math, but it did focus me on the simple fact that it was all about the students, not about me.

During that first week, when I was struggling to help a student learn polynomial factorization, a math teacher told me I had to: "Take them where they are."  Not where I thought they should be (high school seniors), or by what's on the current page of the text.  I learned to slowly wind back the math clock until we reached concepts they truly understood, then slowly wind it forward again.  With one student, factoring was so hard because he had never memorized any multiplication tables, and had trouble with memorization in general: But if he understood something from first principles, he totally owned it.  That was a personal challenge, because as an engineer I use math at a much higher level, and had forgotten there were so many layers beneath.  Learning his perspective was truly awesome, letting me reevaluate my own relationship with math.

About two months later I had a student who didn't want to do anything or work with anyone, who would act with hostility toward everyone who tried to get him to do otherwise: He simply wanted to be left alone.  I learned he was in school only as part of a plea agreement to avoid juvenile detention.  He knew he physically had to be there, had lost some control over where is body had to be, but he kept ownership of his mind and heart, keeping them closed away.  When I asked his homeroom teacher how I could possibly reach him to get him to move toward graduation despite his withdrawal and hostility, he told me: "You have to love the shit out of him."

This took me by surprise.  Because another piece of advice I had been given by a math teacher was: "Don't get too close: They'll break your heart into pieces if you let them.  Keep some distance for yourself."  How could I possibly follow both pieces of advice?

This made me rewind and review all the advice I had been given, and what I had been doing with it.  I was at a bit of a loss, since this is more in the realm of psychology than engineering.

I decided to De Morgan (as in August De Morgan) each of the pieces of advice.  Basically, I flipped each part of a statement to it's inverse.  This is a trick engineers use to simplify circuits and logic, and it may not always directly yield solutions, but it often does yield new perspectives.

"Don't waste their time" became "Make every interaction useful to them."
"Take them where they are" was pretty good as-is, but I added "Don't assume understanding until it is demonstrated."
"Don't get too close" became "Get close when it is useful and safe to do so."

Finally, "Love the shit out of him" became "Love all of him that is not shit, then accept the shit as well."  That realization shook me to my core.  When combined with all the prior advice, it became clear my job was not to tutor this student in math: My job was to see him as a person with positive qualities who had saddled himself with some heavy burdens.  I stopped pestering him to do math.  I'd simply ask "Is this a math day?", and when he said no, I'd ask if there was anything else he needed, to which he also said no.  Then I left him alone, but still trying to catch his eye, with me grinning.  Once in a while he even grinned back.

Things slowly got better, and before long he even did some math.  Less pressure made it his choice, not mine.  I didn't ask, but I believe he began to see a positive future for himself, or at least a less bleak one.

I initially thought "You've got to love the shit out of him" was the best advice I had received.  But further reflection revealed a greater and deeper truth: All the pieces of advice were actually part of just one: "Take them were they are."

It really meant I needed to take students where they are physically, intellectually, emotionally, and in every other way.  As a full person, not just someone to tutor in math.

After that, before tutoring a student, I asked if they felt well and had slept the night before: If not, it was pointless to pursue math, so I sent them to take a nap in the health clinic.  I'd then ask when they had eaten last, what it was, and how much they had.  If there was any doubt, I'd send them to the student center to grab a snack.  I'd ask if there was anything they needed to talk about that was making math too much of a reach right now, and if so, I'd send them to either their homeroom teacher or counselor (as a volunteer, I was legally prohibited from interactions in these areas).

Only then was I able to ask if this was going to be a Good Math Day, which got us started on the right foot.  More days started becoming Good Math Days. I started feeling more confident and more effective as a tutor.

Later, a counselor took me aside to ask about a few students.  Students who, despite major problems, were not only doing more school work, but were also getting better grades.  When she interviewed them about the changes, each of them mentioned me!  When asked if I was a really good math tutor, they all fidgeted, saying things like "he's OK, but not as good as the math teacher".  Then one student said: "He makes it OK to do math."  Digging deeper, this student said: "He make *me* OK to do math."

The thing is, these were students I had stopped working with weeks before.  I typically focus on students having the greatest struggles, those falling furthest behind, and these students were no longer in that state.  I told the counselor I really hadn't noticed the change, as I still saw each of them every day.  Then she started to counsel me, laying out exactly what I had done and what each of these students had done with it.  She congratulated me, then told me it easily could have gone the other way, and that I was lucky beyond measure that it hadn't.  She strongly suggested I take some classes in the area before my luck gave out.

This hit me like a bucket of cold water, a wake-up call. I was shocked in multiple ways at multiple levels.

First, I wasn't just some guy showing up to help out.  Unlike most volunteers doing a few hours per week, my being there all day, every day, inevitably made me part of their lives.

Second, I had a role in their lives.  Yes, I was a math tutor, my "official" role.  But I was also an older adult with a ton of life experience, former military, an engineer.  In those areas I was a role model, for good or bad.

Third, I have my own issues, and I brought them with me.  I carefully shielded the students from them, but they were there nonetheless: Students are very perceptive.  I thought I was hiding my own concerns from them (such as unemployment), and while they didn't know the details, many did know I had my own burdens.

I realized my desire to help them with their burdens was made a lie, to some of them, by my refusing to share more of myself.  But I had to keep my distance!  I knew there was no way they could help with my life issues.

Literally the next day, as I was crossing the empty quad between two math classes, a student on an errand walked up then out of the blue gave me a huge hug.  Before I could react (I *never* hug students face-on: side-hugs only), she stepped back, held me at arm's length, and said: "I felt you needed that.  Don't make me a liar."

The thing is, I had been brooding a bit, worrying about interviews I had scheduled, wondering if I should be at home preparing instead of being at school.  That hug popped me out of my reverie, reminding me that, at the very least, I had physically already made my choice and I should at least have the rest of me here, mentally and emotionally, until I decided otherwise.

I did go talk to the assistant principal about the hug.  Not that I was worried, but mainly so it wouldn't be a secret.  Yes, that student hugged nearly everyone.  And the AP told me that, for this particular student, it was much better to put up with it, rather than risk rejecting her.  But still go for the side-hug whenever possible.

This got me thinking more about my own context: With students, teachers, staff, and the school as a whole.  And to take a very close look in the mirror.

Who was I to be interacting with students at this level, at any level beyond math tutoring?  And to do so with no teacher training of any kind.

The thing is, I'm a piece of work myself.  I had undiagnosed and untreated major depression since puberty.  My inability to handle my own life is why I enlisted in the US Navy (best move ever).  When I finally did start to receive treatment in my late 20's (during college), I made very slow progress.  Becoming an engineer was another great move, since my depression wasn't an issue when I was "in flow".

My depression shaped my life.  I hadn't figured out love and romantic relationships, or even close and enduring friendships.  I needed lots of time away from people, as interactions were very draining, due to the work needed simply to pay attention to all the emotional clues.  I'm not at all naturally empathetic: I have to work at it every moment to be aware of others' emotional state, and it exhausts me.

I didn't start to receive effective therapy until my early 40's.  Or, more correctly, the extensive therapy I had over the years didn't get traction until then (a separate and awesome story).  I experienced personal growth like seldom before.  My friends and family noticed it immediately.

Not everything changed: I still haven't figured out close or long-term relationships.  I still need to spend lots of time alone.  But I'm better than I was.  Maybe.  Sorta.  Well, at least I am more comfortable in my own skin.

Still: Who the hell was I to be working with students, especially struggling students, many with difficult lives?

This perspective of myself was difficult.  I felt some old demons start to rise.  A large part of me wanted to run away, to quit before I did harm.  I began to doubt my psychological health, or at least my awareness of its effect on others.  I felt I had been ignoring my responsibilities to both students and myself.

Once again I had to flip my perspective, to aim it outward rather than inward:  What had I actually done with students?  Can I trace specific interactions?  Who was I on that campus?

First, I know I'm a good volunteer.  I commit to being useful and helpful, and if I'm not doing so after a solid try, I learn what I can and move on.  I seek to find roles where I'm both effective and feel good about what I do.  Volunteering, for me, are smaller slices of life where I have a defined role, that let me be around others without getting exhausted.  Volunteering partially fills in for my inabilities with other kinds of relationship.  In the right situations, I figure it's a win-win for everyone involved.

Second, I know I can always handle being emotionally aware and relevant for an hour at a time.  Switching between people was vastly easier than spending a longer time with one person, though dealing with multiple people at once is especially draining (for example, parties and long dates can be excruciating for me).  I can be "emotionally present" whenever needed, just not for too long.

In these ways, tutoring was very much like other forms of volunteering I've enjoyed and at which I've done well.  But I had never before volunteered on a daily and full-time basis.

Was there anything different when the frequency was so high?

Yes!  I found that I was "fresh" for each interaction, and that the frequency didn't make them repetitive, but instead let them "ratchet up" by tiny steps each day.  I was actually having better and deeper relationships, yet still within a scope I could tolerate.

Well, that's all fine and well for me, but what about the students?  I kind of punted on this one: I may not be the best possible person for them, but I knew I was far from the worst, and that I was a solid positive influence, despite my shortcomings.  I figured it wasn't at all unfair for them to have to "put up with" me, just as I had to "put up with" them.

Basically, I gave myself permission to be imperfect.  If anything, that made me feel closer to the students: If I can learn to cope with my shit, they can learn to cope with theirs.

Still, that's a bit superficial:  What was really going on when I interacted with students in anything not related to math or current events?  What was I doing when I helped them have a Good Math Day?

I may have been playing therapist.  I have had decades of therapy with many therapists, psychologists and psychiatrists.  I know a lot about how good therapists make connections.  I know about Active Listening.  I know about neutral responses, leading questions, expressing gentle sympathy with dysfunction without enabling it, and so on.  I also know it will be over in no more than an hour.

Not that I was doing any therapy!  I know lots about that as well, though I know I only learned what personally helped me: I forgot everything else.  I have no illusions that I learned anything more than that, certainly not enough to inflict on others.

What I did was create safe spaces, safe moments.  My primary message was "You can do this!", and I could make it so the student would stop rejecting it out of hand, and maybe start to believe it, after enough gentle repetitions, and perhaps some actual progress.  Tied in with that were the subtexts, such as "I believe in you," and "Thank-you for letting me spend this time with you."

It may seem I've drifted far from my subject of perspectives, but my goal is this:  Perspectives represent forms of vision.  They can be logical or emotional.  Inward or outward.  Brief or long-term.  Literal or metaphorical.  It all involves stepping away from how you *think* things are, to clearly seeing how they *actually* are.  That process can be painful, but it is also the source of our greatest enlightenment and joy.

We become attached to perspectives that have served us well.  When they are challenged, we can get downright childish, even fearful and threatened, tempted to run and hide when they are shown to be lacking in any way.  If therapy has taught me anything, it is that progress comes from always challenging my perspectives, validating them or updating them.  Never taking them *as* reality, but as just a lens or filter through which I view and interact with reality.  Lenses that often need cleaning.

Being involved with so many young lives, and going through my own phases of self-doubt, did leave me with one overriding perspective:  "I am here to learn and be useful."  Any moment I forget is when mistakes can happen.  When it becomes untrue means it is time either to refocus or move on.

I didn't "move on" from tutoring: I got a new and very demanding (and great) job as an engineer, and my availability became zero.

I still haven't moved on.  I've had over thirty great years as an engineer: I'm now wondering if it is time for me to focus on making more engineers rather than being one.

That's a very large perspective shift, one I've been pondering every day since I left tutoring to take my current job.  I didn't make the wrong choice then (I needed the money!), but it seems each passing day makes it less of a good choice, in the sense that I may now have a better choice: Become a STEM teacher.

Basically, to get paid to do what I loved doing as a volunteer, but this time take the classes and get certified.  And isn't that the definition of a truly great job: To get paid to do something we'd willingly do for free (volunteer) or even pay money to get to do (hobbies)?

If only I can handle the 50% pay cut.  Living more simply is a perspective I'm working on.