| Learning to Learn |
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| Written by Windy Lynn Harris | |||||||
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How can you "relax your skull" and open up to learning new concepts? "Relax your skull," she says in a dreamy tone. I open one eye, but remain sitting tall with both feet on the floor. The instructor's words, soothing up to this point, suddenly seem impossible. I am sitting in this seminar today, surrounded by other students hoping to improve their writing. Do they feel stuck too? I want to learn the yoga breathing technique my teacher offers. I want to learn to settle myself. But I am confused and distracted. Am I the only one in this room unable to find my skull muscle and relax it? I remind myself to concentrate. I had to coordinate two busy children's schedules to be here on a Saturday and I paid for the class already. I even ironed a shirt. "You are going to study this breathing thing and it's going to transform your life," I scold. I breathe in slowly, and then out. Or was it supposed to be the other way around? Why am I having so much trouble with this? As a child I excelled in the world of learning. Although I didn't enjoy school, my teachers talked of my promise, my family crowed about my scholarly awards, even the principal held me in high regard. I was a fidgety student though, passing notes, neglecting homework, and even skipping school. In college I stopped trying completely. I didn't want the amazing life academia promised. Others were disappointed when I didn't reach my potential, but I was interested in anything and everything else. I stop my knee from bouncing and try again to find that muscle in my head the teacher keeps talking about. I check myself to make sure I am concentrating. I am. And listening. I am. All this checking makes it hard to do the breathing right so I concentrate on that for a moment, but now I'm hungry. I sigh with my body. It's no longer easy to get an A. I hush my squirrelly mind and try to listen to the instructions that will free my dammed up stories. But I am agitated. It feels like high school again. My former study habits threaten to ruin this opportunity to learn. I breathe in slowly. "Don't even try," a teenage voice chides in my head. "They'll be disappointed again." What is she doing here? I'm distracted enough as it is. I shake my head, but she refuses to go. "I want this," I inform her. "I need it." She rolls her eyes and gestures for me to move over. She isn't leaving. "I mean it," I say in my best stern voice. She is unconvinced, checks her nails, snaps her gum. I put my tongue on the roof of my mouth to ground my breathing, but I'm still not at peace. I know everyone is watching me, waiting for me to fail. My face burns. "Go away," I beg. She looks down at her shoes. "I'm not you anymore," I say. "I can do this. I know what I want now." She turns to look at me with one brow raised. "I don't care who I let down. If they lose faith I'll keep writing anyway," I yell. "I won't give up because now it's for me!" A slow curve comes to her lips and breaks apart to become a toothy smile. "Finally," she says with a roll of her eyes, then fades with a wink. I feel more comfortable in my chair. My breath comes and goes naturally, but specifically. I'm getting better at it. I am lighter somehow. I straighten my shoulders and sit up taller in this room full of learners, ready to accept the student I need to be. One who shows up on time, one who reads the assignment carefully, someone who does her homework. I close my eyes again and fill myself with a deep breath. As I breathe out, I feel my skull relax at last. Comments (1)
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