STUDY WITH ALFONS

Somewhen around the end of 2020, I decided to make 2021 my year of daily reading. I was aiming for (at least) 40 minutes of Free-Voluntary-Reading per day, reading fiction and such… texts written by people who care about how their sentences turn out, like David Sedaris, Wolf Haas, Raymond Carver, George RR Martin, Friedrich Torberg, Billy Collins, Thomas Bernhard, etc.

In hindsight I can’t say whether I’ve reached that daily goal of reading…, but I guess I got some reading done, at least more than in the previous two decades.

On the other hand, in fact just yesterday, I was wondering if it was worth it, the time investment. When in fact I could have bought a Playstation 5 instead, and played apocalyptic Zombie survival games, instead. I mean, here in Vietnam I could have actually bought a PS5. SONY’s gaming console is hopelessly sold out in most other countries.

So I was thinking, with my iPad resting in my lap, the book still alit. I glanced down at the page again. “Actually, that last page went quite well,” said I to myself, in my head; however that works. “Actually, my reading out loud became a lot smoother, compared to when I started out over a year ago” And then I read another 5 or 10 pages or so, finishing Chapter 2 of Wolf Haas’s book, “Das ewige Leben.”

I recalled this table from the book “The Power Of Reading”, by neurolinguist Stephan Krashen. The book says: “The table summarizes the impact of in-school free reading programs. In each case, free readers were compared to students in traditional programs (assigned reading, grammar, vocabulary, reading comprehension, spelling.)

Two findings clearly emerge from this table: First, in-school free reading programs are consistently effective. In 51 out of 54 comparisons (94 percent), readers do as well as or better than students who were engaged in traditional programs. Note that a finding of ‘No Difference’ suggests that free reading is just as good as traditional instruction.

There is also strong evidence that free reading is extremely pleasant and results in superior general knowledge. Even if free reading were equivalent to direct instruction in terms of literacy development, it should therefore be the preferred option.”

Oh, and there’s something else I’ve noticed. All this reading of fiction for more than a year, it seems to have the same effects as Crop Rotation on what I think is my brain. Sort of. “Crop rotation is the practice of planting different crops sequentially on the same plot of land to improve soil health, optimize nutrients in the soil, and combat pest and weed pressure,” says Wikipedia.

Somehow, it seems like, Free Voluntary Reading makes it more pleasant for me to read more. Even studying Chinese language—or low and behold—Vietnamese language, becomes thinkable again; Now that I’ve completely abandoned vocabulary learning and burned (deleted that is) all traditional language learning text books from my iPad. It was about time that “they” burned, instead of us. I don’t need no pesky grammar-drill books and graded readers when I’ve got J. R. R. Tolkien and Stephen Krashen on my shelves.

Also, as an afterthought, I guess I’ll hold off buying a Playstation 5 as long as there’s no diversity Zombie survival games where I can play the Zombie. Hear Me Roar.

“Researchers in early reading development have concluded that we ‘learn to read by reading,’ that we learn to read by attempting to make sense of what we see on the page (Goodman 1982; see also Flurkey and Xu 2003; Smith 1994b)” – Excerpt From The Power of Reading, by Stephen Krashen

“We learn to read by attempting to make sense of what we see on the page,” what a glorious expression, I said to myself while I was sitting in a coffee shop and glanced around me: “How would this translate to movement?”

I observed a guy who was turning around in sitting, a girl who was sitting cross-legged on a chair while typing on her laptop, and the barista washing a dishcloth. The world, the page. The people, the writing. Do we learn to read the world in the same way we learn to read a page in a book? Or is it the other way round? What is this city? What is the story? What am I doing here, what am I doing with my life?

If someone asked for more challenging movements, what would those be?

Challenging in terms of flexibility, mayhaps? For example, by being required to place both legs behind the head, doing the splits, or folding the hands behind one’s back for prayer?

Challenging for strength, like handstand push-ups or one legged squats? Or challenging in terms of balance? For example circles of the pelvis and head, while standing on one leg?

Challenging for memory and muscle memory? Like a piano player being able to produce a difficult and long piece of sheet music from memory? Or a stage actor who faultlessly produces a long text from memory? A movement lesson with a hundred different moves?

Maybe challenging would mean the ability to stay focused, or maybe even awake? Or maybe, challenging for the ability to feel and sense small differences?

Challenging in cultural or ethical aspects? Movements that would seem indecent, like reaching down to touch ones sit-bones, or sliding the tongue in circles over the teeth or lips with an open mouth, or for example a twerk, movements of the buttocks, maybe even in a sensual fashion, that some would judge to be sexually provocative?

Or challenging in terms of pain, like finding a way to do joint movements without discomfort, for someone who is crippled by osteoarthritis or gout?

What is a challenge, to whom?

“The cure for the literacy crisis lies, in my opinion, in reading. Specifically, I am recommending a certain kind of reading—free voluntary reading (henceforth FVR). FVR means reading because you want to. For school-age children, FVR means no book report, no questions at the end of the chapter, and no looking up every vocabulary word. FVR means putting down a book you don’t like and choosing another one instead. It is the kind of reading highly literate people do all the time.” – The Power of Reading, Stephen Krashen

Maybe something similar could be said for the move… movement… movement-cy… mov-eracy… moveiracy… crisis. Ok, I need to look at this word first. I need to find the word for it, or make one up. Moveiracy, based on the Old French word “movier”, would that be it? Either way, let me start with literacy:

Literacy, in its broadest sense describes particular ways of thinking about and doing reading and writing with the purpose of understanding or expressing thoughts or ideas in written form. (Definition from Wikipedia)

Numeracy is the ability to understand, reason with, and to apply simple numerical concepts. (Definition from Wikipedia)

Movement is already a noun, but it does not hit the same mark as the terms literacy and numeracy. I’m looking for a word that in its broadest sense means to act in particular ways of moving, thinking, sensing and feeling to understand and express ourselves through physical movements that serve intent, purpose, that express the state of our nervous system, our expertise and accomplishments in movement learning, our history, identity, our belonging to a class or group; through movement, instead of words.

Heck, where’s the nail that can nail down that definition? It’s like making a sentence that makes sense, but instead of using words it’s movement. And when the left arm moves but the pelvis does not support this movement then the sentence sounds funny or lacks momentum and roots, or is part of a play, a jest, a twitch or twiddle… something like this.

So, hm, 🤔 am I missing something here? Is the crisis so big and so all-encompassing that we don’t even have the first word to describe it?

Had lunch with my neighbour, yesterday. She’s an active, lively, well settled woman in her mid-40s (I guess) who recently got into Yoga. Now she keeps saying that I shall try Yoga. She promises that Yoga is not difficult and would change my life for the better. Quite to my own fascination, she has no ear for what I do for a living as a private teacher of Somatic Education, what my path to become such a person was, or what the pioneers of Somatic Education were.

Furthermore, I doubt that she’d ever picked up a book on the history of eastern-styled wellness practices, say for example, “Yoga Body: The Origins of Modern Posture Practice,” by Mark Singleton, or “Traditional Chinese Medicine: Heritage and Adaption,” by Paul U. Unschuld. I just think that she loved the experiences she made at the high-end Yoga retreat she participated in, and that the teacher there made a big impression on her.

However, she also told me about her son, who’s in his mid-20s (I guess), and that she put him into an educational program of 6 months, a school for “coding.” This company takes 10 students per class, is starting a new class every month, and promises a job as software engineer upon graduation.

I had to laugh when she said I ought to go back into “coding” myself, as she recalled that I used to be a software engineer. I mean, good thinking, because it would for the least provide me with a social environment and social contacts, which I lack dearly at the moment. “You could do part time,” said she.

So I started to tell her about the profession of software engineering, and how it is different for young people in their mid-20ties, and experienced professionals (like me) who grew to be 50 soon. I told her how young engineers burn, and how older ones move into management, and why. I told her about different types of software, and about engineering problems, about the gravity of design decisions in planing and design (with the example of building a house, and compared that to software), about knowing the law, about communicating with experts from many different professions, about the existence of financial aspects to software engineering projects, the importance of good communication with the client, and … the actual carpentering, which she calls “coding”. I told her about different types of jobs in the world of IT, and job experience in general—as she herself seemed to never have been burdened with working in a job. I told her about career paths and what is most fascinating about the most prominent parts in the life cycle of a software engineer.

I don’t know; I think she hit a nerve in me. But somebody had to say something. I usually don’t talk about these things. But she was so naive about working and software engineering in particular (which she simply referred to as “coding”) that it was me to say something. She absolutely loved it. I could see her eyes light up as her understanding expanded. In the end her suggestions changed from “You should try coding again,” to “You should be at that school so people can learn from you.”

Now I wonder if I’ll ever get a chance to explain to her the difference between Yoga and my work as a private teacher of Somatic Education.