And so we’ve entered that time of year. If you’re near or north of the 45th parallel, your world looks like mine—a vast mosaic of fiery leaves tumbling from gray skies. Yards in my neck of the woods are thickly blanketed in red, orange, yellow and gold.

Last year at this time I helped a neighbor clear his yard of the leaves his three enormous maple trees had released. Equipped with leaf blowers and ear protection we were a couple leaf wranglers corralling the little doggies out to the street. The leaves were flying, but progress was slow. After half an hour we still had a fair amount of work to do. Frustrated, I considered alternatives to the leaf blower. I decided to trade my leaf blower for my rake and was stunned by what I discovered. It turned out that this age-old tool was far more effective and efficient than our leaf blowers. With one sweep I could clear a swath of leaves, revealing the damp, green grass beneath.

This is an interesting example for the blog thread I started two weeks ago about our relationship to the tools we use. I find myself thinking about this topic because our relationships to our tools have implications for how we live, and for our human relationships. Why at first did I not think of using the rake instead of the blower? Somehow I believed the blower was more advanced and suited to the task. Why else would everyone use them?

In this case the ubiquitous presence of leaf blowers (the tool) dictated how I thought about accomplishing a task. But I turned the tables when I began to consider other options that might be superior. In doing so I assumed a right relationship to the tool and subordinated the tool to its rightful place. Even if I had resolved to continue with the blower—if I didn’t own a rake, for example—I would have righted my relationship to the tool so it was advancing, not foiling, my intention.

There are examples like this all around us. We’re surrounded by tools, both rudimentary and sophisticated. I’ll admit that more than once I’ve gone to my computer to check the weather, only to remember I could go outside. Not long ago I went to use my Sawzall to prune a branch only to stop and realize that a little handsaw could do just as well, and was more accessible.

When the tools we rely on prove inadequate to the task—or disappear altogether—we’re forced to be creative. We tap into brilliance which otherwise remains latent. Then if we reintroduce the tool into our world, we can use it to serve our efforts.

Have a pleasant Autumn. Enjoy the leaves!

Tags: creativity, human relationships, imagination, learning, relationships, teaching, tools

Even if you don’t play an instrument, Shinichi Suzuki is a name you’ve likely heard. He is father of the so-called Suzuki method of learning to play musical instruments. For the last year my daughter and I have been learning cello via the Suzuki method. I recently reread a portion of his book, Ability Development from Age Zero. Though his book is written for parents of young children, his understanding of learning can speak to all of us in numerous professional and personal contexts.

Suzuki’s method evolved from a simple observation: “all children in Japan speak Japanese easily” (Ability Development from Age Zero, p. 4). Most people didn’t initially comprehend the significance of Suzuki’s observation. But Suzuki recognized that his observation carried profound implications for how all humans learn. If kids acquired the Japanese language through immersion in the language, could immersion in music also teach students to hear and play a musical instrument? Then, as with a language, they would internalize and know the music in a personal way. This, Suzuki posited, is meaningful learning. This is why we play the Suzuki music in our house each day. Listening to the music trains our ear to recognize and “speak” the language. When we sit down to play “Lightly Row” on the cello, our ear knows what it should sound like. The cello is a tool by which we speak.

Suzuki’s method applies to settings that have nothing to do with music. Many of us spend at least part of our lives, if not considerable chunks, learning and helping others learn. Note who you will be spending time with this week, and what are you trying to teach. You may be a chef who is trying to teach her staff how to julienne vegetables, or a manager working with one of your staff to help him better organize his time. In each case, Suzuki advises us to create a language into which we can immerse the student. Do those you’re teaching understand the language? With their help create a vernacular that you can agree on.

Suzuki incorporates two additional elements into his method that can enhance every learning process. The first is to connect what you teach with a desire that exists within your students. People you work with will learn what they want to learn. The second element is to make it fun. Find a way to make learning fun. Even if you’re teaching someone how to create a spreadsheet, with a little creativity, it’s possible to make the learning process something you both enjoy.

Tags: creativity, education, effective learning, effective programs, internalize, learning, personal knowledge, relevant, student engagement

I asked my young daughter the other day to turn off the dome light above the seat opposite to hers in the rear of our minivan. I was at a stoplight and watched in the rearview mirror as she struggled to reach it. Her arms were too short. Then she produced an empty water bottle, which she used to span the distance and turn off the light. Her face beamed with satisfaction at having found a tool to solve the problem.

I’m fascinated by the relationships humans have with tools. As the story of my daughter demonstrates, the purpose of a tool is to successfully overcome a problem. In fact, such problems as this create opportunities for us to tap our human creativity and ingenuity. We seek out a tool to enlist in our problem-solving efforts.

But in relation to tools, I find one of two realities is possible: I am using the tool, or it is using me. Any time my intent becomes subservient to the tool—rather than the tool serving my intent—that tool is using me.

In education, for example, the intent of a teacher ought to be to help students learn and understand. Curricula, created as tools to enhance learning, can assume a determinative role in the learning process. Instead of tapping curricula as a resource to help deepen student understanding, we defer to the curriculum to tell us what we ought to do. The tool becomes our master.

Tools are meant to avail us of our innate gifts. They are channels for human expression: Jimi Hendrix and his guitar, Pablo Picasso and his brushes, J.K. Rowling and her pen and napkin. A right relationship with a tool promotes the expression of our humanity. When tools use us, less of our unique humanity shines forth for others to see, know, and experience.

If you manage a team of people, you employ tools to build an efficient team of people that trust each other and enjoy working cooperatively. If you are a parent, you may borrow principles and ideas to help you relate to your children. Whatever your context, you have a challenge you are trying to address. Tools can add potency to your efforts. What they can’t do is be a substitute for you.

Tags: creativity, curriculum development, effective learning, learning, people change people, relationships, tools