Walking Through Educational Environments
It is a sad reality that most young people today choose their studies purely based on what degree is supposed to make them money, satisfy their parents, or be easy enough to coast through while enjoying the benefits of student life. Instead of striving for higher values that might enrich the mind and the spirit, most students today see higher education as purely transactional in nature. The student honours their part of the deal by cramming enough information the night before, in order to get a satisfactory score on a test, or squeezing out enough words on a page to construct a gradable paper. Students are highly conscious of what exchange of information is taking place, but there is very little being attentive and present in the present moment[1].
As much as I despise these calculating, entitled attitudes in students, I don’t blame them. These are honestly quite pragmatic strategies of survival. The widespread disillusionment with modern day academia that causes people to simply not care is very familiar to me as well. I am certainly very critical of contemporary higher education. I believe a lot of universities have become more akin to factories, producing future professional workers, rather than facilitating any semblance of truly “higher” education. My personal scepticism has just driven me in a different direction, exploring alternative education.
I thrive in alternative education environments. That is exactly the reason why the Sustainability Intensive led by Jan van Boeckel appealed to me. In my experience, just the simple change of environment from a classroom to the outside world unlocks a new potential of insight. For most of human history, people absorbed new information surrounded by natural forms, fresh air and all of the little sights, sounds and smells that we experienced in Arbavere. Physical surroundings matter just as much as methodology. I learn considerably more when I can be slightly “distracted” by watching a leaf fall to the ground or a bird chase after a small insect.
I would argue that this spacial, physical context plays a part in why walking can be such a potent method of learning. Walking doesn’t provide us a more complete or true view, rather it allows us to be out-of-position, transgressing a subjective standpoint for a view beyond every possible position. When walking along a trail, the trail imposes on us with a certain authority, it commands our gaze[1:1]. When walking, we become one with the totality of the real world, observing the environment not in series, but in parallel[2]. There is no walking without a trail, as even when we step foot somewhere no other person has ever stepped before, we blaze a completely new trail.
The question then arrises: can we find, or blaze a trail in a traditional classroom environment? Most definitely not in the literal sense, and I struggle to find trails in a metaphorical sense. A classroom has been constructed to provide subjects (students) a position in relation to the object (study material). There is no looking beyond every perspective when a student is confined to a single chair. As I’ve come to understand, physical surroundings matter just as much as methodology. For me, this has been the most important takeaway stemming from this whole experience.
As I try to integrate this newfound insight into my life, I often find myself cold, writing and sketching in places that could almost be labeled a park. The harsh Estonian weather in winter months doesn’t play well with outside learning. As much as I like to think of myself as a hardened individual, the elements send me inside sooner or later. And then there are still the classrooms I have to visit in order to fulfil my end of the higher education deal.
Learning inside, I easily become restless, distracted and frustrated. This becomes worse if I am alone in an isolated space. Without gentle reminders of the ever-shifting life all around me, no subjective perspective is being transgressed, instead I just revert to chasing instant gratification or falling sleep.
As much as I love to imagine a world where I could always be learning and creating outside of houses, schools and coffee shops, it is not realistic and may even be a paradox of sorts, as I love to use and create digital tools. What I can do is try to re-shape my environments. I am reminded of the “Silent Becoming” clay modelling workshop we participated in on the first day. How can I find the missing links between the workspaces accessible to me and the beautiful natural environments I find myself longing after? Maybe closing my eyes while I shape them can help.