It got me wondering about the mountain itself. Not just that mountain, though it does get an unbalanced amount of attention being the largest, but mountains in general. As a lover of mountains, someone who feels at home in the thin, fresh air, I wondered why? Why do we attempt to defy these places? Why do we feel the pull to explore? Why do these monolithic slabs of rock formed by slamming tectonic plates draw us into their snow, and clouds, and peaks?
I moved onto a documentary about the first person to attempt to climb Everest. The story is shrouded in mystery. Did he make it to the top? There is some evidence that said he did. Other evidence that said he didn’t. Nobody knows, because he never made it down. Isn’t part of climbing a mountain coming down? How do you define the first to the top?
This made me wonder again, what about the people that live there? That make it their home? That look to these peaks not as obstacles to overcome, but as spiritual beings? How do they feel about this pull? I read about the life of the Sherpa. Their world-view, their sense of spirituality in a world of thin air. Their culture is rich and old and long, and is linked to Buddhism, environmentalism, and a sense of wonder in the unknown.
From here I was inspired to review the tenets of Buddhism. The creation stories behind it. The difference in practice and philosophy, from China to Japan to Thailand to the Sherpa to Western ideals of Zen, to many other places. How does this world-view change over time? How does it adapt to new surroundings? It is fascinating to notice the differences, and how flexible it is as a belief system. Do other religions (though I struggle to define Buddhism as a religion) adapt as well as this one? Do they change from place to place with such ease?
This led me into the waters of the monotheistic religions, and their spread around the world. The difference between Islam in the Middle East, Africa, and Indonesia. The variety of practices in Christianity from North America to Europe to Korea. How is this different from the various Buddhism practices around the world? What are the similarities? What are the differences?
Eventually, I wrote my term paper.
I forget what it was about (I am reminded only by remembering that my Mount Everest inquiry was in winter in Japan, which means it must have been the end of winter term, which means it must been that course of curriculum design, which means it must have been the paper about new models for curriculum…)
I have no idea what score I got.
I remember Mount Everest and the inquiry it sparked.
The Fractal Nature of Inquiry
Recalling this week of reading and wondering (it was over a year ago now), I am struck with some thoughts about inquiry and wondering.
- My inquiry was unbridled and without purpose
- It was driven my curiosity and my desire to know.
- I initiated it, and I chose the direction.
- It started with a provocation from a book that touched something inside me (you can say my heart or my brain if you wish, but I won’t go there).
- I remember it, a year later.
We, as educators, often like to put a structure on things. Bells and schedules and models. Units with standards and benchmarks, set lines of inquiry, key concepts decided by the teacher (or the institution).
But, how often do we let our children just wonder. How often do we let them get lost and explore? I am all for structured inquiry. It is necessary for learning about learning. And, I am all for purpose, or intentionality. Being focused on what we are learning helps us to see how we are learning.
There are many ideas like genius hour, me-time, and independent inquiries, that let kids explore topics that are relevant to them, and that they are passionate about. They are great ideas. But, how much of it is structured inquiry with a different name? I don’t know. I do know that when I have done it, it has been structured. Should I try to make it more free flowing?
Another thought I am struck with is the shape of my inquiry. It started with a seed, a basic question about something that I was curious about. It flowed into something completely different. It was not linear, and it was not spiral. The emerging concepts did not build on the previous ones. It emerged as an organic entity. But it was structured, and it was organized.
If I were to place a structure on it, the spiral model would fail. It was more fractal than anything else.
Is this a model for curriculum?
Curriculum can be a guide, but so can curiosity, time, and space to explore.
“Curriculum” in German is Lehrplan, directly translated as learning plan. That sounds a little more freeing. I agree that learning should be about curiosity and wonder. And if you make it onto the mountain, but fail to return, at least you made the journey out. There are no gold stickers for how many days you are alive.
I like to think about things like that! A learning plan, would not look like a straight line. It would jump all over the place, zig and zag, fold and enfold, and move very differently. Of course, it depends on how you define learning.
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This was a valuable post. I shared it with teachers. I feel like Don Quixote every day as I work with teachers, lobbying for this kind of inquiry. I just read an article in National Geographic on the brain. Your fractal tree looks like an axon with dendrites Coincidence? Hmmm…
Absolutely not a coincidence. Fractals are everywhere in human biology and nature. There is something there that speaks to learning and being…