Schooling, Fast, and Slow
“My goodness,” I muttered involuntarily. “This is taking forever.” It was September 8, the morning before we opened school, and I was standing outside of Browning with my two boys as we waited to enter the building for our mandatory COVID testing. It was really a pleasant scene, as boys and families were gathering, catching up on the summer, and talking of the school year to come. But I paid no notice—I was focused on the interminable delay we were all enduring. “Come on, I have things to do,” I muttered again. Angry at the obvious conspiracy against my schedule, I checked my phone for the time.
8:28 a.m. We had been waiting for three minutes, and the doors were supposed to open at 8:30. If impatience were an Olympic event, I was Katie Ledecky.
I am not sure when I became so restless; it wasn’t always this way. Perhaps you sense the same about yourself, or those around you. Our times and our culture certainly don’t seem geared toward patience. Certainly, there is little novelty in the insight that contemporary life is pushing us toward unsustainable demands for efficiency, that technology is hindering our capacities for focus and waiting, and that all our responsibilities and stimuli are warping our sense of time—but the familiarity of the lesson doesn’t make it less true.
To be fair, in a manner of speaking we have been built for speed; indeed, from an evolutionary standpoint, impatience could serve a useful purpose. Those who long ago dwelled on an unproductive activity—ground that yielded no crops, say, or an empty attempt at fishing or hunting—were in danger of not surviving. “Falling behind schedule” had immediate and baleful consequences. Efficiency was not just desirable, but essential.
There are still times today, to be sure, when we need to hustle, to think three steps ahead, to be speedy, in order to accomplish a vital task or project. Organization, direction, and proficiency are decidedly useful skills! But we are not always in the desperate circumstances of early farmers and hunters. If we consistently privilege efficiency over all other goods, something vitally human is lost. As parents, for example, we may shudder when we see our children tear through a meal meant to be savored, or rush through one activity simply to get to another. And we may cringe if we recognize our own tendencies toward such behavior, be it in our workplace or among our friends and family. In my own homely example, my inability to be present while waiting in line cost me a chance to truly enjoy the company of Browning students, families, and (most regretfully!) my own sons. The Olympic medal hangs heavy around my neck.
“Part of the job of schools is to help students develop a deeper appreciation of time, and help them to recognize the significant inquiries, experiences, and relationships that simply cannot be rushed.”
And just as some of life’s most sacred interludes—a family meal, a sincere moment of openness with friends, the potential joy of an unexpected moment—can be trammeled by impatience, so it is with education. Part of the job of schools, I think, is to help students develop a deeper appreciation of time, and help them to recognize the significant inquiries, experiences, and relationships that simply cannot be rushed. The kinds of questions that a good education should encourage, among learners of all ages—Why is the world the way it is? How did it get this way? What does it all mean?—resist efficient consideration, let alone efficient answers. Some learning experiences must develop over time, through plots and subplots, like an engaging work of art. (As the old joke goes, if we speed-read War and Peace, we’ll learn that it’s about Russia.) And if we’re looking to make friends beyond Facebook clicks, we must give the necessary time, patience, and trust.
In a world that seems keen to accelerate virtually everything, schools can provide a needed tutelage in slowness as a part of a healthy learning disposition. Once more, this is not an argument for disengagement or mediocrity; quite the contrary. Strong educational communities understand that being both present and patient is most often essential to cultivating knowledge, building connection, and finding achievement. A good conversation or class discussion takes time. Finding friends, expressing gratitude, and extending compassion cannot be rushed. The kind of deep learning that becomes enduring understanding will not happen by racing to completion.
As we all aspire to “return to normal” in this new academic year, we have an opportunity to help everyone maintain (or reclaim) a “normal” sense of time. After all we have endured during the past 18 months, it would be a shame if we forfeited the chance to patiently and truly notice all the beauty and opportunity in the ideas, experiences, and people that comprise our community. Excellent students and excellent friends know that there are moments to accelerate and moments to slow down, and Browning is here to assist our boys—and perhaps its head of school—to develop the wisdom to recognize the difference.