Your Story in the World

I’m preparing for a couple of days when I will speak in front of some high school students about what I do ― about reading, writing, and sharing the things that make me enthusiastic.

I find this situation quite extraordinary. Yes, I’m a teacher, I like to speak to those who are interested, but I’m not a writer, not even a professional reader I would say. Without knowing it, I have resorted to Umberto Eco’s “antilibrary”, in which the books I pile up without reading are more numerous and say more about me than those I read. In fact, in my current pace or even if I read quicker, I realize that I probably have more books than I could read in the time I have left, even with optimistic high hopes of longevity.

I kept thinking about how I should start, what I’m about to say. I prepared some variations of the speech, since I will be meeting students of all the four years of high school, as well as the four specializations (math and computer science, natural science, social science, and literature). I like to read, write, and speak about what I love, it brings me joy and some revenue ― so do as I say and you’ll get there too. That’s clearly the wrong message. The “why?” is much more important, especially when I’m well aware of the fact that I’m speaking in front of people for whom statistics show that reading is in a huge decline, to say nothing of writing. In fact, I get direct feedback from teachers and students themselves, who rarely mention their interest in reading any kind of books. Why should they listen to me then? I’m not Cărtărescu, I cannot teach them how to write bestsellers, I cannot even guarantee they’ll have ten regular readers, as I myself am not sure to have. However, I insist. It’s precisely because I’m not a writer that I think I have something to say. I feel closer to them than if I had a full library shelf with my name behind me.

Reading, writing, and speaking feed each other in my life. I avoid using the word “teaching” too much, as I like to think of myself as having a dialogue, a discussion with my students than teaching them, i.e. showing how things are done.

Those who haven’t yet found a book they like gave up searching way too easily. Doomscrolling on social media could be partially replaced with reading a couple of pages from many books in a library or at least some Goodreads reviews. You’re getting the same kind of information: bits and pieces of various stories, some juicier, some more realistic, some dialogue, some boring. Actually, it doesn’t even have to be about books exclusively. In the last few years, I’ve grown increasingly aware that the press, newspapers and magazines have an essential role in society, and they contribute to its culture and education. They complement literature by adding freshness and realism that most novels or short stories cannot offer. They are also ephemeral: almost no one would read last week’s newspapers, but how crucial were they at that moment?

Clearly some dead words in a phrase don’t offer the same instant gratification as images on a screen do. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need: readily digested stuff, so you simply swallow them whole, or they get right by you. But how far can ready-made things get you? How can you have an opinion on anything, even a game, a movie, a song, or piece of news if all the information you swallow is already processed? What kind of talks would you have with your friends, other than quoting other people and sending links to see the OP? You cannot retell a story and you become at most a warehouse for dead information.

I think that writing becomes a duty in cases such as these. When I found myself enthusiastic or disappointed by a book, a song, a game, a city I had visited, I met with a friend or called them. (Whatever you think, unshared joys are more than half lost; same goes for sadness and grief.) I was revving my enthusiasm or revolt and said, “I liked Naples so much!” or “I’m so disappointed in the latest Zadie Smith book!” or “I can see where the hype around Rosalía’s new album comes from!” and I expected that the message was delivered, that was that. The tone of my voice, my wide smile or my evident disgust were enough to be convincing, right? Yeah, not really. Perhaps if my friend had visited Naples by themselves, read Zadie Smith’s last book or listened to Rosalía’s latest album they would already have an idea what I was trying to say. But for me it was unacceptable to be left speechless. What exactly did I like in Naples? Why was Zadie Smith’s book unpleasant? What part of Rosalía’s album did I like?

Surely everyone is entitled to their opinions and equally, not all opinions must be shared, but still I found the situation unacceptable. How could I not put my strong feelings into words? One could say that I failed because I was trying to rationalize what was purely emotional. But literature shows that words could spark any kind of emotion ― so why couldn’t it be possible the other way around: to put in words any kind of experience?

A side note: writing doesn’t necessarily involve publishing. There are diaries and their therapeutic value is well known. At the same time, diaries are usually filled with the most intimate thoughts and feelings, whereas I’m referring here to knowledge or opinion that one wants to share. Hence, I’m pleading for publishing. Maybe this makes me a special type of extrovert, but I like to see my published writing as opening lines to dialogues on themes I care about and would like to share. I start from direct experience, then curiosity leads me to topics I would like to know more about, so I read, talk to people, then write.

Two years ago, I started just like that. A friend had made his debut, published a short story collection. But I found no review that explained a key element in his writing, which used some concepts of mathematics and physics that many readers thought were pure delirium of the main character. “Why don’t you write about it then?”, he asked me. I hesitated at first, because as much as I did like the book and would have liked to see it appreciated in full, I lacked the courage, I couldn’t see myself writing in a coherent way. But I took it as a challenge: explain why you liked it, make me understand why it’s so special. The result was my first essay published by a reputable culture magazine in Romania, Dilema.

There’s also another mechanism that works for me: rubber duck debugging. It’s a technique that programmers use when they encounter a problem with their code. Instead of using special tools such as debuggers, they use a rubber duck or whatever toy or object they have at hand. They explain the code to the toy and through hearing themselves explain it in a coherent way, they understand the error and fix it. Phrasing and explaining clearly what you know or mean is a good method of clarifying your own knowledge, which is why reading or thinking aloud are recommended.

My curiosity and my teaching career led me to reading and learning things which are not all related to mathematics or science. I have started this blog by writing that I feel like an “information sponge” but I don’t think that someone could just collect information. I don’t think that’s possible. Simply memorizing things and not knowing how or when they should be used is meaningless.

Writing became my rubber duck. I try to explain to myself what I’m learning, to make myself as enthusiastic and curious as possible when learning something new. Therefore, I set to have as little input with no output as possible. For everything I like or it stirs me, I try to share it. But first, write it clearly, argue for or against it such that even a rubber duck would be curious.

For better or for worse, with my shortcomings and my small victories, I am driven by pleasure. You could call me egoistic or hedonistic, since I only focus on things that spark my curiosity and intellectual pleasure. But try this: ask yourself why you like something, why are you happy to have learned it? Be coherent, answer in phrases that are well organized, draft for yourself a speech that reflects your enthusiasm. I’m convinced that on the one hand, you will understand your reactions and emotions better, while on the other, if you take the plunge and publish your writing, you’ll not be the only one that benefits from the experience.

Reading and writing are solitary activities, they need you, your mind, and your fingers. But I think that they both mean much more than that, and you get the most when you share them. I think one can also “publish” their reading when one puts it to work, when the book, story, or magazine you liked makes you want to gather your ideas and write about it, when a controversial idea makes you build a solid counterargument, when you want to share the lesson you learned.

Finally, I think that reading and the speech that follows it, in writing or in a talk, means shared joy, explored curiosity, dissolved sadness in a communion and community, wisdom passed further, through which both you and we, the rest, become better people. Make friends with your rubber duck, tell your story in and to the world.

I can’t be sure how much of all this I will end up telling the students, but it was my way of putting some thoughts in order. I’ve answered a couple of whys, even when no one was asking them, and hopefully, I did it in a partially ordered way. Next week I will tell you how it went.

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