When we sit down to write, it’s easy to settle into the mindset of trying to impress our readers–teachers, professors, potential employers, potential customers, etc.–with our writing. So we set out in search of that elusive goal, pulling in words and phrasing that, we feel, will knock the socks off our readers’ feet. But is that the case? The following is the speech that I was honored to deliver at my graduate hooding ceremony. The video is available here. In this speech, I share an experience that resonated with me and subsequently influenced how I approached writing–prioritizing expression over impression.
A few months ago I traveled to Washington, DC, for a tap dance festival. For this event, tap dancers–professionals and amateurs alike, old and young from all around the world– converged to celebrate the percussive style of tap. Near the end of the festival, everyone gathered in one large room for a panel discussion with the dance instructors there, and of the various questions asked, I remember one in particular: a young girl, no more than 10, raised her hand and asked, “What is your favorite tap dance step?” However, rather than answer the girl’s question, the lead instructor prompted every panelist to go down the line and simply orally share a rhythm, simple or complex, but a rhythm nonetheless. And so, down the line passed a different rhythm, scatted by a different panelist, each rhythm reflecting something of its speaker’s style.
After they had finished, the lead instructor explained her rationale behind the the girl’s deferred question.
“Your question is irrelevant,” she said, “it’s not about the dance steps. We just shared a string of rhythms that can be done with a variety of step combinations. Don’t focus on the steps. Focus instead on the rhythm or the sound that is produced as a result. It doesn’t really matter which steps, basic or advanced, you land on that floor. It’s what you do with those steps, what sounds rise from the floor, that lasts in the memories of those around you.”
I feel that this applies to us as scholars–with our various associate’s, bachelor’s, master’s, specialist’s, and doctoral degrees.
Yes, we know the steps–the hard-earned knowledge and skills.
Yes, we’ve developed them through long hours, accrued stress, grayed or lost hair, and long hours of self-reflection.
Yet, it’s what we do with those steps that matters more. Are we prepared to use what we know to create a sound worth listening to, or do we simply expect those extra letters after our names to dance for us? Instead, I see those letters, those credentials, as tools that can amplify the sounds that we’re already making. The catch, however, is that we first must be making sounds to then be amplified and to then reach the ears of willing and unwilling listeners.
It’s what you do with those steps, what sounds rise from the floor, that lasts in the memories of those around you.
Sometimes, I find writing difficult, especially when the writing will be presented somewhere. But to help with that sense of difficulty, I remember yet another lesson from that tap dance festival’s panel discussion.
In sharing a one-line tidbit of wisdom, one instructor said the following: “Don’t dance to impress; dance to express.” When I write, I find myself doing just the opposite, struggling to write something profound to impress my readers. But it is only once I embrace the idea of expressing myself and writing something that I would want to hear that my writing comes together. In other words, I focus on creating a sound that I both want and need to hear. In our increasingly chaotic and noisy world, it’s important for us to do likewise. Let’s dedicate our energy to filling the air with sounds that we ourselves need to hear for the sake of who we are as educators, of who we are as scholars and researchers, of who we are as parents and children, of who we are as members of the community, of who we are as citizens of whatever nation to which we belong, of who we are as people.
I focus on creating a sound that I both want and need to hear.
Let’s not focus so much on the steps because they don’t mean much if we don’t do anything with them, if we’re not creating sounds worth listening to.
So as we dance our way to a new day filled with new challenges and new achievements, I ask you this:
