So Many Scott Glasses

A Google search of my name, Scott Glass, generates an array of people, one of whom is me. It is a bit strange to look at these other men who (might) share my name. Who are these other Scott Glasses?

I look at their faces and have the feeling that I am looking into an alternate dimension: could have been him; could have been him; could have been. A businessman “Scott Glass," a dealmaker “Scott Glass,” a couple of mustachioed “Scott Glasses.” But I am not any of these Scott Glasses. I am me. I am my own history. I am my own experiences. Still, it is a little weird and disarming to see all of these Scott Glasses.

But I wonder, what does this name have to do with me, with my history, with my experiences?

After all, I had no choice in the matter. My parents selected “Scott” without any input from me. They wanted an “S” name because, in the Jewish tradition, children are named for the deceased. In this case, I am named for my Great Grandpa Sam. If I had a say, I would have picked that name. I like that name. It sounds strong in a way I do not think mine does. But that's the way it goes. My own kids had no say in their names. My son, Inman, is named for the protagonist in the novel Cold Mountain. We found our daughter’s name, Brin, on a walk through Chicago's Rosewood Cemetery.
Yep, that's the way it goes.

I am thinking about this because I watched Idris Goodwin’s spoken word, “Say My Name.” In his piece, he explores the meaning of his name and what it was like growing up in midwest, middle-class America with an unusual name. As he puts it, “I asked my mom if I could change my name to something else. Mark, Tony, Sean, something else.” By the end of his piece, however, it is clear that he has embraced his name and has made it his own.

Perhaps this is what freedom means: the ability to make your name resonate with the specific who that you are.

Then again, while watching the film Into The Wild, the main character goes about it a bit differently. After hitting the road with plans to tramp across the United States, he decides he needs to name himself. Goodbye Chris McCandless. Hello Alexander Supertramp.

This reminds me of another spoken word piece, this one by Saul Williams. It is called "Coded Language," and in it he says this:

Which gets me thinking. What if, at a certain age, children could decide whether or not the wanted to stick with the name their parents gave them or if they wanted to change it? How many kids would take advantage of that opportunity? And what does it mean to "claim oneself?" Is that what McCandless was doing by becoming Alexander Supertramp? Williams makes this clear connection between "naming" and "claiming." In fact, it is what we have done throughout our history. As soon as we had language we began to symbolically identify everything around us. Trees became rees, ants became ants, sky became sky. Our names made these things knowable. Our names allowed us to define things and pass on our knowledge. So, yes, to name is to claim, to know, to own. Maybe we should give kids this option.

I tweeted Williams's statement once, and a hip-hop poet I know reminded me of Malcolm X’s journey through an array of names. Each corresponded to a certain moment in his development. It made me think about what names I might choose to represent my development. I am not sure what I would pick for my teens, my twenties. But as I get closer to the age I am now, I think about MrG and what it means. Here is one possibility:

Is Blogging a Mindset?

Here is something I have been chewing on for a few days:

Ryan tweeted this after I tagged him in a tweet of my own:

So, yes, I instigated the debate that ensued. And it was lively. Ryan, a colleague, questioned the necessity for an online presence and balked at reducing citizenship to a discussion of devices and online activity. I agree. I am weary of the calls for "digital citizenship" training in schools because these calls usually have a limited focus: how to be safe, how to maintain privacy, how to cultivate your brand. I find that last one particularly irksome. I'm a person, not a brand.

But I keep coming back to that tweet, particularly the statement that "blogging. . . is a fleeting moment, an action tied to no mindset." Really? As I sit here (paused, fingers over the keys, trying to decide my next move), I disagree completely with the assumption that what I am doing is not indicative of a mindset.

Here is a simple definition:

What, then, is the mindset that blogging affords? Or, what are the attitudes I hold due to blogging?

As I try to answer those questions, let me start by thinking about the writing mindset more generally:

Writing is thinking. It is a kind of mindfulness in that I use it to slow down; to investigate an idea or question more deeply; to take a measurement of my mind. Sure, I think while not writing. But when I want to scan my world more widely and/or deeply, I need to dedicate myself to my thoughts in a way that only writing provides.

Writing is creating. Lately, in education, it feels like STEM (and STEAM) own the words "creating" and "making." If students are not rigging something out of legos, cardboard, and circuits in a maker-space, they must be languishing in classes that deprive them of meaningful opportunities to pursue their curiosity. Wrong. Writing is all about pursuing curiosity and then using the most amazing technology humans have devised in order to express themselves: our language.

Perhaps some of the fault resides with us, the language arts teachers. Maybe we focus too much on teaching students how to fill out forms in the guise of 5-paragraph essays. We should never cease to be amazed by our ability to write clearly, confidently, and engagingly. We should stand in awe at our ability to calm and organize the jumbled and undisciplined cracks of insight in our minds so that, to paraphrase Ralph Waldo Emerson, the innermost can become the outermost. Writing makes this possible.

Writing is craft. Like any creative pursuit, it requires attention to detail and intentionality. When attempting to convey myself thoughtfully and interestingly and clearly, choices seem to be endless. Actually, I'll let the great writer, Tim O'Brien, explain this one:

There are twenty-six letters in our alphabet. And there are some punctuation marks, and that’s it. All we’ve got. Nothing else. And out of those 26 letters you can make Ulysses, or the Iliad, in translation – or . . .some piece of junk. The same twenty-six letters! And it’s the responsibility of the writer to pay attention to those letters, putting them in order so that they’re graceful, lucid, clear, all the things that matter to you as a writer.

But what about blogging, in particular. So far, the mindset I have described does not require an online presence. So what mindset does blogging prompt and perpetuate? Here are three attitudes:

I can join the conversation. A grad school professor I had stated this once, and it has stuck with me. His point? For virtually anything we are interested in there exists online a robust conversation. The first job of the writer is to familiarize herself with this conversation. The second is to join. Blogging (and technology) has made joining possible for a much wider range of voices than ever before. Of course, joining does not insure an audience. But I know from experience that crafting a blog post makes me consider the potential audience or community, and this has serious implications for the way I present myself. 

I can be generous and empathetic. This goes for me as a blogger, but also as a reader of other people's blogs. I have written blogs in which I highlight other people's ideas and give credit to people for pushing my own thinking. This includes linking to their work as a way to give them more audience. I have also commented and tweeted my gratitude to writers whose work I value. While these actions might not seem like much, I know they matter, both for the individual as well as for a broader community that these actions can help to establish. Similar to joining the conversation, being generous and empathetic are vital to a participatory culture in which people feel comfortable sharing, agreeing, and disagreeing. This is a mindset I mean to practice daily in my digital routine and in my blogging. 

I can be an active producer instead of a passive consumer.

Yes, I do believe that writing is a mindset. And blogging, too.