Tthe work that comes after the decision is what the decision is really about.
As I dive deeper into the lindy hop and swing dance community, I can’t help but get a little meta about it, especially after witnessing the after-party from CBUS6 yesterday. You see, up until this past weekend, I’ve been the sort of community who attends the local events only; weekly and monthly dances.
This past weekend was CBUS6, i.e. the sixth lindy exchange based here in Columbus. It was a fantastic event, made awesome because the planning committee worked hard to make sure there was an equal number of followers and leaders. When the last official dance was over, I was invited to join the remaining locals at a committee member’s house to help eat the leftover food and hang out.
There were hardwood floors perfect for dancing in socks, so even though we had danced all weekend, we got to be really silly and dance like 1980s Cosby, do the mashed potato and the twist, and even the Jump On It dance (via The Fresh Prince of Bel Air).
I got to watch people whom I consider expert dancers talk about technique, which was certainly eye-opening because I don’t know the names to any of the moves that I do on the dance floor when I swing and lindy hop. I’m lucky in that I can pick up moves after a couple of trial runs, so I’ve never really had to take official lessons. Which is about the time the user researcher in me blinked and realized what was going on: I’ve been performing ethnographic research on this community since I joined in late August.
The swing dance community in Columbus, OH is amazing, hands down. The people are welcoming, fantastic dancers who don’t care about your skill level as long as you love to dance as much as they do. I knew there was much going on behind the scenes that I hadn’t access to, being a new member, so man, was it awesome to see these guys at work!
By the luck of simply being present, I got to watch as a new competition couple asked the advice of two veterans about their choice of song, and what they could do with it. Which brings me to the title of this post, “Making a Moment.”
As the five of us sat in a parked car on the side of a residential road listening to the chosen song of the new competition couple, one of the veteran dancers said, “This is a great song. You have the opportunity to have a lot of nice moments.”
I was struck by her choice of words. Moments? I had heard that word used before, in a very similar fashion. When I took ceramics, I made a piece called The Frog Prince. A ceramic masters student at the time walked past me while I was building the piece, complimenting me on the “great moments” I had captured.
I love this piece because it has humor. The prince puckers his lips, looking confident and hopeful. The girl, with her lip curled in disgust, leans as far back as gravity will allow before actually falling over. She is so desperate to reject his advances that her hair whips with the force of her movement.
I feel as though in the arts and artistic endeavors such as dance, we aim for making “moments.” The thing is, I’m still not entirely sure how to describe a “moment” to someone outside of the community, be it the ceramic, painting, drawing, or dancing community. Is it something perfectly captured in a sliver of time that triggers something in our minds and emotions? Is it something ephemeral, or is it static? I’m not entirely sure. Having heard this word used in two different, yet possibly related fields, it makes me wonder…
Could I make a “moment” in a website or physical design, i.e. something meant to be used, rather than observed? The moments mentioned earlier put the audience in a passive role: you study the ceramic piece; you watch (and cheer) the competing dance couple.
Perhaps making a moment in interaction design is too much like trying to make an experience, which just rubs me the wrong way. I can’t make an experience, because only the person having the experience knows if they are having an experience, or if they are simply experiencing something in a line of all the other somethings in their day. I can provide an environment which has a collection of variables which may very well lead to an intellectual/emotional/physical experience. But I can’t create the experience.
But it seems I can create a moment, at least with clay. So what is it I would have to do in order to capture a moment using technology as my medium?
Think, think, think…
Hey everyone, short post today because I did a guest post at VizThink about my sketchnoting experience at the first TEDxBloomington. It was my second TEDx event, and it did not disappoint. In fact, I think I might have liked it better than the TEDxColumbus event I went to this past fall!
Anyway, take a gander at my post, and help spread the word?
In other sketchnoting news, I have a tag on Sketchnote Army because they have highlighted my sketches so often. I’m feeling really good about this. I feel like I’m finding my place in the world. 
In this life, you don’t have to prove nothin’ to nobody but yourself. And after what you’ve gone through, if you haven’t done that by now, it ain’t gonna never happen.
I am a part of the Doodle Revolution, and proud of it. The manifesto for this revolution is simple:
We, the Doodlers of every nation, in order to form a more perfect world, establish semantic truth, promote whole-mind learning, provide for the struggling knowledge worker and student, enhance educational well-being, and secure the benefits of the Doodle for ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Manifesto for Doodlers everywhere.
Emphasis mine. The idea of whole-mind learning is a fascinating topic for me. I went to an “alternative” elementary school; alternative meaning we didn’t have desks, but a couple of tables. We had story time every day where we sat on a rug and listened to My Father’s Dragon and The BFG. Recess was mandatory, and I spent most of my time sprinting around, gloating about how I was faster than all the boys. I was, actually. I think in the third grade I was the fastest female sprinter in school, and I beat the fastest male by a second or so. Last time that ever happened, let me tell you.
I digress. The point is, when I went to junior high, the idea of working at a desk was foreign. The idea of sitting around gossiping rather than using pent up energy during our “lunch break” drove me nuts. High school was even worse. I had managed to convince myself by then that I wasn’t athletic because I didn’t like gyms or team sports. I spent all my energy studying and creating art. And so it went in undergrad, as well. I felt stifled, because I was stifling myself.
I began doodling my notes during my design practicum course in graduate school because I was exhausted from teaching, being a student, and fighting a sinus infection. I was desperate to stay awake; I sat in the front row and was terrified to lose the respect of my professor had I succumbed during his lecture.
My first doodles had nothing to do with the lecture. They were simply a way for me to have something to focus on while listening; passive listening was going to put me to sleep. I felt guilty about it. I had been chastised by a teacher in high school that I wasn’t paying attention because I had doodles all over my notes.
Even though I had felt half-asleep, I remembered the majority of the lecture. I was participating in whole-mind thinking, using my ears to hear the lecture, using my eyes to see his examples, and using my creative abilities to engage my mind through creative synthesis. Over the years, I’ve made my doodles purposeful so that I never take notes the old-fashioned way.
And then last night while chatting with my grand-student (i.e. a student of one of my students), Austin, he mentioned that he knits during class. He explained that everyone in his cohort and our professors understood that he could concentrate on the lecture and knit at the same time. Though it was an online chat, I found myself nodding.
“Well sure,” I typed, “that’s your thinking action.” As if I use the phrase thinking action all the time and hadn’t just coined it on the spot. Didn’t matter. As soon as I typed it, I knew it to be true. Sunni Brown has made it very clear that “doodling ignites three learning modalities—auditory, kinesthetic, and visual—and dramatically enhances the experience of learning.” Doodling is my thinking action. Knitting, apparently, is Austin’s.
I’ve started watching people, their habits and behaviors, and have come to the conclusion that many people have a thinking action. Maybe they tap their pen against the table. Maybe they go for a walk or run. Maybe they play an instrument. More often than not, it’s an action that requires little else but their mind, body, and a singular tool.
Thinking is also a verb; it is an action one does. I feel as though people expect you to stand still while thinking just because it is intangible. Or that if you do something with your hands while thinking that you’ve moved on to another topic, or worse yet, ignoring them entirely. False. Next time you see someone doodling while you’re talking to them, or if they pick up a set of knitting needles, or hell, if they dance a little jig, don’t assume they’re not listening.
In fact, they’re probably listening better than someone who stares at you blankly, or smiles and nods.
I’m curious to know, what is your thinking action, if you have one? And if you don’t, why do you think that is?