Of Identity, Invisible Audiences, Influence, & Investment

Bradley, a student in Alec Couros's eci831 class, discussed the idea of "invisible audiences" in a recent blog post. His comments sparked a torrent of reflections which certainly won't fit in a single Tweet or even in the comments section of a blog, so I am posting them here instead.

Identity – Who are you? A potentially complicated question often best answered in relation to some person, context, role, responsibility, issue, belief, or perspective. (So, for me, the easy way out of the question would be answers along the lines of: former high school Spanish teacher, professional developer, Assistant Professor of Spanish, supervisor of student teachers, etc.) A quick Google search and perusal of my digital footprints would reveal much more about my personal and professional beliefs and actions over the course of the last 15 to 20 years.

Who am I? In face-to-face relationships, people often rely on age, sex, occupation, title, and other such things to help them know how to behave--selecting comfortable patterns of interaction that fulfill expectations, provide protection, and help them decide how to respond to unanticipated complications in a conversation. Many of those cues are absent online—making it difficult for participants in a conversation to answer the question, “Who am I in relation to you, your expectations for this interaction, and the current topic of conversation?” Consequently, the interaction seems much more fraught with risk and its outcome much less predictable.

Invisible Audiences - Who am I in relation to you? Invisible audiences present even greater challenges in that regard. (I am reminded of Peter Elbow’s reflections on both the positive and negative effects that an awareness can have on the impact of an author’s writing, as well as on the author’s ability to write.) Nonetheless, writing for a relatively invisible audience can also be incredibly liberating—especially for authors who have felt constrained by others’ expectations and/or who are experimenting with their own personal and professional identities. I think a lack of regular feedback may make some authors wonder if participating online is worth the investment.

Influence - Who reads what I write anyway?  I also think that many bloggers significantly underestimate the scope of their own influence.  Many times while in search of something else, I stumble across insightful blog posts written by people I do not know.   Although I frequently read, ponder, and incorporate them into my life, most of the time, I do not comment on them.  Nonetheless, my life has been greatly enriched by reading such blogs.  I don’t think I am unique in that regard.  With that in mind, I choose to “pay it forward,” sharing my own writing (i.e., thinking in process) publicly from time to time as well. 

However, I think writing is a gift of self—one that provides privileged access to the mind, heart, and/or soul of another person.  And, as is true of all gifts of the self, to give such a gift requires a certain measure of vulnerability.  That vulnerability is part of what makes the gift so valuable.  And THAT is a scary prospect when one considers the many issues you raised in your post.

I try to read generously, recognizing that most writing is thinking in process and therefore, probably incomplete.

I try to write with an awareness that my posts are likely to be read by a variety of unintended audiences. This gives me the chance to consider my opinions from multiple perspectives which, although they may not explicitly appear in my writing, certainly strengthen its quality.

I try to respond with an eye toward the person behind the words—remembering that it is likely that most of my online conversations are being “viewed” or “overheard” by invisible third parties who are interpreting not only the words, but also the relationship between me and the other person with whom I am conversing.

Investment - What role do I play and how much am I willing to invest in doing so?  In other words, ultimately, I think conversing online is an act of faith in the sense that it requires people to believe that what they have to offer will, ultimately, matter in some way.  It also demands that writers trust their audience(s) not to misinterpret, manipulate, or misuse what they may share.  Unfortunately, as is true in most face-to-face relationships, sometimes that trust is abused.  I think this is one of the reasons that issues of audience, purpose, context, and community seem to play such important roles in online writing.  A strong community, in particular, can help us mitigate the risk of sharing our best selves with the world (by creating conditions that support that kind of sharing, by protecting those who do share, and by publicly censuring those who abuse the trust of individuals or the community as a whole).  Paradoxically, the strength of such communities seems to come from the committed engagement, investment, and participation of each of its individual members.

Thanks, Bradley, for giving me so much to think about (and Alec Courosa for pointing me to Bradley's post via your link on Twitter)!

My Easter Birthday

It started early when Jessie dropped by
To leave a birthday lasagna surprise.

Orange rolls, fruit salad, asparagus souffle
Were part of the way Anny started my day.

Tulips brought sunshine in spite of the snow,
And Easter eggs filled with things I didn't know

Anny believed she had learned from me--
Things that perhaps I didn't see.

Lunch at the Owens was such a treat!
Then time with the Bartletts--always sweet!

Pie at the Steeds, I just couldn't resist!
Their great conversations--not to be missed!

Family and friends also joined in the day
With phone calls and cards from far, far away.

On this Easter birthday I'm grateful, it's true
That my life is so full of people like you!

Cherice Montgomery, March 25, 2008

Why can't they?

(Note: The poem will make much more sense if you click on each individual photo--or save yourself the trouble and view the slide show.)


It started with half-formed thoughts.

Celestial scribbles . . .

. . . smeared with cosmic paint on the canvas of her mind.

Until, with a sudden flash of inspiration,

powerful ideas

ignited possibility.

A concept exploded into existence,

producing cosmic confetti

that filled her soul

with light.

Why can't THEY?

Why CAN'T they?

WHY can't they?

Feel the fire?

See the exquisite entities emerging from the flames?

Hear the harmonies?!

Perhaps it is a question of perception?

Maybe her scintillating conversations . . .

. . . are inconsequential specks to them?

Maybe her galaxies . . .

Are their fuzzy poodles?

A post that ends with a poodle doesn't impact the reader with much of a bang, does it?!

Or even a sizzle, really! :-(

More like a fizzle, if you ask me!


















Poem & Photos by Cherice Montgomery - July 7, 2007

What happened to the hoops?

So I had a conversation with a friend today that caused me to look for some more information on Dabrowski's overexcitabilities. I came across this site on the "metagifted" in the process. The site seems a little bit "out there," and I can't really attest to its value because I didn't make it beyond the first article, where I was captured by these 2 sentences. They describe my present circumstances perfectly:

"My projects were always started the night before they were due, and finished sometime around noon the next day. Nobody really knew what to say, think, or do in response; I took an assignment, said "nah, this is boring" and did something totally different. And nobody knew, at the time, how to handle exceptions."

For much of my life, I've started my projects the night before they are due (I actually work on them for weeks, but don't get much "real" work done on them before the night before they are due). Contrary to what you might think, this is not because I'm lazy, but because I have SO many ideas for them that narrowing down to a single selection is difficult. I also have such grand visions of what the final products will look like that the projects sometimes feel overwhelming and are difficult to start.

Nonetheless, it was so validating to hear someone else say that they take assignments that are "boring" and do something totally different instead! I've spent the last 3 years in graduate school doing just that (much to the dismay of my professors). However, as I think back to my high school projects, I suddenly realize that I did the same thing in high school. I don't know that I consciously judged the assignments as being boring at that time. I think they were just springboards to opportunity for me.

I saw "other" possibilities in them that I don't think my teachers necessarily intended [such as the day we were supposed to deliver a commercial for an imaginary product in speech class and I invented a product that was completely abstract (as opposed to the latest household cleaner or something) and then performed a jingle I wrote myself based on a song I had learned as a child in church, or the day we were supposed to give a book report on a biography we had read, and I performed what I now know to be a dramatic interpretation where I took on the roles of multiple characters at once and used voices, positioning, and audience participation to make it all work.]

I just thought that the reason the assignments I turned in were different from everyone else's was because I was inherently "creative." I didn't realize at the time that actually, I was probably just bored. It would be a relief not to realize it now. However, in my present circumstances, I've been painfully aware of that fact for a long time, and that awareness has severely impeded the very creativity that has always sustained me.

Over the last 3 years, I have also become well-acquainted with the phenomenon of people who really don't know what to say, think, or do in response to such "products." Silence is generally the reaction. It can be pretty disconcerting and after awhile, you start to wonder if you are completely crazy--what it is that everyone else gets that you clearly don't?!

That isn't as bad, though, as the condescending tone most experts assume when explaining something to me because they presume that I couldn't possibly understand the answer to the question I have just asked about an engineering design, a mathematical theory, a scientific phenomenon, or a philosophical argument. They respond as adults often do to children who ask seemingly simple questions with highly complex answers. That isn't nearly as bad, though, as being nonverbally (and verbally) dismissed by people who will not engage in a conversation because I am female and/or because they assume that I couldn't possibly know anything (much less have anything of interest to say) regarding a "technical" topic.

It is a strange place to be--different enough that most people aren't interested in talking about the things you care about, but not different "enough" that those who CAN talk about the things you care about will allow you to participate in the conversation.

So it was quite refreshing to talk with several people today about such topics and to realize that for once, I hadn't felt as though I had to overcome large quantities of resistance--attempting to "convince" those involved in the conversation that I could manage it. The conversation just flowed and I didn't really even notice the lack of resistance until I reflected on it later. It was very odd. I wonder what happened to the hoops today? Why WEREN'T they present? Or were they present and I just didn't notice them?

Conversation as Improvisation

What a joyful thing it is to listen to the improvisation of a gifted musician! Experiencing the synergy that arises when multiple musicians, freestyling poets, dancers, or comedians improvise dynamically in response to one another is even more compelling.

So why don't people improvise more often? Improvisation can certainly have negative connotations (as in situations where one has to improvise or "make do" because one lacks sufficient resources of some kind or another). However, I find that I tend to associate it more with a competence that yields flexibility, fluidity, and spontaneity. In order to improvise, one must possess a broad, deep, internalized understanding of not only the fundamentals of a field, but also of its intricacies, its subtleties, and its nuances. One must know the rules so well that one can consistently and accurately predict the effects that breaking them (and thus, the expectations they engender) will have on one's audience. All of humor rests on this principle (of setting up expectations and then purposefully deviating from them in ways that engender a well-spring of surprise that produces an involuntary emotional reaction). One must also know one's audience.

From the point of view of the improviser, I imagine that it is most fun when one discovers someone who not only understands the improvisation one has just finished rendering, but also has the competence, sensitivity, and wit to reply in a meaningful, but novel way. This makes me wonder about conversation as a form of improvisation. What makes some conversations so much more satisfying than others? Are fabulous conversationalists those who bring tremendous stores of knowledge to the table--both in terms of the topics of conversation and also of the audience, context, and culture of the conversation? Or is knowledge less important than finely honed observational skills that allow one to recognize opportunities within the conversation for novel contributions, recursions, or new iterations? Or is it simply the flexibility that such knowledge, skill, and understanding provides that makes it work?

Whatever the case, scintillating conversations are unmistakable. I always know when I'm having one, and it is easy to recognize when others feel they are engaged in a similar experience (irrespective of the actual content of the conversation).

So, once again, I raise the question of improvisation. Are scintillating conversations merely the product of skillfully manipulated elements and patterns of conversation? Are they the result of agile and flexible participation? Or is something more aesthetic in nature at work . . . a sensitivity to natural rhythms, the ebbs and flows of the tides of a conversation, and an ability to weave balance and harmony into the composition? Certainly there is an element of risk involved in improvisation . . . a willingness to let the composition emerge, unfold, and guide. There is also an element of play at work . . . a willingness to experiment, to explore, to be surprised by one's own discoveries, and to pursue them to see where they might lead. That requires tremendous confidence (or a strong sense of security).

Perhaps we don't improvise because we don't feel competent enough, confident enough, or safe enough to do so? Yet, in some ways, isn't improvisation what leads to some of the most creative and amazing breakthroughs in science, in art, in mathematics, in poetry?

Of Conversations, Chopping, & Conceptual Cropping

So I've been thinking today . . .

I'm discovering that face-to-face conversations are critical components of my ability to synthesize. I know that I often prefer them to other media (assuming I have the option of an interesting one), but I wasn't totally aware of what they do for me until yesterday and today.

Had several interesting conversations with 4 different people in the last 2 days. All of them were about different topics, but I walked away with major insights from each one—insights that came after 10-15 minutes of conversation in almost every case (in other words, it wasn't the length of the conversation that produced the insight).

Explaining my thoughts to other people and having them bounce questions back helps me "crop" the ideas quickly (think of a chef chopping vegetables—slice, slice, slice so quickly and so decisively that you wonder how he manages to miss his fingers each time—well, I noticed my mind doing that today. One comment and slice, there went a huge chunk of the idea, a question and chop, there went another major piece, until after a few minutes, the whole thing is crystal clear and very condensed in my head.)

Applying the concept of cropping to ideas is interesting to me.

The Conversation Connoisseurs

Someone gave me the unexpected gift of a scintillating conversation on New Year's Eve. (Yes, I also did "fun" things like play Karaoke Revolution and Dance, Dance Revolution!) We got to chatting about why "good" conversations are so uncommon and about what makes a conversation a "good" one. As we talked we determined that most conversations are "chips and salsa conversations"—small talk that requires almost no preparation and very little knowledge of the other person. It spices up our lives a bit (depending, of course, on the brand of salsa) and the "chips" momentarily satisfy our hunger for social contact.

We decided that the second most common kind of conversations are "M&M conversations"—spontaneous, exchanges of banter that come in a variety of fun colors and flavors. Their candy-coating of fun tends to "melt in your mouth, not in your hands," but once you have ingested them and the delectable chocolate of playfulness that encases them dissolves, sometimes nothing else remains. Every once in awhile though, you may get lucky enough to find a tiny bit of substance (a.k.a. a peanut) at the core! Hence, their layered nature makes them a little more complex than "chips and salsa" conversations in many ways, and requires that the participants know one another to some extent (after all, some people are deathly allergic to peanuts!).

We termed the least common kind of conversations "lasagna conversations." These kinds of conversations consist of a wide variety of ingredients, demand quite a bit of preparation, and require a great deal of "cooking time" (i.e. it would be difficult to have such a conversation in the space of just a few minutes unless participants were to pre-cook some of the ingredients). When well-prepared, "lasagna conversations" are much more flavorful, nutritious, and satisfying than other conversations. However, many people avoid "making" such conversations because they are more expensive in that they require a greater investment of self, involve more effort, and require more skill. It takes both experience and practice to whip up a tasty one!

Gotta love lasagna (well, actually, I can think of a lot of other foods that I would prefer over lasagna, but for the sake of the metaphor . . . )!