“I think divergent and something else,” I said perfunctorily. I recalled the test and that it left me unconvinced.
“Well, you can only be one.”
“Oh, yes. That is the one. But that is not how I learn,” I said without remembering what is entailed in learning divergently. “I do better using as many senses as possible, like writing and repeating whatever it is I want to learn,” I explained in an attempt to enlighten him that the test had failed to pinpoint me, obviously outside of its scope.
“Mary. That is not learning. That is memorizing.”
“No, no. Actually. Yes. You are right.”
My mind ran as I grasped for definitions, words, examples, truths, somethings. That familiar feeling washed over me. The one when your previous mindset or theory is challenged and you neither agree nor disagree but need to keep talking to bounce ideas off your challenger to solidify an opinion. I started, as per usually, with the “system.” I went to a private high school where the bottom line was getting into a good college, facilitated by extracurricular activities but more by good marks and Advanced Placement courses, my old life and love. I had not thought of these tests till now, sitting in a Mexican research station with polarized windows that turns parts of hallways purple until you reach the light, are bathing in it and forget the white walls and florescent bulbs away from the windows.
Yes, and the three “5s” from junior year. The school had not looked at me twice (except for maybe with a furrowed brow), but when those results came in, doors opened to administrative offices normally reserved for disciplinary encounters followed by packed bags and surreptitious tears and waiting for a mother or a father to come pick you up from school one last time. But, not for me. The system was pleased with me. I was invited to join elite clubs where you read books with the Dean and ask questions to the authors. I knew I would use the test outcomes for college credit even though I had not a clue what to do with my life, let alone where I wanted to study because I had not learned what discipline I understood best, but instead, in what subject I excelled.
And that is the problem: they are not really about learning. AP courses are about one test. You study old tests during class. You take practice tests during class. You take old AP tests for your midterm. You talk about test taking practices to raise your score. You eat fish the night before and try to sleep but wake every hour in fear that you missed that oh-so important day. And then the results are in and in the end they are about raising the statistics or prestige of the teacher, school or student, all the while lining the pockets of the people at the College Board, dishing out tests at 80 bucks a pop. Not about, never about learning.
Then you go to college, where you, as a middleclass child, have always been destined to go to turn into an adult, meet a mate, have 1.5 children, take out a mortgage and adopt a dog (probably a golden retriever). The promise land. In my case, The Georgia Institute of Technology, where half the freshman class fails or leaves (sometimes permanently checking out from the game of life) after the first year. It was sink or swim, baby. And did I learn my way through Calculus 1-3 and Differential Equations? I did not. But I did memorize one formula to the next, not for love of the subject but for fear of repeating the math that I so despised. So I continued, never failing, never shining, never considering the difference between learning and memorizing because the two have never been so clearly distinguished, by myself or by a professor, until this moment with this training sheet in hand. I explained as much to Petr. Not really but I told him about the system.
“It is the same in the Czech Republic but I had hoped it was different in the States.” I said it was different at hippie colleges.
He had taught in a university and knew of what I spoke. But he had stridden to fight against it in his students. “It is short-term, by nature,” and he highlighted that those who get the best marks usually do the worst in the workforce. I agreed. I can see that. But, the system, Petr. I countered that if one does not please the system with good grades, then one does no even get the chance to be a mediocre worker because so much rides on ones GPA, at least initially joining the 9-5 suits. He agreed but wanted to continue. Farmers started to filter in. But the conversation was going. They went for Styrofoam cups and Nescafe and we followed them with our eyes, anticipating the start yet trying to reach a conclusion. They came over, one-by-one. Still, we kept “Hola, mucho gusto. Mary” going “Soy Petr” and discussing in between “Mucho gusto” and I concluded “Vamos a empezar en un momento” that I needed to write this.
So here I am writing against a wall near a purple window as Petr talks and they listen, but I am no less consumed, no closer to distinguishing between the two. Perhaps I did years ago when I moved out of chemistry to international affairs. I was good at chemistry. There was not doubt about it. I had devoted a great chunk of my life to it, or what use to seem like a great slice, as I started with the Olymiad at age 16. I could do chemistry, for some reason, and remember understanding it. But as I continued in the field, which also meant the math and the physics, more and more felt like memorizing. At the end of each semester I felt all my knowledge had left because I was living from test to test and had the grades but no understanding. I was scared.
In the first class of International Affairs (INTA), I had a feeling that I learned more in that hour than I had for the entire two years prior. Still, am I now confusing enjoyment with learning with memorizing with understanding? The subjects in INTA are, no doubt, easier to understand upon first glance but its complexity should not be discounted. One may actually argue that the INTA is more complicated than chemistry because they are no formulas, no black and white answers. There is no chemical structure to why the Berlin Wall fell. No one could have calculated the recent unrest in Egypt or derive what will happen in Lybia. And while international affairs has and will continue to utilize chemistry for anthrax and A-bombs and mustard gas, the chemist never has the power to influence the use or disuse of the fruits/disasters of his labor.
Is that a learning style? Perhaps I do not have to define understanding to feel like I have learned. The understanding and the learning come from asking the questions and thinking rather than temporarily allocating space. And lo and behold. I am divergent.
