Poetry & Pushpins

~ The Writings of S.L. Woodford

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Tag Archives: making mistakes

Process Learning and Pavement

25 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life)

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human nature, making mistakes, New Haven, running

The weather is finally showing semblances of spring here in New Haven, and for me, that means one thing: I can run outside again. Seriously, I’m like an excitable puppy about this–the hills, the fresh air, the trees make me stupidly happy and I never, ever, want to come back inside.

But there is one snag in this joyous transition. And it comes in the form of uneven pavement, located in the sidewalk outside of  the Yale Hockey rink. As usual, my foot caught this bit, and I went flying forward. It took me a second to regain my balance, but I did, and my run continued.

That spot always messes with me. It was the spot where I fell and skinned my knee the week my mother died, it was the spot where I fell and bruised my knee after an article I wrote was rejected. And this spring was no different: it caught my foot, and I went flying forward.

Yet, this time I didn’t fall.

Yes, I was caught off balance, but I didn’t fall. And I think there is a lesson in that.

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Broadchurch: Snap Judgements and Scottish Accents

11 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life)

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cozy apartment, England, human nature, making mistakes

In last week’s post, I mentioned that I couldn’t watch Broadchurch because, in it, David Tennant lacked his Scottish accent. I do not like to live my life in such broad and ridiculous judgments, so, my sentiments bothered me for the next few days. What sort of shallow, silly girl stops watching a show because she only finds the main character attractive if he’s rolling his r’s and blurrily calling people “little madam” in a slightly sassy way? Apparently me. Oh, add to that a script that is stunted and awkward, and one’s interest in a show goes to hell.

I eyed Broadchurch every time I looked at my Netflix queue over those days of questioning. Surely, I’m better than this. Friends, who have sensible and discriminating taste, liked the show a lot. Maybe I should give it another go. Maybe I was too hard on an American accented David Tennant.

I pressed play and was immediately thrown into a confusion. The first episode’s overall aesthetic was grainier than I remembered, while across the screen paraded cup after cup of tea and awesome English actor after awesome English actor. Many whom I recognized from London stage productions and Dr. Who.

I pushed pause. Wait. What was I watching? The Broadchurch I was writing about last week was a distinctly American show, David Tennant was talking like a cowboy and he had a sexy blond sidekick. This show had tea and people skulking about on rocky beaches and in back gardens. This Broadchurch was definitely English. Plus, the cinematography was gripping, and the acting and writing, beautifully nuanced.

I calmed my confusion with a quick google search. Apparently, I had mixed up Broadchurch with Gracepoint. Gracepoint is the American spin-off of Broadchurch. Both star David Tennant and center around the murder of an eleven-year-old boy in a sleepy beach town. It was Gracepoint, not Broadchurch, that had so bummed me out earlier this year.

Well…this show of tea and beaches and English stage actors could still bum me out. David Tennant had yet to grace the screen. I pressed play and rolled my eyes. I was holding my breath in anticipation. I am ridiculous to care about this…but, will he or won’t he?

Finally, David Tennant’s angular face, framed by floppy redish hair, appeared in a closeup shot. He glowered at the camera and opened his mouth….

I delightedly squealed.

YES!!! DAVID TENNANT HAS A SCOTTISH ACCENT!!!!

I made a huge mistake. I’m going to like Broadchurch after all.

Cleaning out the closet, I mean, the bookcases

28 Tuesday Oct 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Fashion, Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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books, cozy apartment, making mistakes, vintage fashion

I went through my bookcases last weekend. I figured it was probably time since I had to step around a fort-like structure of bindings and dust to get to my desk.

So, with reusable bag in hand I went to work…and found out that my book keeping rational was very similar to the clothes keeping rational women with overflowing closets seem to possess. Just like that pair of jeans from high school, the study of Normative Ethics will never fit me again. There was a brief time in grad school when the ideas suited me, but now they just feel uncomfortable and outdated. And do I really need that commentary on Amos? Yes, the book is big, beautiful, and impressive—but I never use it. It just sits on the shelf gathering dust, like that overly shiny halter dress you bought to go clubbing in (and face it, you will never go clubbing).

IMG_0910Cleaning out my bookcases made me realize that when I have a disposable income, I waste it on books instead of clothing. In my youth, this habit made me quietly smug. I was not one of those shallow girls preoccupied with fashion and boys. Oh no, I was much better than that because I would buy books to read…and one day, I would impress some Austenesque fellow with my intellect and profound understanding of the world.

Book after book went into my reusable bag. These weighty tomes of Western thinking might as well have been outdated dresses and blouses. Yes, I bought books to improve my intellect, but I bought books that I didn’t need, that I wouldn’t read, that I would abandon the minute they lost popularity. My sin is just as bad as your average shopaholic.

There is room on my bookcases now. Let us hope that I’ve learned my lesson. Especially since I can order any book that I wish—for free—through our university’s library system.

Video Games (and Attempting to Play Them)

10 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life)

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learning patience, making mistakes, technology

Gosh, I’ve been busy these past two weeks. And that business has everything to do with the start of another school year here in New Haven. Days have wildly tripped by, full of meeting new students, seeing old friends, and going to lots and lots of opening receptions. All glorious and exciting and new—but, slightly taxing to my introverted side. Which is why I made sure to skulk about my apartment last Saturday night and play video games.

Well, I guess I should say play a video game. Because there is only one I ever play with a certain amount of frequency and that is The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, an action role-playing game that transports you to the digital continent of Tamriel, where, because of open game play, you can fight badies, steal stuff, read books, and run about the breathtaking countryside collecting mushrooms to your heart’s content. To me, Oblivion is the digital equivalent to one of George Eliot’s fine Victorian novels. All of the quests, both main and side, are fine pieces of storytelling that examine morality, human psychology, and religion. And your character’s choices (good, evil, neutral) change their personalities and your gaming experience (so George Eliot!).

So, with a cup of tea by my side, I turned on my PS3, created a new character (I’m really into Dunmers at the moment), started to play…and immediately died before reaching the first real “save point” in the dungeon quest tutorial.

I have played this game before.

I have played this game before. Many, many times.

I always get out of the dungeon without dying.

Apparently not this time.

Feeling like a right regular noob, I went back into the kitchen, fixed myself another cup of tea, and tried the level again. This time, I made it out of the dungeon and onto the next level of gameplay with ease.

Though I’m grateful that no one was in the apartment to see my first epic fail, complete with rabidly enthusiastic dog-sized rats and dark-ass dungeon tunnels, this series of events from sucktastic noobery to competent gamerness reminded me of why, on a meta level, I enjoy playing video games like Oblivion: they teach me to be patient with my learning process while encouraging me to make mistakes.

I started playing video games as a teenager because of my brother (he had to have some way to get me back for all the Jane Austen I made him read). I was horrible at them. Hand eye coordination is not a natural gift of mine. And just like the mean girls at school, who made fun of me for reading Shakespeare and wearing glasses, video games made me, a 4.0 student and a perfectionist, feel stupid and inadequate.

But, no matter how stupid and inadequate I felt playing video games with my brother, I could always go back to the main menu, and try the level I bombed again. And the second, third, or even the tenth play through would become much easier. The grace that came in the form of the save button was powerful. It gave me space in my perfectionist world to do something crazy, to take risks. It reminded me that learning something is sometimes a process that matures you through your failures, and what you do after your failures, rather than through your exquisitely executed successes.

And if that thought doesn’t give you hope in a dark-ass dungeon while large rats attempt to gnaw your character’s face off, I don’t know what will.

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