Not every institution requires job applicants to submit a "teaching philosophy'" statement, but enough of them do that it seems no graduate student on the market today can escape having to write one.
The requirement is especially common at colleges with heavy course loads, where teaching is more closely scrutinized and weighs more heavily in tenure decisions.
Hiring committees at those colleges must have a tough time because teaching philosophies account for some of the most tiresome reading that academe has to offer (and that's saying something). Who ever heard of someone with fewer than five years of experience at a job having a "philosophy" of how to perform it?
Defenders of the teaching philosophy, who seem as rare as hunchbacked giraffes (I know I've never seen one), might say that I'm just being uptight. The computer scientist's teaching philosophy stood out not only because of the writer's maturity but also because he knew enough to ground himself in the particulars. How might we redesign the teaching-philosophy prompt to ask younger and less-experienced candidates to do the same thing?
I have a simple alternative: Let's ask for an annotated course syllabus designed by the applicant. Leonard Cassuto, a professor of English at Fordham University, writes regularly about graduate education.
The Chronicle welcomes constructive discussion, and our moderators highlight contributions that are thoughtful and relevant. Subscribe now for instant access to this article and thousands of others, data tables, and interactive charts — all available exclusively for Chronicle subscribers. Walt Whitman (1819-92), best known as a poet, had an underappreciated career as a government bureaucrat whose clear handwriting was especially valued.
A huge collection of government documents handwritten by Walt Whitman when the poet was a federal clerk has been unearthed. It's hard to tell from the documents themselves what authorial contributions the poet made to them. It was through the patronage of Ralph Waldo Emerson, "who recommended him on literary and patriotic grounds," that Whitman got a government gig in the first place. As many as 2,000 of the Whitman documents will be digitized and published later this year, with the help of the National Historical Publications and Records Commission. Last week we caught up by phone with the 50-year-old computer scientist, entrepreneur, composer, multi-instrumentalist, author (You Are Not a Gadget, Knopf, 2010), and artist. It was some 20 years ago, at a faculty retreat at Dartmouth to discuss surgical simulations, that he happened upon a book of poems by Amelia Lanier, he recounts by phone. Amelia Lanier, it turns out, may herself have been a convert from a Jewish Moroccan minstrel family, says Lanier. Asked how music relates to his work with computers, his writing, his art, and the other facets of his career, Lanier says: “The only unifying theme I can see is I’m interested in seeing what it means to bridge the interpersonal gap.
Lanier had a famously odd and self-assembled education generally—helping build a “strange house” to replace the tents his family had lived in, and then dropping out of college and art school. In music and in science, “when I was young I had this ability to connect with older men as kind of an apprentice,” Lanier says. If he had to make a living solely from music, Lanier says, he’d work harder at branding himself as primarily this or that kind of composer or player. Lanier’s compositions include movie scores, works for opera and ballet, and a triple concerto. The contract specified that the orchestration be the same as that for Beethoven’s Ninth, also on next week’s program, including a chorus and contrabassoon. Aside from the orchestration, Lanier says, the “Symphony for Amelia” is really not like the Ninth at all. At an initial Winter Park rehearsal in May (see the video below), working from a rough draft of the score, the musicians were, “to say the least, perplexed,” says Ted Henderson, a 22-year-old music major from Orlando studying composition and jazz guitar.
The work also has lyrical stretches, says Henderson, including an opening solo for soprano. But although interpretive leaps are foolhardy, could it be that the sweet eloquence of a woman poet half a millennium ago embodies that of a more recent presence, and that the symphony is not for Amelia alone?
Erika Langmeyer was only a sophomore in high school when her parents took her to see Mark Morris Dance Group perform near their home in Seattle.
Within months, Langmeyer was on a plane en route to Mason, a public university outside of Washington, and trying out dance classes at Donahue’s alma mater. Langmeyer’s why-I-picked-George Mason story is becoming more and more common, says Dan Joyce, a dance professor there. From 1988-1998, Joyce was a member of Morris’s company, and that’s just the beginning of the university’s connections to the this internationally renowned troupe. And then there are current Morris company members Donohue (Class of 2002) and William Smith III (2007), the darlings of the dance office wall. On a recent February Friday, the headline around campus was that Donahue and Smith were there in the flesh, in the expanded performing arts building, leading masterclasses for Mason’s roughly 80 dance majors. Upstairs in 310, Smith was teaching the juniors and seniors a choreographic sequence of his own devise.
He looks back fondly on his time at George Mason, but prefers to think of himself more as an evangelist for his professors than the university itself. Both Smith’s and Donohue’s George Mason experience included performing multiple Morris works at the university’s annual spring galas. The February performances found Smith soloing in Morris’ “Going Away Party,” a country-western barn dance that also functions as social satire.
There are no Morris works on the program for this year’s spring gala at George Mason, but the students are learning pieces by other international heavy hitters. For Langmeyer, this was her chance to perform with the dancer who indirectly brought her to George Mason watching.
And then she was off to her own rehearsal, leaving the Mason dance department less likely then ever to take Donahue’s photos down from the walls. As a humanities PhD who counsels graduate school applicants across fields, I am keenly interested in these developments. The third term in the Forbes list that I am familiar with, from countless meetings, e-mails, and memos, is reach out to. In the first two rounds, it demolished learnings and take offline, only to run into the juggernaut it is what it is in the quarter-finals. Reach out does not generally get a lot of love from people who notice and comment on language. This has become the new cliche for yuppie types or any pseudo-intellectual types or just idiots that think it sounds special. Anyone who remembers when language mavens like—excuse me, such as—William Safire, Edwin Newman, and John Simon walked the earth will recall that this verb was one of their perennial examples of slovenly diction. Get in touch with is a perfectly fine metaphor, but in what way is it any finer than reach out to?
Reach out to is now used mostly metaphorically as well, but it (unlike get in touch with) started out as a literal phrase, meaning to extend one’s arm, hand, or some other body part, generally in order to touch or grasp something. The chart below, a Google Ngram, shows the comparative frequency of reach out to him (blue), get in touch with him (red), and contact him (green) in American books published from 1910 to 2008 (the most recent year for which figures are available).
The big story, clearly, is the long ascendance of contact since its coinage, just a few years before Wodehouse noticed it.  The only plateaus are in the 1980s (because of the mavens’ disapproval?) and in the last few years of the chart, when it has presumably suffered at the hand of reach out to. But reach out to retained a particular meaning, of somehow making a notable effort to extend oneself (hard to avoid the metaphors), for at least a couple of decades. Not coincidentally, the mid-2000s were also the time when the means of contacting someone became profoundly and permanently multiple. And before long—within a couple of decades, probably—even my remaining qualms will fade away. Anne Curzan is a professor of English at the University of Michigan, where she also holds appointments in linguistics and the School of Education. Lucy Ferriss is writer in residence at Trinity College in Connecticut and the author of literary criticism, a memoir, and seven books of fiction. William Germano is dean of humanities and social sciences and a professor of English literature at Cooper Union. Rose Jacobs is an American freelance journalist and English teacher at the Technical University of Munich. Ben Yagoda is a professor of English and journalism at the University of Delaware and the author of, among other books, How to Not Write Bad: The Most Common Writing Problems and the Best Ways to Avoid Them. Today we know what her DNA is—and more important, we have a better sense of what genes are uniquely ours. The comparison between Denisovan DNA and that of modern humans also revealed changes in genes since the two groups split, sometime earlier than 170,000 years ago (again, according to the genetic clock). That titillating idea was challenged this summer by two University of Cambridge researchers, Andrea Manica and Anders Eriksson, who argued that ancient-looking DNA could have been carried forward by some members of the modern group from their origins in Africa.
The ancient-DNA specialists next intend to go back to the genes of Neanderthals, using the new technique to draw out more details about what made Neanderthals nearly modern humans, and us completely so.
Beth McMurtrie is a senior writer focused on research in international studies and the influence of geopolitics on research. Marc Parry is a staff reporter who splits his time between covering technology and writing about research in the humanities and social sciences. The essay below is adapted from a talk delivered to a freshman class at Stanford University in May. The question my title poses, of course, is the one that is classically aimed at humanities majors.
Now there's nothing wrong with mastering skills, with wanting to do your best and to be the best. But either way, either because you went with the flow or because you set your course very early, you wake up one day, maybe 20 years later, and you wonder what happened: how you got there, what it all means.
But I'm not here to talk about technological innovation, I'm here to talk about a different kind. In terms of its content, Teach for America is completely different from Goldman Sachs or McKinsey or Harvard Medical School or Berkeley Law, but in terms of its place within the structure of elite expectations, of elite choices, it is exactly the same.
Moral imagination is hard, and it's hard in a completely different way than the hard things you're used to doing.
In A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce has Stephen Dedalus famously say, about growing up in Ireland in the late 19th century, "When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. These are the kinds of questions that young people find themselves being asked today if they even think about doing something a little bit different. All you can decide is what you think now, and you need to be prepared to keep making revisions. William Deresiewicz is a contributing writer for The Nation and a contributing editor at The New Republic.
But those committee members can't be as tired as the graduate students who write the things.
Teaching statements proliferate because employers seek more and more ways to make distinctions among better- and better-qualified job candidates. I've been teaching at the college level for about 30 years, and I don't have a teaching philosophy either—unless you call "follow your nose and steal what looks good" a philosophy of teaching. Let's imagine that we could all agree on a more neutral name for this troublesome document—call it just a "teaching statement," say.
Of course graduate students don't have a full-blown philosophy, this argument goes, but we're just asking them to talk about their teaching.
I'd like to say it was my own, but mine was lost to posterity years ago when my laptop was stolen.

He spoke of his work teaching people how to read at his local public library, and of the courses he hoped to design if hired.
Because the particulars of a new teacher's work and interests are what we're interested in, right? The annotations could describe the arc of the course, the sequence of the assignments, or the reason for assigning one reading instead of another. Plus your subscription includes weekly print or digital delivery of The Chronicle and The Review and the Chronicle iPad® Edition. Price, a professor of English and co-director of the Center for Digital Research in the Humanities at the University of Nebraska at Lincoln, uncovered the 3,000 or so documents over the last couple of years at the Archives. Letters are signed with the names of higher-ranking officials, but he may well have pitched in as an adviser or ghostwriter, Mr.
But many deal with major Reconstruction-era issues: voting rights, the rise of the Ku Klux Klan, war crimes and treason, railroads and westward expansion, and international copyright law (as it related to the work of another poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow). Price made an exploratory trip to the National Archives, with the hope that he might turn up four or five documents in Whitman's distinctive script. The Whitman Archive has also received grants from the National Endowment for the Humanities, most recently to help it publish all of Whitman's Civil War-era writings. Price, he planned to spend Tuesday afternoon at the National Archives facility in College Park, Md., hunting through more Reconstruction-era records from the attorney general's office.
He was in Berkeley, where he does research for the University of California and for Microsoft. That’s where a symphony that he wrote for the Rollins College Winter Park Institute, in conjunction with the Bach Festival Society (which includes Rollins students in its orchestra and choir), will have its premiere, on October 23. Since then she’s made her way into women’s-studies courses, he says, but back then she was a relative unknown.
Jaron Lanier’s father chose Lanier as a pen name, partly because he feared anti-Semitism and partly because he admired the 19th-century American poet and flautist Sidney Lanier, whom Jaron Lanier says is a descendant of Amelia. Her descendants boasted a number of musicians and poets, he notes, including the composer, producer, and trumpeter Quincy Jones.
From those early years playing Beethoven sonatas (“in this way that was exaggeratedly syrupy, as I recall it”) under his mother’s tutelage, he developed as a pianist.
When he was 14, he says, he hitchhiked to Mexico to learn from Conlon Nancarrow, an American-born composer best known for his compositions for player piano that allowed for mechanically aided musical feats that performers alone couldn’t accomplish. John Cage was another musical influence, as were, in Lanier’s 20s, Glass, Terry Riley, and Steve Reich. He has the luxury, he says, of not doing so and doesn’t worry about making much sense of his musical interests.
It has sections but not movements, and it uses the chorus “in a highly experimental way … a lot of cases where chorus is percussion and instruments are more lyrical.” It is, he says, “definitely a piece of contemporary music,” with echoes of, among other things, Scriabin, Gershwin, and the American minimalists.
Some of that was intended dissonance, but some was unintended—for instance, from some horn parts that had been incorrectly transposed. Morris brings his dancers to Mason nearly every year, creating a bidding war with the just-across-the-river Kennedy Center. To the left of the door there’s Donahue, in a full-page picture from The New York Times, dancing with Morris just before he retired from the stage.
In brand-new studio 3011, Donahue walked freshmen and sophomores through a sequence of movement in “Silhouettes,” a duet included on the Morris company’s weekend program.
Dancers leapt four at a time across the studio floor, while the house drummer and Michael Nickens, the pep band director, jammed on the sidelines.
As dance program director Buffy Price said to Donahue,  “I think we still have your costume.” She wasn’t joking. In her review for The Washington Post, critic Sarah Kaufman called Smith “a prince in cowboy boots.
There’s an Israeli-modern fusion work by Ohad Naharin performed by 15 students seated in a semi-circle. The last thing they wanted to do was push through “Dvorak Serenade” with Donahue and several other Morris dancers still in the studio.
In “Serenade,” she’s one-fourth of a central quartet performing a series of elegant moves at awkward angles. Ritzel is a freelance writer in Washington who contributes regularly to The Washington Post and other publications. A new article in the Chronicle of Higher Education, citing research by the Council of Graduate Schools, reports that new enrollment in humanities PhD programs declined 0.5 % from 2013-14, continuing a downward trend over the past several years (humanities enrollments dropped an average of 1 percent a year between 2009-2014). Given the contraction of the academic market, it seems not just logical but also humane to reduce class sizes and ease (somewhat) the oversupply of humanities PhDs. Traditionally, when my students or children used the phrase, I reflexively told them to replace it with contact or get in touch with.
That battle was lost long ago, but still, contact is hardly a shining example of English usage. Only in that it has become what George Orwell (not disapprovingly) called “a dead metaphor”: a piece of figurative language that has been used so often and for so long that it we process it as literal, and it doesn’t strike us as hackneyed or cliched. As late as 1999, in his book To End a War, Richard Holbrooke distinguished between the reaching out and the actual point of contact: “Still looking for ways to reach out to [the Bosnian prime minister], I invited him to dinner. In addition to the old-school writing, telephoning, and knocking on someone’s door, we had to choose among e-mailing, texting, IM-ing, Facebook poking, etc.
That’s when reach out to will become a dead metaphor and begin its new life as an utterly unobjectionable phrase. They do not represent the position of the editors, nor does posting here imply any endorsement by The Chronicle.
Her publications include Gender Shifts in the History of English and How English Works: A Linguistic Introduction.
Before moving to Germany, she worked for the Financial Times as a reporter and editor, in New York and London.
His new new book is The B Side: The Death of Tin Pan Alley and the Rebirth of the Great American Song. They knew a few skimpy details, like that she was a she, and lived at least 50,000 years ago. Many of them have to do with brain development and vision, and could be traits that set us apart from these near-modern humans in Siberia called Denisovans, their sister group the Neanderthals, and other shadowy relatives in Africa. It also uses genetics, not traditional geology, to place the woman in Denisova Cave about 80,000 years ago, not 50,000, and attempts to silence skeptics who have asserted that mating with modern humans was a product of geneticists’ imaginations. Paabo’s team that, in essence, pulls apart the two mirror-image strands of the DNA double helix and exposes each one for a complete analysis, something hard to do when the fragmented, timeworn molecule is bound together. In modern humans, eight genes affecting brain and nervous-system development have evolved since the groups went separate ways.
About 6 percent of DNA from people in Papua New Guinea and in Australian aborigines looks like Denisovan DNA; similarly, the researchers found Europeans have a small percentage of Neanderthal DNA. Paabo, his colleagues, and other researchers contend that if the DNA truly had been around a long time, it would have been sliced into smaller chunks—DNA reshuffles in every generation. It cuts you off, not only from everything else in the world, but also from everything else in yourself. It's just that, as you get deeper and deeper into the funnel, into the tunnel, it becomes increasingly difficult to remember who you once were. You dreamed about it from the time you were 10 years old, even though you had no idea what it really meant, and you stayed on course for the entire time you were in school. Let me try to explain it by telling you a story about one of your peers, and the alternative that hadn't occurred to her. True innovation means using your imagination, exercising the capacity to envision new possibilities.
One of those nets is a term that I've heard again and again as I've talked with students about these things. But these are the nets that are flung at you, and this is what I mean by the need for courage. Resist the seductions of the cowardly values our society has come to prize so highly: comfort, convenience, security, predictability, control. It's also a time when they all become philosophers—well, philosophers of teaching, anyway.
I've helped many a student craft a teaching philosophy during my years as an adviser, placement director, and graduate chair. To separate them, we give them more and more hoops to jump through, such as the absurd demand that they cast a philosophical eye back on a career that they haven't even started yet. They establish expectations—and in the case of teaching philosophies, expectations of the most burdensome sort. They try to embrace the task, but they can't get their arms around it, so their attempts look mechanical, even clumsy. I have no memory of what I wrote, which is the surest indication that posterity isn't missing much.
Asking for a "teaching philosophy" (or a "teaching statement") drops a grand piano of expectation out the window onto the applicant's head.
And let's allow them to delay becoming philosophers until they have at least a gray hair or two. You might also find him in Los Angeles, where he’s innovator in residence at the University of Southern California’s Annenberg School.
Jaron Lanier’s mother was a piano prodigy in Vienna before being sent at 13 to a concentration camp, and she taught Jaron piano in New Mexico before she died in a car accident when he was 9. But he is also known for his performances on rare Asian wind and string instruments with Yoko Ono, Philip Glass, Ornette Coleman, George Clinton, and others. Sinclair, artistic director of the Bach Festival and chair of Rollins’s music department, is Lanier’s fifth symphony (at least Lanier thinks it is, puzzling for a moment). That entailed a lot of long-distance correspondence, he says, and one intense summer week in Berkeley with Lanier engaging in heady conversations but also doing a lot of grunt work side by side at their separate computers. Now she’s a senior, preparing to dance in her final spring gala and planning a post-graduation move to New York. Two of eight tenured dance professors in the program have performed with Morris when he calls in additional dancers to perform large-scale pieces like his holiday farce, The Hard Nut. And to the right there’s a highlighted press release, announcing that Smith was accepted as a member of Parsons Dance Company.
The choreographer prefers licensing his works to universities rather than other dance companies, and George Mason buys rights to a dance every other year. A smaller ensemble will perform a work by Robert Battle, the incoming artistic director of Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre. And some is likely due, as the CHE’s piece points out, to applicants making a serious assessment of the state of the academic market in the humanities, and simply deciding not to pursue grad school. At the same time, these moves won’t affect the deeper systemic problems with the academic job market (such as an increasing reliance on badly paid contingent faculty). Interestingly, I recognized only three cliches as having crossed over to (from?) academe, two of them being best practices and robust. But I have been reflecting that there is nothing so great about either of those alternatives. If one is able to be more specific—to say call, e-mail or talk to—that’s far preferable. She talks about trends in the English language in a weekly segment, "That's What They Say," on Michigan Radio.

He wrote (with Rodney Huddleston) The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language (2002) and A Student's Introduction to English Grammar (2005).
He is general editor of The Norton Anthology of Latino Literature, the publisher of Restless Books, devoted to contemporary literature from around the world, and co-founder of Great Books Summer Program. Also she was not a modern human, but she or others in her group may have mated with our more direct ancestors, contributing a little DNA we still carry today.
Paabo, from the Max Planck Institute of Evolutionary Anthropology, in Leipzig, Germany, published a “draft” genome sequence in 2010—it indicated the gender of the finger-bone owner—but he acknowledges it was prone to error and covered only about 60 percent of the genome. It started ticking 6.5 million years ago, when archaic humans split from chimps, and each tick was a mutation added since that time. It’s tempting to glom onto these as indicators that modern brains have somehow become rewired for sophisticated thinking and adaptability, allowing us to develop technology that let our populations grow and prosper while Denisovans—and Neanderthals—went extinct.
So you must be wondering why I'm bothering to raise it here, at Stanford, this renowned citadel of science and technology.
I don't mean that by choosing to excel in math, say, you are failing to develop your verbal abilities to their fullest extent, or that in addition to focusing on geology, you should also focus on political science, or that while you're learning the piano, you should also be working on the flute.
You start to wonder what happened to that person who played piano and lacrosse and sat around with her friends having intense conversations about life and politics and all the things she was learning in her classes.
You refused to be enticed from your path by that great experience you had in AP history, or that trip you took to Costa Rica the summer after your junior year in college, or that terrific feeling you got taking care of kids when you did your rotation in pediatrics during your fourth year in medical school.
A couple of years ago, I participated in a panel discussion at Harvard that dealt with some of these same matters, and afterward I was contacted by one of the students who had come to the event, a young woman who was writing her senior thesis about Harvard itself, how it instills in its students what she called self-efficacy, the sense that you can do anything you want. It means figuring out what you want for yourself, not what your parents want, or your peers want, or your school wants, or your society wants. I said, among other things, that kids at places like Yale or Stanford tend to play it safe and go for the conventional rewards. If you're going to invent your own life, if you're going to be truly autonomous, you also need courage: moral courage. You are all told that you're supposed to go to college, but you're also told that you're being "self-indulgent" if you actually want to get an education. These ever-escalating application requirements amount to professional cruelty, and the rise of the teaching philosophy illustrates that. It would still leave the job candidate struggling to find something summative to say about her approach to a profession she only recently entered.
On its face, that convention is silly, too: Applicants want to go to graduate school in order to learn to write a dissertation, so how can they describe what's in it ahead of time?
If the reader's goal is to learn something about how a graduate student approaches the work of teaching, we could do worse than to ask for an annotated syllabus.
Ferriero, the archivist of the United States, described the find as "an astonishing discovery," one that will help scholars understand Whitman's post-Civil War creative work and his nonfiction writings on democracy—Democratic Vistas, for example.
The recently identified documents consist of copies of official correspondence, many written into so-called letter books that served as a record of official business. Price quoted another scholar who, in the late 1990s, argued that the Whitman of Reconstruction "has yet to be fully scrutinized" by researchers.
He co-directs the Walt Whitman Archive, a long-term digital project to gather all of Whitman's writings, and has worked for 15 years editing those works. He’s also been affiliated with New York University and Columbia University, in Manhattan, and with the International Institute for Evolution and the Brain, in Boston and Paris.
Two other alums have performed with Morris en route to getting full-time gigs with Jose Limon and Ririe-Woodbury dance companies.
The Fredericksburg, Va., native came to Mason on an academic scholarship, originally planning to double major in engineering and dance. When the dance group visits campus, students have a chance to see the alumni perform the real thing live. The students hadn’t rehearsed since the end of fall semester, but they gave it the old college try, and one alumna found herself very impressed. In my experience, PhD applicants are a thoughtful bunch, and I hope they’ll evaluate the changing landscape of humanities grad training and the academic market with care.
Yet I recently found myself saying that I was going to “reach out to” someone, and I actually don’t feel so bad. Some of his writing for Language Log is collected in the book Far From the Madding Gerund (2006). The argument has persuaded other scientists, like Joshua Akey, an associate professor of genome sciences at the University of Washington, who said “this new paper provides more evidence for recent introgression,” the word population geneticists use for mating. What doubt can there be that the world will offer you many opportunities to use your degree?
Education is more than college, more even than the totality of your formal schooling, from kindergarten through graduate school. They sent you to good schools, where the encouragement of your teachers and the example of your peers helped push you even harder. In the journey toward the success that you all hope to achieve, you have completed, by getting into Stanford, only the first of many legs. The 19-year-old who could do so many things, and was interested in so many things, has become a 40-year-old who thinks about only one thing. It sounds like a cliché, this "waking up one day," but it's called having a midlife crisis, and it happens to people all the time. The courage to act on your values in the face of what everyone's going to say and do to try to make you change your mind.
You're made to feel like you're crazy: crazy to forsake the sure thing, crazy to think it could work, crazy to imagine that you even have a right to try. At that Harvard event two years ago, one person said, about my assertion that college students needed to keep rethinking the decisions they've made about their lives, "We already made our decisions, back in middle school, when we decided to be the kind of high achievers who get into Harvard." And I thought, who wants to live with the decisions that they made when they were 12?
Being a doctor or a lawyer, a scientist or an engineer or an economist—these are all valid and admirable choices. Don't deny the desires and curiosities, the doubts and dissatisfactions, the joy and the darkness, that might knock you off the path that you have set for yourself. But we should remember that we're asking applicants to think of a plausible thesis topic, not expatiate on their research philosophy.
Also of note: The author was already past 50, a veteran of another career who was already comfortably employed but looking for a specific new job. The announcement was timed to coincide with the 150th anniversary of the day shots were fired on Fort Sumter, in South Carolina, in the opening hostilities of the Civil War. He worked steadily and produced a prodigious amount of material"—as the recent find makes clear. The evidence of the letter books gives them a huge amount of fresh documentation to work with. Immediately following the concert, there will be a discussion with Jaron Lanier,  free and open to concertgoers and the public. But the arts triumphed over the prospect of working for the likes of Lockheed Martin, and he had no trouble getting hired as a dancer, first by Parsons, then by Morris. If the mutations occurred at a steady rate, that shortfall—her clock stopped when she died—put her death at nearly 80,000 years ago. Your natural aptitudes were nurtured so that, in addition to excelling in all your subjects, you developed a number of specific interests that you cultivated with particular vigor. No, the problem with specialization is that it narrows your attention to the point where all you know about and all you want to know about, and, indeed, all you can know about, is your specialty. Three more years of college, three or four or five years of law school or medical school or a Ph.D.
Lots of kids from elite colleges go and do TFA after they graduate, so therefore I was wrong. Government workers, take heart: One of America's most influential literary figures found his federal work engaging and thought well of many of his fellow bureaucrats, according to Mr. Reach out to family members, friends, colleagues, members of Overeaters Anonymous or another support group.
Of course, even if I did, it would mean nothing in the face of the phrase’s utter dominance. The troubled geologic estimates could indicate only that the trampled ground was older than 50,000 years. And by "that," I mean everything in your training, formal and informal, that has brought you to be sitting here today, and everything you're going to be doing for the rest of the time that you're in school.
It requires aptitude and diligence, but it does not require a single ounce of moral imagination.
Who wants to let a 12-year-old decide what they're going to do for the rest of their lives?
That's because when writers embrace it, readers get to watch the minds of potential doctoral students at work on a revealing task.
Subsequent trips to Washington produced hundreds more, and there are probably many more waiting to be found. You spent summers doing advanced courses at a local college or attending skill-specific camps and workshops. They don't fit in with everybody else's ideas about the way the world is supposed to work, and still worse, they make them feel insecure about the choices that they themselves have made—or failed to make.
And you will survive them, and you will know yourself better for having made them, and you will be a fuller and a stronger person. You go from being a political-science major to being a lawyer to being a corporate attorney to being a corporate attorney focusing on taxation issues in the consumer-products industry.
When you walk into Starbucks, you're offered a choice among a latte and a macchiato and an espresso and a few other things, but you can also make another choice. But to cite TFA in response to my argument is precisely to miss the point, and to miss it in a way that actually confirms what I'm saying. Going into law, like most of the people who do, in order to make yourself rich, isn't self-indulgent? And so you got very good at math, or piano, or lacrosse, or, indeed, several things at once.
You go from being a biochemistry major to being a doctor to being a cardiologist to being a cardiac surgeon who performs heart-valve replacements.
It's not OK to play music, or write essays, because what good does that really do anyone, but it is OK to work for a hedge fund. You do the things that reap the rewards, that make your parents proud, and your teachers pleased, and your friends impressed. When you walk into college, you are offered a choice among law and medicine and investment banking and consulting and a few other things, but again, you can also do something else, something that no one has thought of before. It's selfish to pursue your passion, unless it's also going to make you a lot of money, in which case it's not selfish at all.
From the time you started high school and maybe even junior high, your whole goal was to get into the best college you could, and so now you naturally think about your life in terms of "getting into" whatever's next. Stanford, then Johns Hopkins medical school, then a residency at the University of San Francisco, and so forth.

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  1. Natiq on 04.10.2015 at 11:53:44
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    Thirty minutes a day of sweat-breaking with certain blood stress.
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    Some guides out there will let smoking causes the arteries (blood vessels.