Continued questioning

Continuing the "questioning" theme from the last blog, it's noteworthy how many musical theatre songs involve characters asking questions: "Do You Love Me?" (Fiddler on the Roof), "Shall We Dance?" (The King and I), "Whatever Happened To My Part?" (Spamalot), and "Who Am I?" (Les Mis). I guess the opposite of an "I am" song is a "Who am I?" song. Perhaps the most ridiculous—and unanswerable—musical theatre question of all time is "Do I Love You Because You're Beautiful [or are you beautiful because I love you]?" (Cinderella). 

For a different take on the topic of questions, I'm reminded of one of the international students I met in our Summer Vocology Institute last summer. This student would frequently raise her hand in class, but instead of saying, "I have a question," she would always say, "I have a doubt." 

At first, it could seem like she was challenging the professor, essentially saying, "I'm doubting what you're telling me. Prove that what you're saying is true." But, by definition, her phrasing was probably correct. According to Oxford Languages, a question is "a sentence worded or expressed so as to elicit information." A doubt is "a feeling of uncertainty or a lack of conviction."  

This student is incredibly bright and was always prepared in class. She didn't really need to "elicit information" from the professors—she had already gotten that from the assigned readings and from the lectures. When she raised her hand, it was because she was uncertain or unconvinced. Something that was presented in class didn't jibe with her previous knowledge or experience. As discussed in the last blog, teachers can respond to such "doubts" in unhelpful ways ("I don't understand what you're not understanding." [*an actual quote from one of my former professors*]) or they can attempt to reframe the material ("Let me see if I can explain things in a different way.").  

One of my previous voice teachers once told me, "I want you to doubt everything that I'm telling you. My goal is to tell the truth, so I want you to question and verify that what I'm telling you is the truth. Don't be afraid to.” At the time, I wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement. I was used to a different process in voice lessons. Step one, I would be told what to do. Step two, I would do as I was told. Step three, repeat. And somewhere in that process, I was supposed to learn how to be an independent artist. 

My teacher wasn't asking me to be defiant in our lessons, and he certainly wasn't expressing a lack of confidence in his teaching (trust me, he did not, in any way, suffer from a lack of confidence). He just wanted me to maintain a curious mind and to know that, if my knowledge and experience clashed with his, it was OK to bring it up so we could work things out together. Not only did that give me the chance to learn more from him, it also allowed for the possibility that he might even learn something from me. That really turned the master-apprentice model on its head, in my mind. 

You may have noticed that a lot of my teaching involves asking a lot of questions of all of you. "How did that feel?" "What did you notice?" "Can you explain how this time was different from last time?" "What are your actionable verbs?" "What does this song say about YOU?" 

I ask some of these questions because I'm truly curious to know the answer. I'll admit, though, that sometimes I ask questions knowing that it won't matter at all to me what your answers are. I can say, "What did you notice about that sound?" And you can respond, "When I sing like that, my sound feels purple." OK. That response means nothing to me. But if it means something to you as you are building your self-perception, then it's a valuable observation. 

My questions, then, are intended to serve as prompts to encourage you to self-analyze. Your answers don't need to make sense to me—they only need to make sense to you. Only by building your own self-awareness can you start to get a feel for what makes your singing click and what doesn't. Then you start to learn which choices are most likely to get you where you're intending to go and which may lead you elsewhere. 

Question. Doubt. Verify. Don't be afraid to. 

Now go practice. 

All I ask of you

"Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt." 

I think I was in junior high when I first heard the quote above—often attributed to Abraham Lincoln, but actually of unknown origin. I remember thinking it was amusing, and in the same genre of insults as, "Never engage in a battle of wits with someone who is unarmed." 

Whenever I'm in a class, lecture, workshop, or webinar, I tend to be the kind of student who sits quietly and tries to take it all in, as opposed to the students who are quick to raise their hands with questions. I often prefer to listen, observe, and thoughtfully consider what is being presented before I feel ready to verbally engage. By taking this approach, I often find that my questions get answered as I continue paying attention to what is being presented. When I do ask a question, however, I am usually at least a little bit self-conscious about not wanting to be "thought a fool." 

A lot of people think this is a generational characteristic ("These kids today are so afraid to ask questions in class!"), but I disagree. I remember my high school geometry teacher (in the early 1990s) complaining that we students were always so scared to raise our hands in class. She would say, "What's the worst that can happen? I'm not going to bite your heads off!" But then, when someone was courageous enough to answer one of her questions, she would often bluntly shout, "Wrong!" "Sorry!" or "Nope!" She grew up in New York, so I don't think she ever really understood how her brash, East Coast delivery pierced our thin, Midwestern, adolescent skins. 

As protection, I suppose, my classmates and I would preface our questions with qualifiers: "This may be a dumb question, but..." "This question may not make any sense, but..." "I'm sorry if I missed something obvious, but..." "This is probably wrong, but..." Sound familiar? 

Acknowledging the epidemic of not wanting to ask questions so as not to be thought a fool (which has infected many of us), I heard in a teacher workshop recently that we should consider replacing the ubiquitous, "Do you have any questions?" with, "What questions do you have?" By asking, "Do you have any questions?" we seem to be assuming that most people understood the material, and those who didn't should out themselves by raising their hands. But by asking, "What questions do you have?" the default expectation is that most students will need to ask some questions in order to truly comprehend things. This approach also flips the class power dynamic on its head. Instead of a perception of, "I am the master teacher. Which one of you lowly students did not understand my brilliant lecture?" it admits, "I'm presenting this material in the best way that I can, but that doesn't mean it's going to click for everyone. Which parts can I try explaining in a different way?"

I know of at least one teacher who has started saying, "Before we go on, ask me two questions about what we just covered." Sometimes he is stubborn about it, saying, "Seriously, I need two questions, no matter how basic you think they are, before I can go any further." This gives freedom and permission to ask whatever questions students may have—and, odds are, if you have a question, someone else in the class probably has that same question. I prefer this approach to a teacher announcing, "There are no dumb questions!" which always makes me second-guess whether my question will be the one that will finally make the teacher say, "OK, that was a dumb question." 

No one wants to be thought a fool. But, to quote Jedi master Obi-Wan Kenobi, “Who’s the more foolish? The fool or the fool who follows him?” In other words, as explained on the website The Dork Side of the Force, it’s easy to fall to peer pressure. There is always the risk that asking a question will cause you to look foolish, at least to someone. It may be even more foolish, however, to sit in confused silence when clarification is potentially one question away. 

Just ask. 

Now go practice.