Yesterday I opened a Twitter account @jlevinegrp.

This is a big step. For months now many of my valued blog readers have asked me if I have a Twitter account so they can become a follower. So now I can shout out, “Yes, I do. Hope to connect with you.” Several factors coincided to move me to act now. The first is already stated. I am so grateful to all my blog readers and those who take the time to leave comments on the blogs. One hundred and ten thousand of you in the last three months! Thank you for being so loyal and proactive. Not all the comments make it onto the blogs, maybe I am too discerning a censor? I approve comments from people who use a personal name (as opposed to a business label), I try to catch and trash all the porn and references to porn, and political or other, propaganda. Unfortunately I can’t approve those in a language other than English (I don’t know what they contain) but do approve the occasional comment in French. If someone left a comment in Afrikaans or Dutch, I can respond to those, too.

Secondly, the pressure and temptation to be a member of a social network is overwhelming. I am a social person, I love forging connections, networking, and as I wrote in a previous blog, we live now largely  in a brave new world on a LCD lit screen that we hold on our hands, balance on our laps or spend hours with on our desks. Addiction, did anyone say the word, addiction? This pressure only increased when recently I received an e-mail from an older friend, whom I mentioned in that same blog as being an unlikely kindle owner, asking me to be her friend on Facebook. This was a revelation to me and I decided (as they say) that I had better get with the program.

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Virginia Woolf said famously in 1928 at Girton when addressing a group of those first women to attend Cambridge University in Cambridge, England, the hallowed sanctum of male intellectual and creative life that helped to ensure male hegemony for the eight hundred preceding years, both in Great Britain and indeed the far-flung British Empire, (and that largely continues today) that if we have “five hundred [pounds] a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and the courage to write exactly what we think…and that so to work, even in poverty and obscurity, is worthwhile.”

I was reminded of this sterling essay from one of my favorite thinkers and authors the other night when I attended a showing of a documentary Who Does She Think She is? This is hard-hitting, factual reportage of several outstanding women artists—potters, ceramists, painters, singers, film makers—to honor their creativity while juggling the raising of children, relating to spouses and partners, washing dishes and car pooling, in other words quilting a patchwork life.

The greatest toll on these artists is in relating to their spouses or partners, specifically male, whose expectations are shaped by society and familial expectations that the woman partner support their endeavors artistic or otherwise, and while they support their female counterparts—it is only to a point. Now of course there are variants on these themes but that is the general pattern. Surprisingly male children of these struggling artists—who generate their livelihood from their work primarily to feed their children—support, admire and honor their mothers.

The venue for this showing was a meeting room at a retreat center in suburban Philadelphia where thirty women writers (who are also teachers) were meeting for a weekend retreat of writing, sharing and networking. It was striking to me that the film- maker interviewing a male physician, an ardent feminist himself went on record reminding us that the great women writers and artists of the last one hundred and fifty years—ranging from Emily Dickinson, Colette, Georgia O’Keefe and Woolf herself—did not have children.

In discussion after the showing many participants shared that the struggles we had just witnessed on film still speak strongly to the patterns and events of their current lives. I thought of my life, the first woman in my family to attend university, my two wonderful sons, my political career in South Africa that included elected public office at a young age, my publishing career that began when I was an adolescent and fortunately continues, my love of teaching—but also of my divorce after twenty six years of marriage. I thought of my mother and the women of her generation and the generations that came before her without these opportunities and those women all over the world who struggle daily with this reality. It is my profound belief that we cannot create a “whole” world while more than half of humanity is barely valued and even more rarely acknowledged in public domains—such as that of artistic expression.

I will blog again on my thoughts of this retreat weekend, but now it is time for me to return after a many month hiatus to grapple with my current writing project that is requiring more “freedom and the courage to write exactly what [I] think” than I have experienced before.

© amazon.com 2011

Many of my readers clamor for another post on Generation E. These are mostly readers who have found the early posts in this web blog on that topic of interest and helpful. One of my students recently read my book The Enneagram Intelligences: Understanding Personality for Effective Teaching and Learning , and found the E-model so intriguing that for a class assignment to create an utopia (after we studied Plato’s The Republic)  this student wrote a short essay on the topic. Here is an excerpt (printed with permission.)

Heptilibrium: A perfect balance of the nine ways to be in the world: Perfectionist, Helper, Performer, Dreamer, Observer, Questioner, Optimist, Boss and Peace Keeper. In order to create the perfect utopia, especially one that accommodates nine different aspects of living, requires a profound and complete educational system. The general principles of education will revolve around the core values of the utopia: equality, compassion, fairness, honesty and trust. Every teacher will be trained in the nine ways to live and with this broad spectrum of knowledge they will teach these principles and values to all students. The nine different ways of learning will be accommodated: every student can explore their own learning style. Students will learn how to compete fairly, treat each other with honesty and respect, and be guided to acquire true knowledge of life. Students will learn compassion and how to care for and be concerned about, others. Exploring various cultures (through the nine lenses) will teach them to forgo racism and respect the differences among people. Students will perceive the world through different perspectives. To elaborate on the core values, everyone is created equal and has equal rights under the law. There is no racism and separatism between the people; everyone is taken care of on an equal basis.

Heptilibrium is governed under the perfect balance of the nine. By forming harmony with nature, different cultures, moral principles and one’s inner self, citizens of Heptilibrium will walk the paths of happiness and live life content with joy while being responsible and upright citizens.

Every year in my philosophy classes (high school seniors) when I teach Plato’s The Republic students grapple with Socrates’ notion of happiness. Before we reach that part of the text we do an exercise. As class begins and without any time to think about their response, I ask students to write down a 1 or 2 sentence definition of happiness. We each write our response on the board and consider the connections (or not) we can find. Here is a sample list in no particular order.

Happiness is the continual pursuit of life.

Happiness is the advancement of wholeness.

Happiness the fount of satisfaction.

Happiness is the freedom from reactivity.

Photo: © Janet Levine, Varanasi, 2007

Happiness is the balance of struggle and reward.

Happiness is nothing more and nothing less.

Happiness is love for self, others, and whatever circumstance arises.

Happiness is the uncontrollable feeling of contentment.

Happiness is doing what you want.

Happiness is having no regrets.

Happiness is the sensation felt in the body when a person acts according to what they believe is good.

Happiness is the state of personal, communal, and spiritual fulfillment.

Scanning the list one sees there are many sentiments both Socrates and the Buddha would commend. Did Socrates know of the Buddha’s teachings? There is no doubt about that in my mind. But that is a topic for another occasion. What does the Buddha say about happiness? Here is the Metta Sutra (teaching) of the Buddha.

“May all beings be happy and at their ease. May they be joyous and live in safety. All beings, omitting none, whether weak or strong; small or great; in high, middle or low realms of existence; near or far away; visible or invisible; born or to-be born. May all beings be happy and at their ease. Let none deceive another, or despise any being in any state. Let none wish harm to another. But even as a mother loves , watches over, and protects her child, her only child; so may all with a boundless mind cherish all living beings, radiating friendliness over the entire world without limit. May we cultivate a boundless goodwill, free from ill-will or enmity, and maintain the sublime abiding of this recollection.”

What is your definition of happiness? Use the comment form below. I am most interested to learn.

It is almost here, the December solstice, the one that coincides with the end of our calendar year. In the United States the winter solstice is the shortest day of the year, in South Africa it is the longest. As I have noted in previous blogs time is a concept of change, nothing is permanent except our awareness of each passing moment. In our western tradition this is a moment to give thanks and share joy and blessings.

Thank you loyal readers, I love reading your comments. I appreciate your time and consideration in sharing your responses with me.

In return I want to share with you a blog on a more personal note. I want to introduce you to my two wonderful sons who are the joy and blessing of their mother’s life. I cannot imagine anyone being more proud of and grateful for their children than I am of my boys. I know many of us feel this way, so you can share my moment. They are both grown men now with their own lives. One is a teacher at a university and a writer, and he identifies himself as “a writer who teaches.”  He is a serious outdoorsman and a loving son. He can complete the Friday and Saturday New York Times crossword puzzles (I cannot). This feat impresses me. His first book has just been published. No-one can be prouder of his birth as a serious writer than a mother (who is also a writer) than I am of him. Here is the cover image of his book, (© Yale University Press) A Living Man From Africa.

My other son is also a writer (his book will be published by John Wiley & Sons in 2011) and a teacher (an adjunct professor at a business school.) Through his astute entrepreneurship he is on the forefront of innovative developments in the non-profit sector that are already having a major impact on the direction of philanthropy to end world poverty. You can read about his work at www.theginn.org. He travels the world and on any given day he can be in India, England, somewhere in Africa or at home. He is an amazing whirlwind of energy, ideas, and caring. And there is always time for a call to his mesmerized mother.

My most grateful best wishes and blessings to you, dear reader, and your family, for a bountiful 2011 filled for us all with happiness and peace of mind.

It seems impossible that it is more than a month since I wrote a post. I apologize to my loyal readers. The start up of the school year is an all-consuming process. It reminds me of a large water bird that has been resting on the water all summer and as the year cycles into September it begins to seek the air currents again. It lumbers, an ungainly sight, on the surface of the water, slowly extending its wings and when it has reached a respectable speed, folds its legs into its body and slowly ascends into the sky, where it gracefully takes flight.

Here on our New England campus we have almost ascended into flight, a few more wing beats (measured in days and weeks) will see us aloft until June.

The days are shorter, but the leaves are late in turning this year. Maybe a month of drought in August that painted our lawns a golden Californian color, has affected the cycle of leaf chemistry? Several times a week I walk in the 200 year old cemetery near where I live. The trees are magnificent, 100 year old oaks, beeches, pines and others set amid the 17th century tomb stones. Sometimes one has to think of life and cycles in centuries and not days and weeks, this season and the next.

In class this week we discussed philosopher Peter Singer’s work that birthed the animal rights movement. In the last period of the day on Friday, one of my students articulated why Singer is so adamant that animal liberation is actually about human liberation. It was a beautiful moment of absolute clarity, such moments are what teachers live for. The students had been animated all week about issues on this topic. I asked them why they are responding in such a visceral and vociferous manner. They explained that this is the first time they are encountering these issues and they are working through their emotions and responses. It behooves us all to remember that dawning awareness is also cyclical and encountered generation by generation.

If you have been reading this blog you know I am a teacher and a writer. From September to June I teach, and sometimes I write blogs about the lessons I learn in the classroom from my students and from the literature I teach. From June to September I think, reflect and sometimes I write.

This summer has been an emotional one. My mother died in May and for the past weeks I have had time to process her passing. I feel sadness, but also relief that she is not in discomfort any longer. In the natural cycle of life at 89 it was time for her passage. She would have been 90 today, August 4. I would have been with her and our family celebrating such a milestone. Instead I’ve been remembering my childhood in Johannesburg, our house in Parkview built in the Cape Dutch style surrounded on three sides by a wide verandah painted dark green, my first best friend, Melanie, my next door neighbor. We used to crawl through a hole in the diamond wire mesh fence supporting sturdy  grenadilla vines to visit one another. Jacaranda trees lined the streets. A line of black ants crawled through the chicken left out to thaw on the top step of the kitchen stoep, dinner for that night. The call of the hadidas, one of the voices of Africa, morning and evening forever in my consciousness. My brother, two years younger than me, and the lessons I taught on  the front lawn to my friends and his friends using a black board I had cajoled my parents into giving me as a fifth birthday present. But most of all I remember my parents, my beautiful dark-haired mother and energetic blond father. My father chased us around our swing set playing catch in the long summer twilit evenings. My mother watched from the verandah usually with knitting needles poised in her hands.

Johannesburg, South Africa, my parents, my brother, our friends, our life with servants, my maternal grandfather are all my teachers, all forever intertwined in a matrix of memories, thoughts, dreams, reflections in the self that is me. Maybe it is time to start to write again: teachers and teaching, lessons and learning, a teaching life. Ah summer time, time to think, reflect and sometimes to write.