Why we must teach our teenagers to break free of fear and fight for creative freedom

Why we must teach our teenagers to break free of fear and fight for creative freedom

I run a lot of writing workshops in secondary schools and what I see is this: teenagers afraid to be creative. Even when I assure them they can’t get it wrong, they pause and agonise and look to their teacher, because they’ve been conditioned to mimic – it gets them good grades, after all.

Teenagers are terrified of getting things wrong and risking failure, and who can blame them? It’s not like being in primary school, when they were encouraged to play. Younger students have no trouble taking a few prompts and turning them into a story, because they delight in creating characters they have control over, and situations that are scary and funny and daring. But teenagers look at the blank page and freeze. “I don’t know,” they might say aloud, while internally their inner monologues say this: If I get this wrong, I might fail this task, which will affect my grade, which will lower my Atar, and I mightn’t get into the course I want, and my life will be ruined. (Don’t believe me? Ask a year 12 student.)

Pressure comes from all sides: school, parents, society, each other. There’s a lot at stake and, as a result, they often opt for being “safe” over being inventive, because that’s where the rewards are. Students dread writing in English, for example, because there isn’t one “right” answer. Black-and-white thinking is encouraged. Stem subjects are prioritised. Creativity is viewed as a soft skill, a quirk, or even (in some boys’ schools I’ve visited) a weakness. At the same time, career paths are getting mapped out, and the big dreams they once had as kids – to be an astronaut, a dancer, a footy player – are overlooked as they’re steered towards certainty and a sense of inevitability, as though their futures are narrowing and they’re already on the conveyor belt to middle age.

No wonder they’re paralysed by fear. I see it in my writing workshops, and I’ve seen the consequences of it in hospitals, particularly in my work as a teacher in mental health wards and eating disorder units. Over the years, I’ve met thousands of teenagers who are too vulnerable, sensitive or different to easily fit into a system that values absolutes and competition. These students aren’t OK with pretending; nor are they OK with being shepherded into a career they can’t contemplate. (How many teenagers really know what they want to do? How many adults?) They yearn for something more but don’t have the tools to express themselves, or the ability to envision other options, and so they feel hemmed in, unable to imagine their way out of it.

Creativity is an asset – employers know this. According to the Conversation, creativity was “the number-one skillset demanded two years in a row by the 20 million job ads on LinkedIn, which labelled it ‘the most important skill in the world’”. But in schools, it’s different. Due to logistics and the demands of assessment, teenagers’ thinking gets increasingly narrowed until they’re afraid to consider alternatives.

Creative thinking is also an act of hope because you’re looking at what’s in front of you and asking, “what if?”

Being creative isn’t a magical skill (though it can feel like magic, when I’m writing). At its simplest, it’s the ability to make new connections and follow where they go. As such, creativity requires qualities available to us all: observation, curiosity, flexibility, perseverance and courage. I say courage because it’s scary to follow a thread that might go nowhere, or take you to a point that could disappoint others or embarrass you. It takes guts to trust yourself and the process, and to be OK with uncertainty. It’s no coincidence that courage is at the heart of all my stories, right alongside compassion.

Creative thinking is also an act of hope because you’re looking at what’s in front of you and asking, “what if?” and “what else is possible?”. Asking these questions nudges you out of complacency and dares you to want something better – individually and collectively.

So how do we help our teens be hopeful and brave? First, we take some of the pressure off. We stop rolling out the lie that their entire futures depend on this very assignment or decision because, as we know, life is long enough to try many things, and to change our minds. There is no right way to live a life, and anyone who pretends they have got it all together is doing a disservice to young people. They aren’t supposed to know where they want to be in five or 10 years, so stop asking them. Find out what lights them up now. Life is made up of steps, not leaps, and it’s enough to live by taking one honest, sincere step after the other.

Second, let’s bring back inquiry for the sake of it. Children are notoriously vocal with their why and how questions, but these taper off with adolescence (though inside, they’re screaming with them). Just because we don’t know the answer, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t ask the question – it means we should be asking it more. The universe is held together with unanswered questions, which means – excitingly – that there are endless possibilities, and infinite ways of being. When I write my books, I don’t know what’s going to happen, which is why I keep going; to find out. I ask questions, brainstorm, follow the threads that interest me, then repeat. I never know where the enquiry will lead me, but it’s exciting to follow.

Young people need reminding that their stories haven’t been written. They need opportunities to try things that are new, without their futures being at stake. They need permission to keep asking “what else is possible?” because anything is.

AJ Betts spent 27 years in classrooms as a teacher (mainstream and hospital schools; full-time and part-time), and 15 years as a facilitator of creative writing workshops in schools throughout Australia and abroad. Her new novel, One Song, is out now through Pan Macmillan Australia

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Why Life Can Seem Joyless Without Booze

Source: 5PH/ Shutterstock

Have you ever been afraid that life would become joyless if you quit alcohol?

“But nothing seems as fun as drinking,” is one complaint that most of my clients have voiced to me in our conversations. I get it—during my drinking days, I too often wondered whether there was any appeal in living a long and healthy life if that meant living it without booze.

Now, years into sobriety, I realize that life offers countless sources of joy—most far more vibrant than the mind-numbing buzz I got from booze. The joyless life I once imagined was nothing but an illusion created by my brain, a by-product of habit, desire, and narrowed focus.

Automated Programs: Habits

Habits, or automated sequences of actions, are the building blocks of our daily life. Each day, we unknowingly perform dozens—if not hundreds, of habits—from brushing our teeth to saying, “Thank you” to a compliment. These automated programs help our brains increase efficiency and conserve energy.

A habit consists of three parts: a cue, a routine, and a reward. A reward is the end goal, a desired outcome that allows the brain to know which sequence of actions is worth remembering. A routine is the sequence of actions that produce a desired outcome. A cue is any kind of stimulus that signals the brain to activate a particular routine.

With sufficient repetition, the three components form a habit loop within the brain. Action becomes automation and the brain ceases to fully participate in the program. The cue of morning breath activates the teeth-brushing routine to achieve the reward of fresh breath; no conscious effort is required. Without such automated programs, most of us will be paralyzed by the amount of mental energy that is required for just performing basic, daily functions.

The Fuel to the Automation: Desire

Desire is the fuel for this automation. Once we learn to link a cue with a reward, we start to anticipate the desired outcome when the cue enters our radar, and a habit loop is formed.

We learn, for example, to desire the freshness in our mouth when we taste the morning breath. The craving fuels the routine of teeth brushing. Depending on how desirable the reward is and how strong the anticipations are, the craving could range from minor discomfort to intense frustration.

MIT Habit Study

In the 1990s, a group of MIT scientists trained some monkeys to link colorful shapes that show up on the computer screen with the reward of receiving blackberry juice. When the monkeys correctly performed a routine, they got a sweet treat. The monkeys loved the blackberry juice, and a habit loop soon started to form, evidenced by the joy signal that started to spike inside their brains the moment that the monkeys saw the colored shape. They learned to anticipate the sweet treat.

After the monkeys fully learned the procedure, the scientists decided to delay the blackberry juice or water down the sweet treat to see how the monkeys would react. The monkeys were not happy about the change. Their brains lit up in ways that suggested unhappiness, and they became visibly frustrated or depressed whenever the anticipated reward failed to arrive. The joy of anticipation turned into the frustration of craving.

The very same process happens in the drinker's brains when they learn to link the buzz from alcohol with a cue, such as Friday night. When the “time to drink” cue enters the radar, the desire for a drink is activated. If the anticipated outcome fails to arrive, craving and frustration break through the mind.

There is an evolutionary purpose for this mechanism: Desire and craving motivate mammals to perform what is essential for their survival, such as foraging for food or pursuing a mate. How does this adaptive mechanism end up trapping drinkers in a world where alcohol seems to be the only thing worth pursuing? We have to take a look at how habit loops can narrow one’s attention.

Blindsight to Alternatives: Narrowed Attention

Desire can narrow down one’s attention and crowd out the appeal of other alternative pursuits. In the experiment, the monkeys who had formed a strong enough habit loop seemed to lose sight of any other opportunities—even though the scientists tried to distract the monkeys with alternative rewards, such as a treat on the other side of the room or playing outside.

The monkeys would remain glued in front of the monitor and perform the routine over and over again. The blackberry juice seemed to have become the only thing in their world that was worth pursuing. On the other hand, the monkeys who had not developed a strong enough habit would happily take the alternative rewards and leave the blackberry juice behind.

A highly ingrained habit loop appears to have the ability to make one lose sight of the appeal of alternatives. Once a cue is detected, the brain enters a focus mode and only one goal is left in sight: “Perform the routine and get the reward.” The intense desire narrows down the attention to nothing but one pursuit; the rest of the world fades into a colorless background.

Drinkers' Habit Loop

For many drinkers, drinking is a well-practiced habit. The habit loop of using alcohol to achieve a buzz has often been performed hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Like the monkey who sees nothing but the blackberry juice, a human can become blind-sighted to all other sources of fun when they become hooked by one well-practiced habit loop.

“Focus on what works” is a good strategy that aids survival and conserves energy. However, the unintended tunnel vision keeps the monkey glued in front of the monitor and the drinkers trapped inside the bottle.

Bursting the Illusion: Rediscover Joy

The truth is there is much more to a monkey’s happiness than blackberry juice—ripe bananas, sunshine on the grass, and a lady monkey who is swinging on the tree. Similarly, there is much more to a joy-filled life than the mind-numbing buzz offered by alcohol.

Don’t let your brain trick you into believing that alcohol is the only thing that is worth pursuing. As intense as the desire can be, you can learn to let it pass. Over time, the craving will dim in intensity and eventually subside. As real as the illusion can feel, you will slowly remember the true beauty life has to offer. Give it time, the rest of the world will light up and eventually return to its full, vibrant color.