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Some thirty-odd years ago, my grade school teacher informed the class that we were set to begin a systematic study of the human body. She was not planning on lecturing to us, nor would there be endless worksheets. We’d even put away our textbooks for this particular unit.
Instead, we were expected to find information on our own, write it into coherent reports, and then share the information with the class via brief presentations.
My teacher was brilliant. Not only did I learn about the stuff beneath my skin, but I was also introduced to a practice which I have used almost obsessively ever since: Research.
My teacher handed out our topics (I got the heart–go figure) and then showed us how to use the card catalog to find books about our topics.
I was utterly enchanted. Books! Entire books, written about the very subject I needed to research! Arranged on a shelf! That I could sit in front of and explore! And even take out of the library back to my classroom or to my house!
I found that the time allotted in class for research purposes was not enough. I requested and was given extra time before school to use in the library. I read as much as I could. I loved finding information from different sources and then putting it all together in a format that both made sense to me and that could be shared with others.
I realize this makes me sound like a complete dork. I don’t care.
Near the end of our study on the human body, I was assigned a topic about which I knew nothing: the lymph system. I’d been jonesing for a different topic. Was it perhaps the liver? I don’t recall. All I remember is the extreme disappointment and terror I felt in having to work on a topic that was wholly unfamiliar to me.
But I followed the same procedure I’d used for the other topics I’d studied. I hit the card catalog. I found books. I took notes. I wrote. And when I was done, I’d produced a cogent report that was more than sufficient for my purposes. I remember feeling enormous pride (and relief) to have learned what I needed for myself and for my classmates.
Before I had a double-digit age, I was given the gift of research. Research allowed me to make sense of topics about which I knew nothing. It forced me to judge information from a variety of sources, accepting the bits that seemed reliable and rejecting those that struck me as inconsistent.
Throughout my life, I’ve used this process to tackle all manner of distressing subjects which have crossed my path. When a friend informed me that his parents abused alcohol, I learned about adult children of alcoholics. When another friend whispered that he’d desired a sex-change operation for the past two decades, I took the opportunity to read all I could about transgendered people.
During pregnancy, I read obsessively about childbirth. I researched infant development while my newborn daughter squalled on my shoulder. When infertility struck, I leaned from books and the ‘net that I’d never be able to handle the standard treatments. No matter; I researched adoption instead.
Did I research blogging? Yes. Divorce? Mmm-hmmm. Depression and anxiety? Sexual abuse? Single motherhood? Online dating? Writing reviews? Buttsex? Fisting? Pegging? You betcha.
There is enormous power in this process. It gives me some sense of control to know as many facts and opinions as possible about a subject that is bedeviling me. Even if my experiences don’t exactly match those of the authors I read, I can put everything together and come up with an approximate range of possibilities that might come my way.
I can see what mistakes others have made and plan on avoiding similar mistakes myself. I can have some peace of mind in knowing that I’m not the first to experience certain emotions. I can develop some rough guidelines for how best to handle things.
Over the past few months, I’ve been all in lurve with a man. Er, have you noticed? Has it been obvious? Is it annoying?
While it has been an amazing experience thus far, it’s completely different from anything I’ve ever attempted to do in the past. I’ve felt the need of late to do some research on topics which might give me some guidance in this relationship. I’ve been googling like crazy, and asking questions of my friends (thanks friends) and generally making a pain of myself.
But I’m learning.
Bear with me while I’m learning, will you?
Thank you.
Edward on August 2nd, 2007 
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The Scoot
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