Los métodos de enseñanza basados en estudios contrastivos

I

n the absence of a Captain, our inner crewmembers grow complacent and lazy—even to the point of falling asleep. At any given moment, several of our major and minor parts might be totally asleep, and so aren’t able to perform their jobs. Which can put us in a bit of a sticky wicket, as the Brits supposedly say, if a particular part is required to help us achieve our goals.

If your current dream is to join the US Foreign Service and the part of you that was once upon a time adept at the Russian language is dormant, then your chances of getting in would be diminished.

In that case, during the weeks and months leading up to the arduous tests and interviews required for admittance into the Foreign Service you’d want to wake up your inner Rusky by reviewing your hard-won knowledge of the language and using it as much as possible.

If there was no boss at your job, some of the employees would half-asses it around the joint, others wouldn’t bothered to show up at all.

Similarly, our parts can stop coming into the office...until we once more begin insisting that they do.

As a teenager, I taught myself to juggle as a teenager and became fairly adept at it. When I went

off to university, I stopped juggling and ultimately forgot about that side of me entirely.

As a natural result of disinterest and disuse, the part of me that had learned this art fell asleep...all through my twenties and half of my thirties.

Fast forward to about three years ago, when I woke up one day and realized I hadn't juggled since my teens. I'd forgotten that I even knew how. So I found some balls and started playing the game called Juggling again.

Waking up a sleeping crewmember is easy...

Simply start playing the game it plays and it will eventually awaken; it doesn't really have a choice, since no other part of you knows how to play that game.

Three years ago, when I decided to juggle again, there was an initial period when I had three balls in hand and then I started throwing them in the air. If you'd been there in Actual Reality with me, you would have seen one ball after another being launched into the air and then caught by the opposite hand until pretty soon I failed to catch one or all of them.

Life can often be pretty ho-hum on the outside...but it’s almost always a madcap, door-slamming farce on the inside.

So if you'd been able to enter my Game Reality during that first juggling session in some fifteen years, it would’ve been rather entertaining...

At the moment when I threw the first ball in the air, every one of my crewmembers then on deck would've scrambled for cover, since not a one of them had the first clue how to play this game called Juggling. Much chaos, yelling and frenetic running would have ensued.

Eventually the brouhaha would've caused the juggling part of me to stir...and he would have made his way sleepily to the deck to discover the haps.

Instantly he would've grasped the situation—the first ball that I'd thrown had arced towards my opposite hand and it was about to be time to catch it and then throw it again.

Although surprised and still drowsy, my juggling part would've shouted something like, “Oh, I got this!” as he dashed to the steering wheel and took charge—catching that first ball and throwing it in the air again, and so on with the infinite game called juggling.

The Universe operates according to Real Time...as determined by whoever the fuck decides that shit.

Meanwhile, our Multiverse runs on its own internal system of time we can call the Game Clock.

In the second or so it took the first ball to reach its apogee and begin descending towards my opposite hand, the brouhaha within me took several minutes to unfold according to the Game Clock.

So that's how I woke up my juggling part.

You can wake up any of your dormant crewmembers by following the same path of giving that part of you space to place and permission to play there.

If you want to awaken your spiritual side, duck into one of the great cathedrals of the world and that part of you will figure it the fuck out.

Any part of us, whether major or minor, can fall asleep—and they regularly do.

In the course of your seductions, you will encounter women whose sexuality has fallen asleep for one reason or another. Now it’s certainly possible to rouse a woman's Naughty Girl from her slumbers--if only for an evening--however that requires pouring a considerable amount of energy and passion into your seduction in order to jump start that sleeping side of her...which, if this is something a woman truly desires--and it sometimes is--can be a fantastic use of your abundant masculine energy and passion.

Of course, sometimes a part isn't asleep, it simply doesn't exist.

Imagine you're walking down the mean streets and some thugs steps out of the shadows to mumble something about having some crack for sale. You do a quick check-in with your crew and if you do not find a side of yourself that plays the game called Smoking Crack, then you politely decline. (Of course, if one of your crewmembers happens to be playing the game called Undercover Cop, then your response may vary!)

I never developed an ego state that gambles. I

lived in Las Vegas for three entire months last year without spending a single nickel on a game of chance.

When I walked through casinos, I was as unimpressed as a lesbian at a Chippendale's show!

I wasn't resisting temptation...I was simply devoid of it.

In the same way, it would never occur to you to spend the afternoon practicing the violin unless you already had an ego state which at some point in time had learned to play the damn thing.

You cannot play a game unless you already have a member of your crew that knows how to play it—or is at least willing to learn.

Which is, of course, why we don’t already know how to do everything.

It's possible to create a new side of ourselves at absolutely any point during life, but the older we get the more ZING we need to apply to creating this new part if we want it to survive the birthing process. You can generate a new ego state that scuba dives, speaks Hindi or bends it like Beckham at 50 or 90, but you better bring some motherfucking juice, baby.

One of the tasks facing your Captain is to waking up and assembling the appropriate crewmembers to successfully reach your next Epic Quest, whatever that may be.

Usually this entails rounding up the Usual Suspects--but one of the great charms of the human race is that we can set out to accomplish things we've never done before.

If your current dream is to write a novel, then you're gonna need a side of your that plays the game called Writing in order to realize that ambition. And that's the purpose behind reading a book on becoming a writer or attending writing seminars and conferences, etc.--to help you give birth to this new part of you and nurture it until it can survive on its own.

Once formed, each of our parts possesses a burning desire to get gooder and gooder at playing their game. Our inner clothing designer loves nothing more than evolving into the second coming of Jean Paul Gaultier.

The part of us that plays the game called Healing is driven to improve its ability to help us recover from big and little medical setbacks—and grows frustrated when the aging process finally outstrips its ability to level up and maintain the body in perfect health.

This innate drive to become better, stronger and faster explains why smokers tend to smoke more cigarettes with each passing year. Despite the smoldering disdain from the rest of the crew, the part of us that smokes takes great pride in playing its game and enjoys leveling up to 3 packs per day or 4 or the Mt. Everest of Smoking that my Lil' Smokey once scaled of 5 full packs of cigarettes each and every day.

If a crewmember keeps playing the same game long enough it can reach prodigious levels of accomplishment.

In his book-length TED talk, Outliers, Canadian

journalist and bon vivant, Malcolm Gladwell popularized the 10,000 Hour Rule—which proposes that if we put in enough thousands of hours of dedicated practice, any one of us can become a bad-ass in any conceivable human endeavor, whether it's hockey, card-playing or ventriloquism.

More recently, a clever chap named Robert Greene wrote a book called Mastery, in which he gamely explores the preternatural abilities of masters who've reached the lofty perch of 15,000 or even 20,000 of focused practice in a discipline.

I’d like to add an important, but widely overlooked, distinction here...

This mastery process only applies to a single member of our inner crew at a time.

If I give my juggling side the gift of 10,000 hours of practice over the next few years, I would be one of the top jugglers on the planet.

We interrupt this program with Breaking News...

There are only so many hours in the day.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Obviously, if my juggler hogs all 10,000 of those hours, then the rest of my questing party will suffer.

Which is fine IF my current Epic Quest is run away and join the circus. However, if my ambition is to make a living as a concert pianist, then perhaps tickling the ivories would be a better use of my free time than throwing some stupid balls in the air and

catching them again.

In the vocabulary of MMOs...

Our stats are non-transferrable.

In an actual online Role-Playing Game, if a lone member of my questing party defeats a Boss Monster, his experience points will increase. But, unless the rest of us were active participants in the skirmish, his victory has no bearing on our stats.

Being seriously good at telling stories doesn't automatically also make Joss Whedon an expert linguist or world-class chess player. Those members of his crew—if he even has them—have to develop and enhance their abilities on their own.

That said, it's also true that like attracts like. As one side of you becomes more of a bad-ass by marching inexorably in the direction of 10,000 of focused practice, it naturally prefers hanging out with other bad-asses—in the same way that millionaires like to hang out with other millionaires and celebrities with other celebrities.

When one crewmember levels up, others may become inspired to join the first one. This is why bad-ass people are often bad-bad-ass in several different areas of life.

Gary Vaynerchuk isn't just a social media expert, he's also a world-class authority on wine AND he's working on putting in his 10,000 hours to become an Awesome Dad.

And, yes, being a Dad is a part of us that must be generated ex nihilo--from nothing--like any new part.

In document LA ENSEÑANZA DE LA TRADUCCIÓN EN LA MODALIDAD SEMIPRESENCIAL (página 44-47)