This afternoon I taught a class on values and goals. The class was my sixth in a series of eight to ten two-hour classes I lead regularly at Taft Camp. We generally meet on Monday afternoons, and I have between 20 and 30 participants for each cycle.
Through the values and goals session, I try to inspire the participants to identify the values by which the live. If the men can place their values in a hierarchy, we can project where their values will lead them. Having each participant grasp the values also provides him with a compass through which he can evaluate how he is spending his time in prison.
It’s easy for a prisoner to lose his way. Every day can have a tendency to blend in with the next. He misses his family, and a terrible apathy can come over him. To avoid debilitating adjustments, I urge the men who participate in classes I lead to define their values in order of importance. Once they create a list with which they feel satisfied, the men can use it to match their behavior. That is where the goals come into play.
If the prisoner identifies his values, he can measure whether the goals he is working toward reflect the commitment to his values. One of the obstacles I’ve observed in prison adjustments is that too few prisoners contemplate the ways in which they want to grow over sustained periods in time. Those men come to the end of their sentences and they find that their time was wasted on devotion to softball games and soap operas. An understanding of values and goals, I felt convinced could lead men to more successful adjustments.
I used the Values and Goals that guide me through each year as a teaching tool. This strategy keeps me motivated, despite the many years that I serve. As a consequence of having specific objectives toward which I work, I have compelling reasons to wake early, to push myself, to avoid behavior or interactions that may derail my progress. It is the same strategy Jim Collins wrote that great companies followed in his book Good to Great, and I felt certain it was essential for individuals who wanted to lead optimal lives as well.
I am not a fan of sentences that span multiple decades for violent offenders. Such sentences seem especially Draconian when the offense was one against the public order, with only consenting adults involved. Nonviolent drug offenders represent today’s equivalent of those who ran speakeasies during the Prohibition era. Yet some nonviolent drug offenders, like me, serve more time than terrorists. Such sentences scream of injustice, and I hope Americans will call for reforms.
Monday, 16 March 2009
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