Yes, you have heard this before and maybe you preach it on your own time. It’s the relationships that matter and keep me engaged on social media.
It’s the relationships to people and their ideas that compels me to stay up later than I ought to, to leave longer blog comments than I originally intended, to delight in good news that a friends are sharing not only with the world but also with me.
It’s the relationships that ideas enable. When we each bring a bunch of our ideas to the table and have a potluck, we celebrate a conversation.
Two Twitter friends just sent news of their kids doing brave and meaningful stuff and it pleases me to respond and share in that moment of pride. Those are the relationships I mean.
I dug into a long post about the challenges of teaching writing to “today’s students” and I found a statement that made all the difference for me: “many of the reasons that children fail at their pursuit of ethical lives must be placed at our feet.” The relationship between the idea and my experience is formed almost immediately. I mean these relationships too.
Every hour that I spend on here is costly and worth it. I have these many relationships to thank for that.
I recently attended a two-day training in running theory and practice: Running Technique Coach offered at The Running School. Over the last 3 years I have heard from several of my PE colleagues in Europe that Mike Antoniades and his team at The Running School were game changers and have a lot to offer us. I decided to book a course in London to see for myself what all the fuss is about.
When it comes to running I think I know my stuff thanks to over 30 years’ experience competing, coaching and teaching. As a result of the course, while I do know quite a bit, I now see, feel and understand that there is 1) so much more to learn and 2) that I will be able to improve my own running and that of others better than before. The course kept its promise and I am happy I went.
When Mike Antoniades, who led the course, talks about running, his love for the movement performed well and to the best of each individual’s ability comes across loud and clear. Storytelling features strongly in Mike’s presentations. He uses a variety of case studies to illustrate how runners and movers at every imaginable ability level have trained and practiced according to his methodology and gone on to achieve remarkable results. Some of these case studies were accompanied by before and after videos which proved helpful to us novices in recognizing changes made. Mike has spent decades delving into the intricacies of the human body that converge to yield functional running: biomechanics, physiology, neurology, and psychology. What struck me is that his love comes not from having been the best or fastest runner, but from having learned how to recover from injury. Getting better is at the heart of his practice and that makes more of a difference than one might imagine.
Mike has worked with some ridiculously high level athletes, Olympians, pros, European and World Championship material in numerous sports (soccer, American football, track and field, triathalon, rugby) and he emphasized that everyone has room for improvement. The motor interruptions caused by injuries large and small have repercussions throughout our movement lives. For top athletes, the ability to stay healthy, functional and in good form presents huge challenges to the body systems. Deliberately practicing the most efficient running technique which reduces the risk of injury and increases speed can go a long way in serving the ultimate performance goal of the individual athlete. And for the rest of us the same is true even if we’re not aiming to qualify for a championship team. Essential to the Running School’s practice is this understanding: “Everyone can have their own perfect running technique based on what they are trying to achieve and their body type.” (Running School Manual, Running Technique Course, 2013., p.24) This point was critical for my buy-in to a visibly well-marketed methodology: seeing that the uniqueness of the individual including their goals, histories and specific physical state provides the starting point for determining a program rather than the other way around. Among exercise and training offerings designed to appeal to many this capacity to adapt to and accommodate the individual is not always a given.
Our group of 8 students between the ages of 20 something and 60ish demonstrated plenty of individual diversity. Granted, we were all fairly fit individuals including 3 PE teachers and 4 personal trainers who brought various movement histories along with us. My goal for the two days was to complete the course without injury. I had been running a bit more consistently for the last 4 weeks in preparation (35- 70 min. 3 times/week) and so felt in reasonable cardiovascular shape but also keenly aware of tightness in both Achilles tendons and the hamstrings.
In total we spent up to maybe 5 hours outside doing the practical sessions. The first 90 minute session allowed us to experience the technique training as athletes going through the full warm-up, technique instructions, a series of practice drills and runs complete with individual feedback. We did this on a grassy area in a nearby park. In the afternoon we returned to the same space and after an initial review of the mornings points and exercises we were challenged to each take a turn instructing the group in the two fundamental skill areas: leg cycling and arm motion. We each had four minutes to instruct. Think about this: Each person instructs – stands in the center, gives directions and feedback – while the others do the exercises. That means each person completes a total of 8 rounds of practicing proper technique within the nearly 2 hour session. Pedagogically, this worked a charm – lots of physical and mental repetition to reinforce the best technique and the opportunity to teach it to others extends and anchors the learning in a remarkably lasting way. On the second day, our outdoor session involved 6 minute instruction periods for each participant to carry out which took us a step deeper in checking our understanding of the content as well as focusing attention on delivery-how to be brief, upbeat, encouraging and still give runners the necessary feedback for improvement. (You know, like good teachers.)
The practical sessions had a huge impact on my learning. It was in the doing and processing the doing that my many questions arose. I had so many questions over the two days! What if folks aren’t interested in running faster? Do well-trained athletes need longer to re-pattern their movements? What to do if individuals’ fitness levels are poor (i.e., unable to run more than for short bursts)? What are your tips for recovery between sessions? Why so many reps of this exercise? and how often per week? And what about Paula Radcliffe’s technique? (British Olympic marathoner – look it up) This almost never happens to me in traditional PD sessions. My brain was fired up trying to process and connect all this new input to previous knowledge and experience. During the sessions on theory, Mike’s interjections of stories helped me make sense of the information he was presenting and give it a home in my brain that was feeling pretty full.
When I first sat down to write this post I found that I kept coming back to the past. My own running past. I’ve been a runner for almost 38 years. And my earliest experiences were so positive and affirming that I kept coming back. This course helped me appreciate the fact that I had very good coaches and teachers along the way from whom I learned good technique. Having run track all four years of high school, two years of college and then as an adult with varying levels of intensity, I can count myself as fortunate to have sustained very few injuries. I can likely attribute much of that to good technique. What I also found in reflecting on that long running past was how much love I have for the movement and the sport. That explains why coaching track has been my most consistent professional gig, why examples of excellent running form are easier for me to retain than best times, why I enjoy the camaraderie among runners of various ability levels.
Truly the running technique course was among the very best professional development opportunities I have taken in many years. I learned. I am applying what I learned. I am sharing what I learned. I look forward to adding to what I learned. I’m inspired, fired up and ready to roll (or cycle, would be more appropriate here.). I can hardly wait to see what’s next.
Throughout this year I have spent a fair amount of time wondering about what it is I am actually supposed to be doing. For about 8 more weeks I will still be working, living and learning entirely on my own dime. Time away from the classroom has brought an astounding degree of freedom and plenty of thinking and dreaming space. As this designated phase draws to a close, I am looking for the list of achievements I can hang my hat on; evidence of my productive use of this precious time. I keep asking myself: so where is the evidence? What have you actually done with yourself this year?
A valid question, yet not the ideal. Rather, to ask about what I gained, how I grew and which capacities I strengthened – these are the questions that bring me closer to understanding the value of this time better than lists of what I did and made. And on closer inspection, I see that above all – I changed my diet. I paid closer attention to what I was taking in, how it affected me and this in turn changed what came out. I didn’t realize it while it was happening but now I see that this year had everything to do with my integrity – how I live my life as my whole self and how I express and share that whole self with the outside world. I treated myself to an integrity diet.
I recently shared one of my biggest revelations on Twitter:
I came to Twitter to connect w/educators & talk practice. Then I realized that until we deal w/poverty, racism & inequality, edu is stuck.
I joined social media, specifically Twitter, to “hang out” in a sense but instead got “caught up” as I described in a recent post. The deeper and wider my education-related conversations became, the greater my interest and focus on the very things that school and education, in and of themselves, can hardly fix or solve. In fact, the more I engaged with educators, journalists, activists and academics around these topics, the more keenly aware I became of the potential for school systems and political systems to harm students, exacerbate disparities and claim ignorance about how such circumstances (i.e., school-to-prison pipeline, excessive police brutality against black and brown people, also in schools) could come to pass. Internally, I note a shift in myself from accommodating to critical. While I love the idea of speaking to a broad audience, it has become more important for me as a person, as a writer and as an educator to speak out and speak up and accept that not everyone will feel included, or comfortable, or agree with what I have to say. I am now willing to run that risk. My ego may take a hit but my integrity finds sustenance.
While I feed my integrity, where does the time go?
It seems to me that I read for hours on end each day: books, articles, blog posts, e-mail. I read and I seek to become wiser, better informed. I read in search of nuance and depth. I read in search of examples of healthy daily coping. I follow my friends’ recommendations. I develop opinions and then read on to have those same opinions challenged. When I find nuance and depth, I am grateful and compelled to share. One think piece that struck me in particular was Why Women Talk Less because the author did not leave well enough alone. Rather, she examined research and arguments from various angles refusing to sum up her findings in tidy tweetable bullet points. She let the reader grapple along with her as she laid out the complexity and stickiness of the options that women appear to have in choosing to speak out and up. This type of reading is like a good workout. It leaves you a little tired and mentally sweaty but satisfied. And stronger; ready for the next solid think piece to come along and start something. And there goes the time. I read, feel edified, and wonder where all this reading may be leading me.
Into the arms of writing, it would seem. The other chunk of time when I am not reading, I am seated at my laptop, pecking my thoughts out onto white screens with hyper-interactive sidebars. I used to write in journals, on paper. I do less of that now and tend to go straight to the screen. Since June 2014 I have published 65 posts on this blog and about a dozen on Medium. At the outset I was fairly sure that I would be writing about coaching and teaching. But the most passionate pieces are best characterized as responses. Something I read or saw or thought about struck a chord and affected me. Like when a post by Audrey Watters nearly sent me over the edge (in a good and slightly revivalist way). Or when I needed to dissect the reactions I was seeing on Twitter and elsewhere to a NYT piece on Success Charter Schools. Or most recently when I felt a little out of my depth venturing to take higher education to task but I did it anyway and am glad that I did. In all of these pieces there was an emotional boiling point which made writing imperative and allowed me to push past the weighty apprehension I typically feel before I click “Publish.” Writing this year has meant jumping over my own shadow. Repeatedly. And with bigger and bigger leaps.
What did I do with myself this year?
I grew and I learned. I have found that my interests extend far beyond where I thought my borders were. In my reading and writing, in fact, I’ve gone abroad. I have ventured into unfamiliar and often uncomfortable territory. I have gained a new appreciation for this wonderful brown skin I am living in. I have come to better understand and value the ways in which it interacts and intersects with all the other aspects of who I am and how I identify. I have explored aspects of my otherness while finding commonalities in likely and unlikely places. Opportunities to get down on the ground and truly wrestle with my most stubborn biases and blind spots have been multiple and recurring. I have made many friends and so far, very few enemies. I have come to value questions and responses over supposed answers and solutions. I have found a deeper desire to connect not simply with people but to their ideas and connect those ideas to other people who may not be seeing the same things.
At the end of this year I have no product to market, no book to pitch, no course of study to offer. What I do have is the well nourished integrity of my intellectual, social and artistic pursuits. Perhaps I have never been as fully myself as I am right now. My integrity has never been in better shape.
You are here, I am told, because you made it. You fulfilled the requirements, satisfied the criteria of your studies and now will be rewarded with a diploma. Congratulations!
In the process that has brought you thus far, what have been your greatest lessons? Where has your learning been its deepest and most rewarding? What are you proud of? To whom are you grateful?
I ask these questions because in my experience, some of the best graduation speakers turn out to be the students themselves. Often they are selected by their peers. When you speak as a student, you can address the graduating class as peers. You know what many have been through because you were there. And now as you sit, organized perhaps alphabetically, or by discipline or a combination of those, you may be sitting next to some people you know well and near others whom you perhaps hardly know. Yet whoever stands up here where I am now may be hard pressed to recognize you as anything other than a collective, a class of, yes, graduates.
I want to change that. Rather than have me talk to you or about you for 8 or 15 or 30 minutes. I want us to do something different with this time we have been allocated. I want you spend some time talking to each other. I want you to spend five minutes (2:30 for each person) responding to one of the questions I posed at the beginning. Each of you will have 2:30 to respond without interruption. I will signal when the time is up and then ask you to switch places. I want everyone here to participate, not only the graduates. Speak to the person next to you or behind you and share your responses. Listen without interruption until you hear the signal. Then switch and tell your story.
Find a partner you will speak with and raise your hand to let me know you are ready. We are a lot of folks here, so please hold off with your conversation until the signal, just raise your hand silently to show me that you’ve found a partner.
Looks like just about everybody has a partner. Great!
Here are the questions to which you may respond. Pick one: (Displayed on giant screen)
In the process that has brought you thus far, what have been your greatest lessons?
Where has your learning been its deepest and most rewarding?
What are you proud of?
To whom are you grateful?
First partner, are you ready to tell your story? Okay, begin. (Full buzz of thousands of conversations unleashed)
(at 2:00) You have about 30 more seconds, partner 1.
Graduates, this is the opportunity that I continue to long for – creating entrances into meaningful conversation. With our neighbors, with our colleagues, with our family members. Even as we dance on this planet, many of us hyper-connected and often more in need of unplugging than of anythings else, meaningful, face to face dialogues which unlock our intellect as easily as our emotions may become scarce yet no less necessary to our thriving. And if you or I intend to make a dent in the world, then we must understand that our significant dialogues need to extend beyond our most trusted circles.
You are leaving this ceremony with a degree in your hand. You know, too, that you have had classmates along the way who are not here with you. Classmates who have not yet made it to where you are. Right there is a space for dialogue which is often overlooked. The dialogue between graduate and drop out. What might you be able to learn from each other, to contribute to each other’s understanding of the world we inhabit, especially when you may each see the world very differently?
As a graduate, you enter adulthood in one form or another. There will be new demands upon your time, money and wits. You likely have friends and family who are in your corner rooting for you. What kinds of new conversations will you be having with your parents, siblings, grandparents? How will your freshly won independence express itself when you need to ask others for help?
Thinking about being able to live with yourself, what internal conversations do you need to have before you leave this place and head for the next? Even when you know what to do (get more sleep, exercise regularly, brush and floss daily), what gets in the way from acting on that knowledge sometimes? How do you bridge your own ‘knowing-doing gap’? How do you talk to yourself when you fail? What do you say to yourself to make it alright again?
I raise these questions not to throw you into a philosophical crisis, but as signposts for the conversations I wish more of us would entertain. While dialogue, even with yourself, may not be the solution to the world’s problems, it strikes me as a perfectly fine place to start. Each of us is capable of becoming an effective listener. We can learn to respect and honor multiple perspectives. Without these capacities, I fear that your education is hollow and of limited use to the world.
Make your education useful: Become an expert on gaps.
Recognize the gaps that exist around you – through gender, race, class, education, health status, to name a few – and dare to stand in those gaps. No need to raise your hand anymore; raise your question. Question what is and perhaps try “what if?” Gather the responses. Investigate their sources and interrogate their meaning. Research possible ways forward. If your education has equipped you to do as much, we can all be well pleased.
Do not fear the gap; make the gaps you encounter an unending source of creativity.
What questions will you pose to the world?
What is life asking of you?
These are the questions that come up for me as I look at you in your caps and gowns. To me you all look lovely and promising and slightly uncomfortable.
I have often wondered about the purpose of commencement speeches. When they are good, they are often highly marketable after the fact, particularly if they are delivered by uniquely wise and well spoken members of the celebrity class. Yet what good do they do? What do you gain by listening to someone offer anecdotes, some encouragement and of course, a bit of advice? Speakers at graduations are of course talking to a much wider audience than just the graduates themselves. They are addressing parents and families of the graduates, the faculty and administration of the institution, and perhaps other invited members of prominence. Of course, you, the graduates, are the focus of these ceremonial activities but rest assured that there is much more going on than folks simply gathering here to say “Congrats!” and to wish you well. We have the pomp and circumstance along with apprehension and nervousness. We have joy and cheering along with tears and departures. A commencement address seems to be there to tide us over until we can get to the main course; to forestall a widespread emotional implosion should all the other parts move too quickly. That said, I have one more quick exercise for all of us before we go.
This exercise has two parts, the calm and the storm. During the calm we are going to go silent for yes, a whole minute. Use this time to breathe and simply be where you are, who you are right at this moment; nothing more, nothing less. Then, when you hear the signal,please stand up and give us a whopping loud cheer of celebration.
Here’s the calm.
(at 58 sec.) Now the STORM. (Very loud cheering from all angles !!!)
Pretend for a moment that you’re alone with your thoughts, and that whatever you think or feel in the next few minutes is not designed for social media consumption, interpersonal bonding, or heated debate – that it’s just you thinking through you. (emphasis mine)
If you’re angry, why? No, really? What makes you angry about recent comments, events, interpretations, etc.? There’s no right or wrong answer here – you don’t have to tell me or anyone else. If you feel a bit defensive, or defiant, or sad, or guilty, or even if you’ve been trying not to think about ANY of these seemingly distant riots and uprisings and whatever, ask yourself why. Just for a few minutes.
These words and the idea of being alone with my thoughts and not grooming them for social media consumption – well now, that caught me in a sensitive place. Because, he’s absolutely right. For those of us who show up here daily on the social media channels of our choice – we admittedly have a lot going on. When we have something to say and decide that it is indeed something we need and want to share, we run a risk. In fact, we run a whole host of risks.
We risk being misunderstood and our words misconstrued.
We risk being confronted with our own ignorance, misjudgment, and narrow mindedness.
We risk saying something that may offend or hurt someone else.
We risk being called out for our arrogance and tone deafness.
We risk being too right, too wrong or simply too much.
And yet, if our online experiences are positive enough, it can become quite easy to make our presence a habit, our contributions frequent and our interactions numerous and varied. If those experiences strike us as positive enough through favorites and retweets and follow-up shares, then we feel affirmed in our presence and contributions. We may feel heard, valued and seen. Like our being here is a good thing.
A challenge I face as frequent user of a few social media spaces, however, is being honest with myself outside of those spaces. IRL – in real life, my family members do not toss out stars of approval at my wittiest statements or my forthright requests. There are no retweets of our dinner conversation. And yet, a surprising portion of my inner dialogue seems to run through a type of social media filter. How would I want to blog about that? Is that tweetable? What’s the right tone here? For lack of a better term, I’ll call it “social media creep” (as in “slowly progressing” not “wierdo”). These more recent thought filters slide in and make themselves at home in my day-to-day habits. Their reason for being is rooted in the potential response of the other. These social media thought filters reveal speculations about how I wish to be seen, heard, and recognized in this great big untamed space by others.
I, by myself, entirely alone with my thoughts… I know it happens and it is becoming rare. My thoughts drift into writing and that writing happens with some sense of audience in mind. Before I have gone too far, my thinking may become a text that I choose to publish. Where I used to commit all this stuff to journals, I now have the opportunity to do that AND share those thoughts with the whole dang world immediately. When Dallas Koehn, alias Blue Cereal Education (@BlueCerealEduc), suggests that we pretend for a few minutes that our thoughts are not designed for social media consumption, he cuts to the core. He calls me and so many others out for staging our being more than actually being our being. When we enter the social media fray, we step on stage and although we may feel like nondescript extras in a scene of the masses, we want to play our parts well and to the best of our ability. If we’re good, the thinking goes, surely someone will notice us and our performance.
And being noticed, catching someone’s attention – this becomes our new currency of influence and prestige: Follower counts, potential reach. This is how we figure out who’s boss and who’s not (yet). Social media creep wants me to care about those things. Social media creep beckons me to maximize and optimize my presence. Because being noticed more often by more people – well that must be a reward in and of itself, right?
What does it mean that I have nearly 400 followers on Twitter? Or that some 70 people follow this blog? My hope is that each of those individuals derives some benefit, some usefulness from my occasional contributions. I’m not here to start a movement. I am here to learn. to grow. to stretch. to engage. Staying alert to what’s happening on stage may prove to be less challenging than recognizing the processes going on behind the scenes – inside ourselves. Our vanity, our egos, desires, and our need to belong have become economic drivers on a whole new scale and we find ourselves vulnerable in strange and unanticipated ways thanks to the wonders of digital technology.
Given the personal impact of social media creep, the time that I spend alone with my thoughts becomes the best preparation I can imagine for keeping this thing real and human and meaningful, on stage and off. “Let your mind sift” may need to become my new mantra.
It’s workshop season and I’m pulling my resources together trying to design adult learning experiences that create value for participants. When I am in this phase of mapping, planning, sketching and drafting, a number of competing ideas come up for me. I find myself zooming out, then zooming in; attending to the details while keeping the big picture in mind – these are the intellectual challenges that I love in this work. And this time I see that I have created a special task for myself. The workshop that I want to deliver struggles with the premise of the workshop that was accepted.
Let me explain. The title of my workshop is: “The What, Why and How of Inclusion Activities” and in a nutshell, it is billed as offering participants a framework for when and why to use activities which are designed to foster inclusion in a group setting and of course, practice selected activities as we go. Sounds reasonable enough. For participants there’s a predictable outcome: ideally they will leave with some specific activities that they can use in their classrooms and offices. In practice the workshop looks something like this:
Participants arrive, we do an activity, I talk, we talk, we do another activity, I talk, we talk, next activity, I talk, we talk …time to wrap up, I talk, we talk, round of applause, participants depart, done.
There are worse models, to be sure. Participant involvement and reflection are central to any plan I create. At the same time, I want to do more. I want to bump up against the boundaries a little. The phrase that keeps coming up is: “mess with.” I want to “mess with” people’s ideas and assumptions about how this process works. It is not particularly hard to select a series of activities which may be useful, practice them a little, create a handout for folks to take home and send people on their merry professional way. In principle, that sums up most of what I have planned. Yet the call for more persists.
Here’s what more might look like:
After having participants circulate in the room for a minute or two, stop and ask them to note down: 1.) Their hopes for this workshop and 2.) Their intentions for participating in the workshop. The purpose here is to invite participants to make an internal commitment to the time they are about to spend on something. Asking about hopes and intentions alerts participants to their role in co-creating the learning experience they are about to have. That is more.
Create space for activities completed in silence. We tend to talk so much, especially in the role of facilitator, that we forget how powerful and revolutionary it can feel to let go of talk for a time. Just because we are not hearing each others’ voices does not mean that dialogue will disappear. Calling for silence and restricting the use of voice can feel like a huge counter-cultural demand. And yet if we just go ahead and do it, model it, let it be – our results are often stronger for it. That would be more.
Create space and time for participants to connect input with pre-existing knowledge and experiences. Again it is so easy to fall into a trap of delivery. We offer a workshop and we should deliver new, interesting stuff to the participants. And yet, what allows any learning to stick is when it finds an anchor, a connection that already exists in the individual. Even if that connection is the realization: “Wow, I’ve never seen that before.” The key is reflection. The learning is not in the activity, it is in the reflection on doing the activity. In our insufferable quest to squeeze lots of content into skinny little time pockets which should then be applicable, portable and transferable, we often do ourselves and our participants a great disservice. Deliver less and value the wisdom and expertise of the room. This, too, is more.
While these ideas do not strike me as radical, I can acknowledge them as unconventional. They are not the professional development norm in education circles. And I know that I have to brave experimenting with them. I’d like to “mess with” my participants’ notions of what compelling adult learning can look like and I expect them to teach me in turn. Actively co-creating the learning experience is what I am after and it gets to the heart of what Inclusion Activities are actually about.
Inclusion assumes that every member has a contribution to make to the group’s success.
In Will There Be Donuts? a book that advocates for designing and running real meetings, author David Pearl says:
The question I always ask clients – and have them ask themselves – is how can this meeting create extraordinary value for everyone involved? Not just value but extraordinary value. Not just for me, but for everyone, most particularly the other participants…
When people are queuing up in the corridor for your meetings, camping overnight in sleeping bags for the doors to open, we’ll know that we are creating extraordinary value. And it’s the intention that gets us there.
(David Pearl, Will There Be Donuts, Harper Collins 2012., p. 76)
Applying that mindset of “creating extraordinary value for everyone involved” to my workshop planning, it becomes absolutely clear that the path to more for participants and me starts with clear intentions – internally formulated and explicitly stated. Every participant who walks through the door must be aware that her presence is valued, his voice is essential, that our work is shared.
This mindset also underscores the importance of only employing inclusion activities if inclusion is the genuine intent. When participants are encouraged to behave as if their voice mattered only to be quickly reconfigured back into traditional roles of power distribution (teacher-student, boss-employee), then they will quickly learn to resist such offerings and see them as a form of mockery. So I will make a point of asking participants to consider this intersection of intent and impact before trotting off to simply “try something new” with their unwitting groups.
In this way, the workshop as conceived and the workshop as advertised become one and the same: Art in the making, adult learning experiences eager to take on lives of their own. More than the norm. More about participant growth and connection than about content delivery. More about listening and sharing than about telling and showing. I’m going for more. Wish me luck.
I want to give a shout out to Elena Aguilar whose excellent post on Edutopia is a foundational reminder for me in this process: “10 Tips for Delivering Awesome Professional Development”: http://t.co/SBluT0jKjD
This morning I was out for a jog and something dawned on me: Great teaching is something that sticks with you. That was the start. Then the thought began to evolve.
Is it the teaching or is it the learning? I asked myself.
What great teaching am I carrying with me right now as I pick up the pace?
I began assembling my stories; stories of the great teachers, the great lessons, the deep learning I was sporting as I lengthened my stride.
Story #1: The speedskating race. I did my first long distance speed skating race on January 2nd. I completed 15 laps of a 2.1km course in a little less than 2 hours and 15 minutes. Throughout, I could hear my coach’s whisper at each step, “feet together, feet together.”
Story #2: Reading aloud. One of my greatest joys as a parent was and still is reading aloud to my sons (aged 20 and 7). My mother surely instilled and inspired this habit in me. Every time I hear myself read aloud with passion, I imagine my mother looking on with pride.
Story #3: Sticking with the run I was on. It would have been easy to stop and walk, especially as I was plodding uphill. And there I heard a variety of voices, including my own, reminding me that I could and would succeed because: I know how this goes, I’ve tackled this before, I set the pace, the choice is mine and look at the blessings that surround me.
Story #4: The will to keep writing. Several folks have had a hand in this one, yet my thoughts actually go back to two of my high school teachers, Mr. Hawkes and Mr. Nelson, who encouraged me to recognize my writing as a definitive strength and that I should therefore dare to be confident in doing it. That lesson took a long while to kick in (some 20 years, at least). If they only knew…
So as I continued to chew on this line of thinking, I arrived at this: Great teaching, which often goes hand in hand with great learning, becomes great because it has staying power. Great lessons stick with you, are portable and transferable. Over time these lessons can become so uniquely and intimately useful to you as to no one else. This is what makes the learning your own.
I hesitate to draw the connection to education or schooling, because we know teaching, learning and lessons to be so much more, so much broader than what we tend to stuff into our favorite labeled compartments of education and schooling. So think big and broad with me here, let’s go deep and not linger on the surface. When you consider some of your own great teaching, learning and lessons, both in the past and to come, would you like that for here, or to go?
Personally, I’ll take all three to go with a big side of uncertainty because there’s the catch – we just can’t know or predict before hand exactly what will stick with whom and when. All the same, let’s have the “to go” model in mind when we are serving up our best fare to students, colleagues, and loved ones. They will thank us. Someday.