Last Last Day

     Today is the last day of classes for the year at St. John's. As excited as students are on this day, sometimes the teachers are even more so. They've given so much of themselves for the past nine months, and they need to enjoy a more relaxed pace for a while.
     For me, the last day has always been a bit mixed. Yes, there is the prospect of summer and all that implies. At the same time, however, it comes with a sense of loss. the relationships have deepened, and the student growth is growing exponentially. The possibilities seem even greater.
     This year I feel that loss more acutely. Today is my last last day. While I'll still be working with and visiting schools, I won't be in a school, surrounded by kids, experiencing those daily and yearly rhythms, hearing that joyful buzz. I won't be saying "Happy New Year!" twice a year, even more expectantly in August/September. I won't, as just happened, have two third-grade girls bringing me a special poster about carnivals, giggling when I asked about their research and replying, "Google."
     Remove the kids, and you remove our reason for being, our motivation. I know that seems obvious, but sometimes we lose sight of that as we grapple about all the other facets of school. Meanwhile, kids place tremendous faith and trust in us. That's easy to see in younger students, but it holds true even as they're pushing us away at key developmental points. At times I feel a bit overwhelmed by the awesome responsibility with which we've been charged. It can even feel somehow sacred.
     On this last last day, I intend to cement as many images in my memory as I can. Along with ones from throughout the past 36 years in a school, I'll evoke them for inspiration in future work.

Is The Room Really That Smart?

     I hadn't heard/seen the phrase "The smartest person in the room is the room" for a while. Or perhaps it's just become such a commonly accepted truth that it doesn't register anymore. Today, though, when I saw it in a Tweet, I wondered, "Really?"
     The concept makes sense: that there is greater collective intelligence in the room than in any individual. I'm sure that's true when it comes to conglomeration of knowledge, skills, understandings. Advocates like to point to some example in which a group's estimates are averaged about something and that turns out much closer than any single stab. At the same time, however, we've probably all been in situations when the room is not that smart, mainly because of the dynamics in the room. Groupthink, domination by the loudest voice, individual biases coalescing, intimidation and fear--all these things and more can, no matter how brilliant the people in the room, dumb down the room. This can show up in meetings, through our media and information consumption (the how and the what), and in our rush to judgmental conclusion.
     Perhaps we need to add the word possibly to the saying: "The smartest person in the room is possibly the room." The goal remains admirable. To achieve it demands rethinking some of our conceptions about learning, particularly as it's tied to achievement.
     While there's been some shifting, for the most part schooling has been seen as an individual endeavor, albeit within a largely homogeneous context. Even efforts to differentiate highlight this personalization. It becomes a competition, even a sort of contact sport. Students receive individual grades. Their achievement is scaled against other students'. They are ranked. They fight for admission. Events such as the recent college admissions scandal morph the competition into a battle royale straight out of pro wrestling.
     Yes, I exaggerate somewhat. But I contend the underlying points are valid. Further, they contribute to why the room may not be the smartest person. We are not trained that way. Plus human egos can take over.
     But the potential is there; as I said, the concept makes sense. Turning that concept into reality will necessitate some shifts.
     We have to become even more mission driven, particularly in ways that emphasize the common good as being the desired derivative of individual progress. For example, "smart cities" are those which put a premium on all sorts of learning, which improves life throughout those communities. This also means rethinking the markers of success, the standards for entry, and the impediments to access.
     Tied to all that, and particularly the markers of success, we need to reflect on what we mean by  "smart." What are the things we truly value, and how do they relate to our conceptions of intelligence? Do our practices really foster them? We would have to shed our obsession with metrics, contests, and award. We would have to embrace process over product. We would have to secede from the cults of personality and individualism.
     If we can rock our worlds in those ways, then we can do a much better job at how to really make the room smarter. We must learn how to collaborate. By that I don't mean simply cordial and collegial when working together. I mean pushing and prodding each other; challenging respectfully; holding firm while remaining open; admitting vulnerabilities; adapting one's position, maybe even 180 degrees; all while aspiring towards higher, common goals.
     Yes, then the room would be much smarter. And so will each person it it.

Reimagining Independent Schools. For Sure. How about the Conference Itself?

Preface: I need to acknowledge at the start that this post is going to bother me, and it may bother you for the same reason. I'm going to point out a challenge; I may even rant a bit. But I don't really offer any solutions, as I recognize just how complicated this is. Sigh...

     A week ago I was attending the National Association of Independent School's Annual Conference. The theme was  "Reimagining Independent Schools: Tearing Down Walls, Building Capacity, and Designing Our Future." I'm very glad to report that much of what I heard suggests that many schools are reimagining, with no aspect of education left unexamined. Except perhaps one.
     The conference was just like so many other NAIS conferences. Except for small additions through the years, the overall format and schedule remains the same. Sessions unfold the same way, with so much sitting and listening, despite presenters' promises to make them interactive. To be fair to NAIS, I can say this about just about any conference I've ever attended. And the NAIS one is of high quality, and I always find it very worthwhile. Still, I think it's appropriate to ask, when we're being challenged to reimagine schools: How might we reimagine the annual conference?
     That's a giant ask, and it would take an extensive team quite a while to dig into it. It could be an incredible design thinking exercise. Meanwhile, the conference think tank changes each year and consists of volunteers with demanding roles in their schools. Logistically, you have to think about several thousand people. You have to book a convention center, presenters, services, et cetera. It is an efficient way for people to share and download information. In many ways the convention format works just fine, even really well; so, you know, there's no reason to re-invent the wheel.
     Some people have tried to do that, at least on a small scale. For a while the unconference was popular. I can't imagine trying that with 6000 folks, though. As I admitted in the preface, I don't have any big, hairy idea for this. I do have a small one, though. A place to start.
     School leaders everywhere have asked teachers to rethink the classroom experience. Whatever format it takes, it shouldn't look like the traditional teacher-centered classroom. We want to see teachers taking risks in how they design immersive, active learning experiences. Yet how many conference presenters do this? Most of the sessions I've attended over the years, even recently, rely on very traditional pedagogy.
     As we're reimaging a conference, consider how so much meaningful change occurs within our schools. Leaders set a direction towards an imagined better, modelling it when possible. Then the teachers in the classrooms bring about the change we need to see. Ultimately, it comes down to brave individuals experimenting as they chase an ideal.

What Game Are We Playing? The Close of 2019 NAIS Annual Conference

     I eagerly anticipated Simon Sinek's presentation at the 2019 NAIS Annual Conference, and his extended examination of playing finite versus infinite games captured so many of the issues we struggle with in education. While familiar with the concept, I never had thought of how it applies to education. Yet it raises a crucial notion we must consider in taking a hard look at ourselves as we reimagine education.
    Among many of the thoughts that swirled in my mind, one immediately led to this Tweet:

Listening to @simonsinek at #naisac and thinking that if we’re really inspiring lifelong learning, we are helping kids to love playing an infinite game.

— Mark Crotty (@crottymark) March 2, 2019

Sinek kept talking about how finite games end, with rigid rules, with a clear winner and a loser.When we preach mission, of course, we imagine students engaging in an infinite game. A mission is aspirational; it's our linguistic attempt to express the ideals towards which we strive. Just as Sinek talked about America growing over time into the notion of everyone being equal, we grow into our missions. We keep finding ways to do better.
    At the same time, though, we must ask ourselves what are some of the traditional practices in school--ones that we hang onto as we consider other innovations--that turn learning into a finite game for students. Think about how a course ends with a test called a "final." Grading and academic prizes. The metrics we use. The celebration on next-school placement. Consider how we design curriculum, with distinct departments, courses, units, credits, scope-and sequence. We could create similar lists about many aspects of school. Many of them are captured in a book actually called The Game of  School: Why We All Play It, Why It Hurts Kids, and What It Will Take to Change It.
     As we're doing all this reimagining, we must reflect on what Sinek calls our just cause. We can't just rush forward with the new without courageously questioning everything and asking what game we invite students to play.

Serendipitous Synchronicity on Day 1 at 2019 NAIS Annual Conference

     A common question after a meeting or a conference is: What were your three key takeaways? Often this means something concrete. When I come to an event such as the NAIS Annual Conference, I hope for an idea I can implement right away, whether at my school or in my own development.Yesterday, while all the sessions were fine, I didn't get any of those gems. However, and perhaps more importantly, through pure serendipity I was reminded of a larger, imperative truth.

    I began the day with a session on the link between leadership and cultural competency. A key point is not only making sure that we recognize what diverse members bring to our communities, but also creating environments where they feel respected enough to share their gifts. After that we heard Viola Davis, whose story is one totally removed from most of our schools, and I found myself wondering how she would have fared in one of them, particularly with how many of them were when she was a child.Yet consider how she has impacted the world through her gifts. Then I ended the day hearing Franz Johansson's keynote on the link between diversity and innovation. In an oversimplified equation, I'll summarize his message as more diversity equals greater innovation. At least in the right circumstances.

     As I walked around the conference yesterday, I also found myself reflecting on how wonderfully different this conference looks than when I first attended over thirty years ago. That's another massive reason why so much reimagining is occurring. In so many ways we are learning not to reject the different,but to embrace it.

Questions and Possibilities: The Best Part of NAIS Annual Conference

     One of the most challenging aspects of attending events as rich as an NAIS Annual Conference is determining which workshops to attend. So many look so good. Many measure up; some inevitably don't. Now, with so many people live Tweeting as they sit in sessions, buyer's remorse has become part of the experience. I'm also torn between choosing sessions that I believe will yield information I can bring back to my current school and what I can use in my upcoming role as the incoming executive director of the Northwest Association of Independent Schools. But the more I think about that, the more I realize how much they overlap in terms of my choosing. That's because, tied to the conference theme of  Reimagining Independent Schools, everything is open to question. At least based on the descriptions in the program, sessions will touch upon, whether directly or indirectly, every aspect of school life. And it's up to leaders to keep asking questions about everything. Why this? Why that?
     Why? Why ask why? Simon Sinek, who will close the conference, preaches that everything comes back to the why. Many of us have been preaching a similar idea for a long time: the idea of being mission driven. We will claim--rightly, I think--that we know our why. But larger, harder questions remain about what our why means in a VUCA world. What does academic excellence mean? What is the role of the teacher? What should classrooms look like? How do we distribute leadership? How do we maintain core values in a world increasingly both divided and more connected? What makes for effective governance? How do we embrace diversity while forming communities? How do we protect healthy childhood? Is there really a place for an explicit curriculum based on the usual disciplines? Of course, each of these questions spurs endless others.
     It can seem rather overwhelming. And while these are somewhat eternal questions,for a long time we saw no need to ask them. Then, for a while, many avoided them. Now, though, more and more people are asking them, more frequently by choice rather than necessity. People attending this conference are so fortunate to work in independent schools. We're not subject to tangles of regulation, and we have the freedom to develop the schools we can envision. We can ask the important questions and chase the best answers. Our mindset as we do so largely determines what we find and what we create. It's about openness to the possible, whether adjacent or possible.
     That may be the best part of the annual conference. It highlights the possible, nourishing the idealist in each of us.

As I Head to NAIS Annual Conference 2019...

"If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there." --Lewis Carroll

"If you don't know where you are going, you might wind up someplace else." --Yogi Berra

     As the 2019 NAIS Conference theme and introductory blurb promotes, we're "Reimagining Independent Schools: Tearing Down Walls, Building Capacity, and Designing Our Future." Evidently no aspect of school life isn't being questioned, and I find that exhilarating. Change is happening, faster and faster, even if some of the daily realities don't always live up to the rhetoric. Many schools look and feel different that they did just a few years ago; certainly than they did twenty years ago. At the same time, some things feel too familiar, whether within a single school or as one compares schools. "Innovation" often means adopting what has worked somewhere else. Some of that occurs because we learn from each other. Some of it is market expectations. I think, more than anything, it's because we're figuring it out as we zip along.
     For just that reason, I may be most excited about hearing Simon Sinek speak at the conference. I've admired his work for a while, and in 2015 I led people here through some workshops based on his book Start With Why. If we're really going to take advantage of this moment in time and create meaningful change--even foment a revolution--we must be clear on the reasons. That demands deep reflection. We have to delve inward and outward, backward and forward. We must question our questions. The process of discernment never ends, yet it swirls around solid core. Without that, we risk losing ourselves along the way. Indeed, we may become more similar than truly unique.
     Thus, I hope to hear more than the details about programs and positions and facilities. I can tap into plenty of that from myriad other sources. I admire what those schools have done; I even feel tinges of jealousy at times. But that doesn't inspire. It's not visceral enough. As I head to NAIS Annual Conference, I crave stories about how schools bared their souls, embraced the angels, and grappled with the demons while reimagining themselves. Therein lies the real courage.
   

The Irony of School Security

     I've come all-too-familiar with the pattern, to the point at which I can almost predict exactly when each step will occur. Somewhere there is a mass shooting, and within the next few days I receive several emails from companies about increasing our security. Last weekend they poured in after the shooting at a factory in Aurora, Illinois. Per usual, I systematically hit delete while shaking my head in dismay at this vulturous opportunism.
     This time, though, hitting delete didn't erase some nagging thoughts from my mind, lodged in place by several security-related items from the week. We take security very seriously here, and we've improved tremendously over the past several years. Still, we're going to have a security audit performed later this spring. Earlier in the week we'd had a presentation from the vendor, and I kept thinking about what it must be like to view the world through their lens, sensing potential threats in every corner. Last week also marked the anniversary of the Parkland shootings, and I saw a headline about how one school in Florida now has guards armed with rifles. I also read the heart-breaking story of the young girl who wrote "Love Mom and Dad" on her arm in purple marker because she was convinced she was going to die during a drill at school.
     While I've often appreciated the notion of school being a sanctuary, I always held that ideal in a more metaphorical/philosophical sense. Like a monastery, it would be a place safe from the distractions of the outside world, dedicated to learning and growth. Now we have those who feel the need to turn our schools into castles, complete with battlements and a moat, accessible only via drawbridge and through a closely-monitored portcullis. The walls would grow higher and thicker, sometimes two layers deep.
     We've also constructed symbolic and metaphorical walls in many aspects of life. Of course, the idea of a border wall dominates much of our political dialogue now, mainly because of what some consider a threat of dangerous immigrants. While I have strong opinions, I'm not going to comment here on whether I believe it's necessary, would work, et cetera.  As an educator, I'm worried about something much more basic: What is all of this teaching children? And what is the effect on me as an educator?
     In his book Team Human, Douglas Rushkoff argues that we, like the technology which has shaped so much of modern life, have begun to think primarily in binary terms. We've certainly seen that notion hold faster and faster throughout our culture. It divides us even further. Let's think about this concept when it comes to what children are experiencing as they grow up these days. In simple binary terms it boils down to this. Inside the walls, I should be (not am) safe. But outside the walls lurk loads of really bad people who want to gain entry and harm us. Ponder the implications of that. Is it any wonder we see steadily increasing rates of anxiety and depression? Ironically, the amped-up security infects us with insecurity.
     Never did I think I would have to spend so much time and energy worrying about school security. That's sad enough. But the true depression comes from something much deeper, something rooted in my very "why." While filled with bright spots, education is a difficult, messy, slow process. Sometimes it can feel thankless, and criticism is frequent. What drives great educators forward through all that is an inextinguishable belief in the potential of each and every person. And that may be the most important thing we can teach our children.
   

My Own #BookChallenge--Art of Culling

     I've been enjoying one of the latest social media rages: the seven-day #bookchallenge, in which one posts a picture of the cover of a book that's particularly meaningful to them, with no explanation, and calls out someone else. The tweets evoke questions, memories, and insights while adding to my mental stack.
     While no one has called me out, this past weekend my wife and I went through our own form of the #bookchallenge. In preparation for our upcoming big move*, we've been slowly going through our house and cleaning out. We've done clothing, furniture, assorted other items, with even more to come. And after nearly 25 years of marriage which has included rearing two adult children, we have accumulated plenty of stuff. Plus we're both English majors and English teachers by background, who both write and who love to read. You know what that means...
     This past weekend, we took on the books.
     Now we have 10 good-sized boxes of books to be given away and/or sold. Some were easy to scuttle. Perhaps the initial attraction had faded. Others elicited sharp pangs of guilt, as if I'd used them for what I wanted and then cast them off. Most were somewhere in between. Actually, most stayed home, as this was perhaps, at most, a third of our books.
     I found myself wondering what someone rummaging through these boxes might conclude about me from these books, beyond that I'm a #booknerd who possibly could become a true hoarder. (It's a good thing they can't also see my e-book library.) Perhaps I should say, rather than wondering, what I hope. That I'm a learner, with an eclectic, electric curiosity. That I want to improve. That I draw from an array of resources in my quest for understanding. That I must weave a dense web of what I take from each book. That reading is my way of connecting with people and the world in ways I otherwise couldn't.
     For those us who are true readers--that sounds snootier than I want, so I rely on your knowing what I mean--that final point is at the heart of a love affair with books. It's relational. It may have begun in any number of ways. Perhaps it was a need to combat loneliness or to battle introversion. Maybe it was to stoke intellectual sparks that school failed to feed. At the other extreme, a teacher may have offered that book which turned on a kid previously averse to reading. It could be simply an innate love of words and language and story. You likely have your own story.
     For us the books are more than the collections of words and ideas. It's their design; yes, to some degree, we do judge a book by its cover. It's their sensory appeal; we like the way one feels in our hands, the tiny joy of flipping a page, the delight in opening the cover when both starting and when done. We engage in conversations with the author. Especially if we write ourselves, we empathize with the courage and determination and talent and self that author is sharing with us. It's all as visceral as it is intellectual.
     It's why we can't understand those who don't/won't read. Yes, we judge them. Surely, we figure, they simply haven't found the right book. It's why, when we're struggling to explain something, we reach for a book. It's why we share books, offer reviews, stay up too late reading, build tottering piles, buy more than we can actually read.
     And it's why culling is more than a #bookchallenge. It's damned hard. Sad. Painful. You may be wondering why we don't just keep all our books. Pragmatism has its place. It also forces a healthy reflection. This process reminds me how much I treasure books and what they suggest about me and the culture of which I choose to be a part.
     We have a bit more to do before I take all the boxes to the used-book store. The clerk will, I'm sure, offer me just cent(s) on the dollar. That's okay. No one can properly monetize books' true value.
   


*For those who don't know, after 9 great years as head of school at St. John's Episcopal, on July 1 I will become the Executive Director of the Northwest Association of Independent Schools. We'll be moving from our beloved Dallas to Seattle.

Trending? Or Timeless?

            In the section on journalism in his World Without Mind,Franklin Foer argues the primary force now is “trending.” Even more than clicks and views and likes and reposts, journalists worry about what’s trending and react accordingly. It almost seems the reverse of the time-honored notion of the scoop. This, in turn, drastically affects one’s perceptions and even larger understandings. I’ve been wondering if the same focus isn’t part of what’s been haunting independent education.

            If you know me, whether personally or through this blog and my Twitter stream, you know I believe strongly in progressive, innovative movement in education. For years I’ve preached, “Evolve or die.” While rather dramatic, it also strikes me as too patient. Somewhere is that sweet spot at which we move forward with due haste…and with due thoughtfulness.

            Many schools are doing some extraordinary work, keeping their DNA while still significantly adapting programs and practices to meet student’s needs right now and in the future. For example, many schools have “academic excellence” as part of their mission statements. Just what does that mean, especially in 2018? What are the implications of our conclusions? What should change? How far are we willing to go? How honestly are we answering these questions?

            It often seems that school are, like those journalists, reacting to trends. In some ways it’s a form of silver bullet, latest and greatest thinking born of a desire to improve. That’s been a long-term practice in education. (Should I have said trend?) Recall when television and filmstrips were the greatest? Individualized reading packets with leveled comprehension tests? More current examples are makerspaces and mindfulness. So many schools have rushed to create specific makerspaces and to incorporate mindfulness. Both have value, but we need to think very deeply about these ideas big picture. For example, if a school believes in the principles of a maker space—and they are exciting—they should not be limited to a space if the rest of the program remains much the same. Instead, it should flow throughout the school. (I’ve written more extensively about this idea here.) As for mindfulness, given the increased rates of anxiety among our students, I’m glad we’re doing something. But there is a very pressing, further reaching question: what is our role in creating the need for mindfulness programs and what do we do to change that?

I wonder, just as media grabs onto what’s trending to gain an audience, whether schools sometime do the same because of legitimate fears of financial sustainability. It certainly explains some other current, perhaps unhealthy, things occurring in many schools. They are primarily part of how we operate as businesses. For example, I hear more references to our customers. I see it in some of the ways we brand and market ourselves. I’m not opposed to these things; and while hopelessly romantic idealist in some ways, I fully accept that independent schools are businesses. The question lies in how we do that business. How have we, as one head wrote, moved to such a contractual relationship in our communities? Meanwhile, are we plumbing our souls? Baring them? Or selling them?

I don’t think it’s the latter. At least not very much. Quality educators remain committed to mission and ideals and kids. But I’m not sure we have enough of the first two. After all, we scream, there isn’t time for all that reflection. Perhaps that is because we’re so busy grabbing on to the next best thing, whatever is trending at the time. Ironically, and this is where I draw the significant hope, at this point in time, so much of what’s trending harkens to the timeless, most precious elements of human learning.

My Election Day 2018 Message

The following is the note I shared with employees at St. John's Episcopal School today. People's responses prompt me to post it here.

                Yesterday at the ISAS Heads of School meeting, I was talking with a friend about the state of our nation right now. We shared a fear: that no matter the results of today’s election, no one wins. We see the potential for (perhaps the likelihood of) wider division, increased vitriol, and more aggressive lashing out.
                I think, individually and collectively, our nation is tired. Bone tired. Our souls are pleading for rest and healing. Psychic and spiritual health suffers when we are battered with negative energy jolts that drive us to fear and fret rather than aspire and hope. We thrive on love, yet the air feels filled with hate.
                Hatred comes out in humans in a unique fashion. In other species hatred arises out of a survival instinct. In humans, while there is some of that, hatred often spews out of a desire to express supremacy. In current times both notions seem applicable. Whatever the cause, hatred in any form directly contradicts one of the main tenets we preach at St. John’s, which beseeches us to be a community where we respect the dignity of every human being. One of the things I most appreciate about our school is that we strive to do this.
                Always keep that ideal in mind. Do so especially on days like today and tomorrow, when people will be feeling the gamut of emotions. Some may feel nothing. You may, as I do feel particularly vulnerable at such times, when it feels as if any encounter could spin out of control. Whatever you may feel, such times challenge us to suppress our primal instincts and to invoke our higher angels.
                When you find that difficult, think of this. We are among the lucky ones. Our calling as educators empowers us to positively influence the next generation, helping them grow into the type of leaders we need, mainly by demanding and modeling the right behavior. Speaking to the heads this morning, Brene Brown pointed out that education is the most important inflection point for meaningful change on a large scale. It’s where leadership matters most. That’s truly awesome—as in great and as in awe inspiring.

The "Important" Versus the Important

     One aspect of education that makes it particularly challenging work is that everything potentially has greater gravity than it may seem at the moment. For example, every interaction with another person, whether a colleague or especially a student, holds amazing potential energy, either positive or negative. Each class can turn off or turn on one or more learners. I don't recall the exact number, but I remember reading somewhere how educators make an incredible number of potentially impactful decisions each day--many more so than most people.That's quite awesome. It's also both invigorating and exhausting.
     It's also why I think we need to reflect on another real challenge tied to this first one: discerning the "important" from the important. The former are those things that we tend to hold out as crucial, even vital, far beyond their real value. The latter are what truly matters.
     For example, let's consider a typical English curriculum and ask some big questions. What is the purpose? Is it to study literature, meaning the general canon and genres and literary elements and how authors speak to each other across generations? In other words, it is to study literature (pronounced with suitably snooty tone)? Or is it for us to consider aspects of the human condition as they play out in myriad ways across cultures? Or, even simpler, is it supposed to keep alive--spark?--a love of reading deeply? Why is it so heavily focused on literature? Why is the overwhelming majority of writing based on formulaic essays and standard literary criticism? Why do we even have English classes rather than Communications classes?
     One can raise similar questions, of course, about other disciplines. In chemistry classes students struggle to memorize elements of the periodic table. But does that really help them to understand how that table works or the relationships between elements? Currently some healthy debate is raging about algebra. Why is that the one almost universally-required math course when it seems to be the one that turns many kids off from math? I don't have definite answers to these questions, but I certainly have opinions. And I do know we need to be considering such notions.
     However one answers these questions, we put misplaced faith in curricula, imparting upon it unjustified importance. Despite what I have to see as the  bald marketing attempts in the use of this label, there is no teacher-proof curriculum. Conversely, a great teacher can bring a terrible curriculum alive. Similarly, we place too much faith in assessment, whether standardized or teacher-generated. That naturally then leads to grades, perhaps the currency whose value we have most inflated.
     I could keep going. Any thoughtful reader can add to the list. A list can help us keep focus on the right issues--and deem what is truly important.
     We also must ask another key question: Why do so many of us become so overwrought about the "important"?
     One reason is a positive one. It's that we have many passionate, caring, dedicated people concerned about education. That can also be a challenge in that sometimes our lizard brain, despite being primitive and small, overwhelms the cerebral cortex. In less scientific terms, we react emotionally to the immediate. Further, as humans we prefer the tangible, the measurable; they are easier for us to grasp, to manage, even to manipulate. We become more vulnerable to the traps of fast thinking. Our vision can become myopic, monochromatic, one-dimensional. Rigid even. The sort of outlook that promotes pure rigor. Which often means just more of the same.
     Learning at its best, though, is scintillating, imaginative, speculative, kaleidoscopic. It revels in the process, both in the here and now and wherever it may be going, knowing it never really arrives at a certain destination. But hoping. It's that insatiable curiosity innate in us at birth, optimally raging for the rest of our lives.
     We assign much of what we deem "important" that status because of short-term thinking.But as one of my mentors regularly encouraged, we need to "take the long view--the longest view possible." At the risk of seeming melodramatic, perhaps we should consider education in the same way David Brooks encouraged to consider living our lives for building a resume or a eulogy. To capture that notion, I'll defer to one of my former students, who graduated high school in 1988. In a comment on a blog post I wrote in 2012 after a beloved educator passed away, he wrote:

ESA was never about the location. It is a sugar cane field in between Lafayette and New Iberia. The population of Cade, LA doubles every morning and halves every night. It was always about the teachers. Coach Rhoades, Madame Garboushian, Ms. Dobkins, Mr. Olverson, Dr. White, Mr. Tutwiler and, yes, you, Mr. Crotty, taught us more about what the journey we had in front of us than any of the lessons and tests we had to pass. Prep school for once meant more than learning what we needed to know to succeed in college. It also prepared us for the challenges we faced outside the classroom. I remember very little of the books that I read back then (enjoyed Watership Down, couldn't summarize it for you if I tried). I do not remember a specific PE class Coach Rhoades taught. I do remember many of the conversations we had over 24 years ago --- conversations that stay with me and continually educate me to this day. May Coach Rhoades rest in peace with the knowledge that his lessons were always destined to outlive him --- and us.

   
   

Hope at Start of School Year...and Beyond

     The beginning of a new year is special because of how it captures such a sense of hope and possibility. The adults sense it in each student, and the kids trust in us to help them discover all the ways their innate sense of it can turn into startling realities. When it works right, it stokes that joyful sense of learning.Then you have students wanting to return to school.
     Of course, those who've never been harbor some trepidation, no matter what they've been told. It's why one of my favorite scenes during the opening couple of weeks is at morning carpool. A pre-K or K child will be reluctant, barely inching along the sidewalk, eyes bulging and sometimes a bit moist. Then an older child--usually a sibling, sometimes a family friend, sometimes just an empathetic upper elementary or middle schooler--will clasp the small child's hand or drape an arm around their shoulders, smile and whisper some encouragement, and walk them in. A small but giant kindness.
     When I see such scenes, ones that children re-create in myriad ways without really thinking, I feel hopeful. They are why why we see them, to be cliched, as the hope for the future. At the same time, it reminds us that at our core people are basically kind and helpful, something we can forget as we suffer what feel like daily blizzards of vitriol in these turbulent, divisive times.
     Last week I had a five-day period during which I had quite a bit of travel, pinging around different time zones. Between travel and appointments, I decided to observe and reflect on random human behavior, particularly how we treat strangers. Other than one guy yelling over the phone at a service agent about a flight situation, I saw nothing I would describe as rude. Instead, I saw general niceness. Here's just a partial list of incidents which stand out: 

• People helping others stow and take down carry-on luggage on an airplane.
• My son's college roommate waiting for him to arrive before setting anything up so they could decide how to arrange things together.
• The lady who helped a struggling mom fold up a stroller as her toddler screamed.
• Drivers letting each other in during a rush hour traffic jam.
• The hotel clerk who had our room cleaned in a tight time frame as we requested.
• A teen helping an older couple figure out how to check in at the airport.
• Incredible patience by many with a person who kept getting buzzed in the metal detector.
• The clerk who helped with my luggage when I returned my rental car and double-checked to make sure I knew the way to the terminal.
• The man who told his aisle-mate on the plan, "You got stuck in the middle. Take the arm rest."
• The stranger who complimented my t-shirt.
• The gate agent who smiled broadly and thanked every person boarding my early Sunday morning flight.
• The person who helped me figure out the card system on my hotel's elevator.

I could add several others, many directed at me and my family. It was an encouraging and affirming. They reminded me of those opening of school scenes.
    In the current political climate, many from both ends of the spectrum are putting all their hope in the mid-term elections. Yes, they matter greatly. But the more I experience and learn, the more I believe solutions and meaningful, positive won't be found in elected leaders or systems, though they can help. Not just in politics, but in any complex human endeavor, including schools. Instead, it's up to each individual and the multiple choices we make each day. We have it in us. As in so many other things, we can lead the children lead us. They embody hope.

Powerful Reminder(s) in a Phone Call

     The last couple of days,  I've come to school kind of grumpy. It's fatigue, physical and mental, more than anything. In-service is always an invigorating time, but also draining for all the reasons imaginable. Plus plenty going on away from school, including my older child entering her senior year in college and my younger about to start his first. The prospect of empty nesthood is exciting, but comes with a tinge of sadness.
     Today, though, the funk began to lift. I had one of those moments that educators dream about. It brought with it inspiration in the form of key reminders.
     Yesterday I'd had a voice mail from a student I taught back in the late 80s. We'd had no contact since then, and she said she wasn't sure I would remember her but she wanted to speak with me for a few minutes. I did recall her quite well. She'd been a very bright, lively kid who I really liked. She just never seemed to get her stuff together. Soon after I left, she flunked out of the school. I had no idea what had become of her.
     This morning I called her back. She told me she had been talking with her daughter, who asked her about teachers who mattered. That inspired her to call me. She said she couldn't remember anything from my classes, but she remembered my kindness to her, my belief in her, and everything I did to try to help her, especially having her call me in the evenings to hold her accountable for doing her work. I knew her home life was a wreck, but I learned just how bad on this call.
     The beauty is that now she's doing great: married for twenty years, three great kids, has a graduate degree. So perhaps not only great, but better than most, despite how things started. Plus, for me the best of all--and here's where you may get the goose bumps I felt--she's a middle school English teacher. She chooses to work with underprivileged kids. She tells them if they take nothing else away from her class, she wants them to know she loves them.
     Thirty years ago I was trying to save this young woman. Now she's become one of my heroes. Of course, heroic tales always come with morals. As we begin another school year, the story reminds us about what we're really teaching. Impressionable young people, ones who may be carrying things they are simply not equipped to handle. Sensitive, trusting souls who make themselves vulnerable to us. It's why no matter how skilled we become in pedagogy or well-versed in curricula, the most powerful thing we can do with any student is forge a relationship. We never know what the lasting lesson may be. Indeed, we may wonder if it really matters. Most of the time, educators do not get to revel in the long-term successes of their students. When we do, it's amazing. Today was one of the most amazing. I wish such an experience for every educator. But even if you don't have one quite so awesome, know your impact.

Back-to-School Inspiration: A Strengths-Finder Approach to Educational Progress

     Criticizing schools--or at least aspects of them--is easy. It's one of those subjects about which everyone seems to hold an opinion, usually focused on something that's wrong. Sometimes they have a valid point; sometimes they don't. Among the loudest and most negative can be prominent reform advocates, and something about human nature makes that approach work.
     Certainly I've been vocal about some ways I believe education should change, and I can be a bit idealistic, even pollyannaish, about the power of a meaningful education. I also realize my perspective comes from inside that independent school bubble, a lens which certainly skews my perspective. I don't think it lessens the point I hope to make here. Lately I've been wondering about how we sometimes go about trying to improve things.
     Typically we snatch onto the latest and greatest and preach about it being transformational. Then we do it again. And again. I suspect that happens for many related reasons. We hear something is broken, and we want it fixed. We're entranced by newness. We want the best for students. We want to believe in the promise.
     I still believe in the promise. But I don't believe true, lasting transformation occurs through just one thing or very quickly. Either the change has to burrow into one's soul, or it's already there and needs ways to emerge. Plus any single approach seldom works for everyone at one time, or for anyone at all times.
     There may be exceptions, but transformation seems to happen like innovation: assorted bits and pieces come together over time, eventually combining in something new (as explained in Steven Johnson's Where Good Ideas Come From). It's made me wonder if we should be taking sort of a strengths-finder approach to educational progress, working to scale all the promising work being done in schools. That generates positive energy.
     With that in mind, here is a list of exciting things which are trending in schools currently. It's what occurs to me as I'm typing, so certainly incomplete. But perhaps you'll feel affirmed and/or inspired by something on it.

• Project-based learning
• Increased concern with student's holistic well-being
• Blended learning
• Coding and robotics
• Schools dropping APs
• Colleges eliminating testing requirements
• Design thinking
• Community gardens and outdoor learning spaces
• Flexible learning spaces
• Social-emotional learning
• Mastery and competency based standards
• Real-world connections and internships
• Service learning
• Alternate/authentic assessment
• Brain-based learning
• Emphasis on creativity
• Wider, deeper understanding and acceptance of diversity

Some of these can have a larger impact more quickly than others. Some naturally work together. The real power, though, lies in the cumulative effect. What also matters greatly, maybe most importantly, are the conversations surrounding them. I hope this may inspire some of your own learning and growth for the year.

     Whichever path you choose, keep in mind the most vital, potentially transformative aspect of being an educator. The lationship with a student. Nothing else works or really matters without that.

Picture of Graduate and Control of Learning

     Recently I've noticed quite a few comments in Dr. Tony Wagner's Twitter stream in which he is encouraging schools to develop their Portrait of a Graduate (PoG). For the past few months, I've also, without as much focus, seen more and more tweets referencing students' being in control of the learning. Naturally, I've been juxtaposing the two in my thoughts.
     While I appreciate the idea behind the calls to grant them more control, I've written in the past that I believe students already are in control of their learning, no matter what we may like to think. What teachers can control is creating a certain environment. In doing that, they can help students fulfill one of the most essential qualities in a PoG that really matters--controlling their learning in the right ways. Certainly doing that involves the grasping of some knowledge and developing particular skills. But the key lies in attitude.The qualities necessary include an insatiable curiosity, a skepticism that never disintegrates into cynicism, amazement with the unique, and an optimistic embracing of the possible.
     Unfortunately, large segments of society have lost sight of this. It goes much deeper than the rigid, misguided standards and frameworks  that drive so much of education, leading to the wrong measures of success. It's how people are exercising the control over their learning. They're thickening the membranes of their filter bubbles. Thus the extremes become even more so, with those who disagree becoming threats rather than potential sources of wisdom. The obvious problems exacerbate themselves.
     Of course, one could argue those people are not really learning. I'd agree. With how much is at stake, we need to make sure this ideal drives anything else in a Portrait of the Graduate. So much else of value is at stake.

Doughnut Learning?

     Recently I read Doughnut Economics by Kate Raworth. While much of the economic theory went over my head, it prompted some thoughts about how the same view of humans which determined economics for hundreds of years has affected how we view learning.
     Basically economic theory has been driven by the idea of homo economicus. This assumes that humans are rational, linear thinkers who always pursue their optimal interests. We would thus operate per simple patterns of input and output, which aligns with the notion of supply and demand.
     Doughnut economics presents a different perspective, one which is fluid and dynamic. Rather than independent, self-interested actors, humans (and really the rest of the ecosystem) interact in a web. Feelings influence us as much as thoughts, and it is not a zero-sum game with distinct winners and losers.
     Clearly the former view has influenced much of our education system. It goes beyond the factory model, beyond our utilitarian beliefs, beyond the desire for a return on investment. It does, however, lie at the root of those things. It drives right at how we view people as learners--that learning is a simple matter of measurable cognitive input and output.
     We're finally beginning to understand that learning doesn't happen that way. Increased knowledge of the brain has revealed how amazingly diverse we are as learners, based on myriad factors that have shaped our neurological pathways. Among those factors are emotions, previously ignored in educational design. Flow has shown that joyful learning need not--and often isn't--purely utilitarian.
     As the world continues to morph, rendering many old models obsolete, education needs to be creating new models of learning so we all--not just students--can thrive. I'm wondering what Doughnut Learning would look like...

Autodidactic Leadership Development

                The spring 2018 issue of Independent School magazine focused on leadership. As always, the articles highlighted the excellent work going on in many schools while prompting thoughts about ways to improve one’s own school. The story highlighted on the cover is “How Did You Learn to Be a Leader?” Naturally the question prompted some reflection.

                The question implies a professional development angle—or at least I jump to that conclusion because of how we often think of adults’ growth in schools. We assign mentors, talk about training, sit through workshops, attend conferences. Often it’s done in doses of varying sizes; sometimes it’s a single shot. I think this has been particularly true when it comes to leadership, particularly because the idea of distributed leadership is fairly new in most of our cultures. Unless someone were tapped as having leadership potential and quite intentionally mentored, or the person went to certain programs, I don’t think they received much leadership training.

                Even for those who received more extensive leadership training, it is limited. I don’t mean limited in its effectiveness or potential help. I mean limited in that it’s not enough. I assert that as one who has benefited greatly from attentive mentors and quality workshops. I also say this because I’ve come to believe everyone is ultimately responsible for their own development. Optimal learning requires some degree of autodidactic impulse.

                If you accept my premise, you’re likely wondering what are some practices that can enhance one’s leadership training. I’m going to offer some ideas, but with the caveat that you need to design an intentional program per your own needs.

• Observation—Even if you have a fantastic mentor, that person can teach you only so much because of both human and practical limitations. To augment the mentoring, you can use other people as quasi-mentors without their even being aware through observation. Watch people you both admire and question as leaders. Study where they shine and where they misstep. Pay attention to not just large moments, but also the little things.
•  Read—Neurological studies have shown the brain lights up during reading the same way it does when we dream. That’s fitting, as one of the main things a leader must do is dream. Reading can help inspire those dreams through the sort of extensive exposure we cannot gain any other way. In a more immediate sense, reading allows for another form of mentoring as you encounter unique situations and people/characters. Also, extend your leadership reading beyond the typical leadership books. Many are much too simplistic. Instead, read history, biography, memoir, autobiography, fiction, poetry, social sciences, hard sciences—anything that is going to extend your learning.
•  Self-Awareness—We all have our strengths and weaknesses. But how aware of them are we? How much do we accept them? Work on them? Leaders need people who will challenge them, whether regarding ideas or behavior. Professional coaches, good friends, therapists—each can play a vital role in a leader’s development by prompting deeper reflection about one’s personal qualities and how they affect relationships on every level. Also, the point is not to change your essential core. It’s about growing as a person so you can grow as a leader.
• Proactivity—You may be given clear opportunities to develop your leadership. It may be some sort of position, the chance to run a project, to serve as a peer-evaluator. It could be just about anything. The key is to take the chance and make the most of it. Even if you have this chance—and especially if you don’t—it’s vital to be pro-active and seek opportunities to exercise leadership. Perhaps you see a need and have some ideas on how to address it. Perhaps you foster greater collaboration among colleagues. Whatever it is, show that you are committed to helping your institution improve.

                 These are just some ideas, ones which have served me well. They may or may not help you. Despite what often seems like popular belief, leadership isn’t limited to a certain type of person. In fact, studies have shown that often the most effective leaders for long-term success do not fit the stereotypical image.  Effective leadership often comes down to being a particular type of person in a particular place at a particular time for a particular purpose, all in alignment.

                Finally, no matter what type of person you are, reflect deeply and honestly about why you want to lead.  Yes, most leaders feel called in some regard. The question is why. If it’s about pumping up your ego, think some more. The best leadership is about some higher meaning and purpose. It’s about moving towards some ideal. Thus, in a way this entire post becomes somewhat ironic given its focus on the self. Great leaders learn to shrink themselves so that others may grow.

               

In Search of Excellence

     I've stolen the title of this post from the classic Tom Peters work. I've been thinking about this idea because he recently published his fantastic The Excellence Dividend, which pulls together myriad points from his long career. If you've read this blog and followed my Twitter feed, you know my thoughts on the excellence dividend of education are clear: when one's endless learning becomes part of a life with distinct meaning and purpose. I hope, to use Tom's standard, that provokes a bit of a "Wow!" response.
     I'm more interested in pondering here why completing that search proves so elusive. Reasons abound, ranging from the pragmatic to the philosophical. I think the latter are the more suppressive ones in that we tend not to think of education in such idealistic terms. Instead, we focus on the utilitarian, the practical. Then the process becomes rather mechanical, overly reliant on systems and measurement. We somewhat de-humanize what should be the most human of endeavors.
     Ironically, or perhaps paradoxically, even when people share my philosophical position, true academic excellence becomes even more difficult. It's because we have to cede most of the time-honored forms of control. We have to rethink the markers of short- and long-term success. We have to trust.
     But it's even more complicated than that. For an education to be truly responsive, it must evolve continually, responding to the vagaries of human nature and culture. Yes, certain questions and topics possess an eternal quality; yet we must consider them in the light of the emerging world. There lies little value in examining the past without using it to figure out the present and shape the future.
     Even then, the challenge remains great because excellence ultimately will mean something different for each individual. It demands the ultimate differentiation. It insists we react, reflect, readjust...over and over and over.  It changes as each student changes. It changes as the teacher changes.
     At its best, it also remains an ongoing search, a quest for a mythical grail. Certainly it is that noble.

A Quick Thought on #Leadership

     During a conversation a few days ago, I was asked to talk about a leader who had influenced me. The question threw me for a moment, mainly because I'm fortunate to have many people I could have cited. I settled on one, and after sharing some qualities and anecdotes, I concluded by saying, "What ultimately has stayed with me was how he carried himself with such an air of integrity."
     Yes, I mean integrity in the way we often use the word, meaning ethical, essentially good. But I meant more than that. I also was referring to a sense of wholeness, the way in which the disparate parts of something add up to a distinct and discernable unit true unto itself. That requires a genuineness; it radiates from an inner core.
     Meanwhile, I regularly see Tweets about different formulas for leadership, whether in books or workshops or videos. I don't dismiss them at all; in fact, I have tapped into them for my entire career. But they don't work...at least not by themselves. Leadership is not a series of steps to follow. It is not a persona one can throw on like a cloak. All those experiences must be part of continual growth, reflected upon and rejected or internalized gradually as we sculpt ourselves. Becoming a stronger leader does not mean being/becoming a certain type of person. It means becoming the best possible person. Your best self. One others want to follow in some sense.
     This essential truth can be lost in our culture, particularly in schools.We can become so caught up in producing the best academic, the best athlete, the best artists, the best student council president--usually per some sharp criteria--that we forget we should be about helping each person develop. That's going to mean different things for each. It also means that each person has the potential to become a leader in some fashion, in some circumstances, if we allow for the possibility.