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.

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.

               

Mission and the Inner Muse

       I love those moments in life when two things merge in my thinking in a way that causes me to rethink something. In preparation for part of our August board retreat, I have been thinking even more than usual about the notion of mission. Also, for whatever reason, I've been seeing loads of references to muses lately, whether in the book I recently finished or the NYT crossword or in various conversations. Whether coincidence or serendipity, when these connections occur, I pay attention.
       At the retreat we're going to do a mission-review exercise. Like most independent schools (most non-profit organizations, I guess) we emphasize that we are mission driven. Everything we do should advance that mission. It's the beacon.
       That is simple in theory, but the challenges are complex. Consider, first, that most schools have the same basic elements and similar words. Yet language is inherently limited, with commonly precise meaning elusive. Just what is, for example, "academic excellence"? It varies by community, and by the members within a community. Another issue is that we most often look for signs that we can declare mission accomplished through affirmation from external sources. It's a natural human impulse, and it makes business sense. It certainly can fuel motivation.
       Throughout the history of creativity, we see artists invoking the muse. At the start of The Odyssey Homer cries, "Sing to me, Oh Muse!"; and Picasso had six women he called his muses. I suspect all of us, when seeking ideas but feeling stuck, pray for some spark of inspiration, whether divine or not. Another natural human impulse.
       I wonder if, in seeking to fulfill our missions, schools seek to inspire students with the wrong sort of muses. When a teacher warns, "You'll need to know this because it'll be on the test" (or even a more subtle variation thereof), don't we conjure up the grade as a form of muse? I'm sure you can think of other analogies. The carrot-and-stick approach works in the moment and can be sustained for a long time. But as Daniel Pink's Drive made clear, it doesn't really sustain human's craving for autonomy, mastery, and purpose.
       And the need for those is just as naturally human as those impulses mentioned above. Indeed, it may be even stronger. Living without it can lead to a lack of fulfillment and even depression. It certainly doesn't inspire. So I'm musing on a new way of thinking about mission. What if our mission became about helping each student discover their own inner muse?

Re-Evolution as a Biped

       Since I tore my Achilles tendon on October 1, I have gone through a series of methods of mobility: two crutches, knee scooter, walking boot with two crutches, walking boot with one crutch, walking boot by itself. Sometimes I switch between modes depending on how far I have to go and how sore my ankle is. This past Sunday I showed up at church with just my boot, prompting a friend to gush, "You've re-evolved as a biped!"
       Yes, I have been very grateful to be back on my own two feet, even in limited fashion. The injury has been as brutal as I've always heard. Beyond the physical part, it's also been hard to know how much of a burden this has placed on other people and their generosity. Plus I can be a pretty self-absorbed patient. I am truly grateful for their kindness. And at moments I'm tempted to keep crutches with me because of the sympathy they can provoke. But I hope I'm never on them again, for the sake of myself and others.
       Currently I am learning how to walk again without any bracing or support. I mean that literally. I really didn't expect this part to come so slowly, although it makes sense given the nature of the injury and length of total bracing. I have to think about each step and stride, making sure I go heel-toe, aiming for equal paces, trying not to have any hitches or leg-drags. Forwards and backwards. On a treadmill and across the floor. I draw inspiration from recalling when my children learned to walk, how they were very tentative until it all clicked and they took off.
       Recently the experience has me considering teachers and some of what I suspect many of them have been feeling during this time of rapid change and the implications for schools. I suspect many feel as if they are having to learn to walk all over again. But while I'm striving to regain my normal and natural stride, in many ways they are being asked to develop entirely new gaits. Think about trying to rewire years of muscle memory and feeling as if you had to perform new motions flawlessly after just a few tries, if not sooner. While I still advocate change and want to see it occur faster, perhaps I have more empathy now.
       Of course, as with most things--and I may become dreadfully platitudinous here--conquering any challenge depends on our attitudes. At my physical therapy appointments, sometimes I see a guy who looks to be around twenty years old. He's lost his right arm, and he seems to be training other parts of his body to compensate. I've never spoken with him, and his eyes are distant. But he goes through his exercises with solid determination. It's trite to say this, but...yes, my injury has been a complete drag; yet I still have a complete right leg. I have the chance to rehab my injury and come back perhaps even stronger.
       As teachers and school learn to wend their ways through all the pathways of this emerging world, we have to embrace all the possibilities. Naturally some of those trigger fear. Look beyond that shroud, though, and it's gloriously exciting. After all, how many true chances do we ever have to re-evolve?

Leadership as Obsolescence

       A true paradox for most leaders in appointed positions is that, if you've done your job well, you render yourself obsolete. We are hired for a particular reason at a certain point in time, usually based on clear institutional needs and/or desires. A clear list of objectives thus exists; they may even be part of some larger strategic plan. Check off the items as you achieve them by using the skills in your toolkit and fly the mission accomplished banner. Then, however long that process, arrives the time for the next person to take over.
       That's a rational, utilitarian perspective. It makes sense, and it fulfills our desire for tangible progress. It's realistic. It's also too shallow.
       On some levels, working through a check list is relatively easy. It can become procedural, systematic; people comply with the items and do their jobs. But do they embrace them? That's where we start to sense the deeper reasons we should aspire to leadership as obsolescence. It's about culture. It's about what Peter Miller called "the smart swarm," those organizations which function like flocks and hives. They are in sync yet without an obvious hierarchy, the common goals leading to great efficiency fueled by each member's contribution. In a human institution this produces a virtuous cycle and subsequent long-term sustainability. Meanwhile, the leader fades into the background, having helped to create something that endures long after that person is gone.
       We can have a hard time looking at leadership this way. Daily minutiae obscures the horizon, and this stance demands the longest of views. Plus it's in our short-term interests to make ourselves seem indispensable. And certainly we need the right leaders at any given time.
       Can a leader avoid obsolescence? Perhaps so, although the way may involve another paradox, or at least some irony. It may take less ego, making things more about others than one's self. It may take more humility, realizing--and admitting--how little one actually knows. Then one can grow and learn and evolve right along with the institution. Because the truth is not that the institution needs that particular leader. When the culture is right, they benefit from each other.

The Linchpin Educator

            Recently I’ve immersed myself in some work with a group designing a new program for independent school leadership. One guiding premise stresses non-titular leadership. As part of that, I revisited some of Seth Godin’s work. While I read his blog each day, I decided to re-read three books: Tribes, Linchpin, and Stop Stealing Dreams. Tribes explores groups connected to each other, a leader, and an idea. Linchpin considers the indispensable employee. Stop Stealing Dreams is a manifesto about traditional schooling. Together, they prompted me to try identifying the key qualities of a linchpin educator.

            Three of Godin’s regular themes apply here. First, digital technology changes everything, meaning we should re-examine old models. Second, Godin contends everyone has the potential and means to lead in meaningful fashion. The question is not whether someone could lead. It is will that person lead. Then come matters of what, where, when, and how. Third, merely answering those questions affirmatively falls short. One must produce and ship their particular form of art, the way in which their work touches and changes people.

            Those who do become linchpins. As Godin explains,

What the boss really wants is an artist, someone who changes everything, who makes dreams come true. What the boss really wants is someone who can see the reality of today and describe a better tomorrow. What the boss really wants is a linchpin.

If he can’t have that, he’ll settle for a cheap drone. (Linchpin, 38)

           

That passage comes a few pages after the following:

Let me be really clear: Great teachers are wonderful. They change lives. We need them. The problem is that most schools don’t like great teachers. They’re organized to stamp them out, bore them, bureaucratize them, and make them average. (29)

In Stop Stealing Dreams Godin thoroughly derides the assembly line model of education. I’d add this is not just a school problem but a societal problem, in that cultures have created their typical school in a way that reveals beliefs and values. Consider what resonates in a politician’s platform regarding education. Ultimately, schools are human constructs.

            Of course, that means humans could change them, provided we muster the collective fortitude. That’s where linchpins come in.

So what makes for a linchpin educator? Nothing in the following is about the nuts-and-bolts of teaching, although those matter. But they can be learned and really are secondary. Much more important are certain personal qualities. We need people who can enhance, perhaps even transform education through shaping a particular type of culture.

Curriculum as Markers

            The etymology of the term curriculum refers to a set path. Through time, as more and more traverse a path, the ruts become deeper; a traveler can have a harder time deviating from the preferred route. In education this has played out in greater standardization, the curriculum becoming almost a script for the teacher. Content becomes paramount, and pedagogy takes on a degree of mechanization.

            To a linchpin educator, however, curriculum serves only as markers. It provides a general sense of direction, but the educator wants to embark on expeditions with the students, often through exploring interesting problems. The linchpin not only ignores the map, but shreds it. After all, here during the fourth industrial revolution, we have no reliable maps.

Questions Trump Answers

            As a general rule, questions can be organized into two categories. The first require factual answers, those sort of lower-order bits of recall that may win someone a Trivial Pursuit game. The second provoke higher-level analysis. Perhaps discourse of some sort may help articulate the stages of determining a possible answer. They don’t work on bubble tests or robo-graded essays.

            These questions beget even more beautiful questions in some sort of epistemological evolution. They allow us to unlock even the thorniest problems. They urge us to question everything. A linchpin educator swims in a sea brimming with “What if’s…” and “How might we’s…,” all the while yelling, “Come on in! The water’s fine!”

Appreciate Weird

            We shy away from weird. Even sometimes its less-threatening synonyms such as unusual, novel, original. It defies our created limits, and thus we cannot measure it. That rocks the stability of the average. We feel unsafe because of how it scoffs at our expectations.

            The linchpin educator embraces the specialness in that which is unique. The English teacher who sees beyond the misspellings or usage errors to see the passion, the imagery. The math and science teachers who delight in a loopy proof or wacky hypothesis and cheer, “Give it a go!” After all, they reason, a standardized education fosters standardized people…and we have plenty of those.

Comfort with Discomfort

            Fear, confusion, lack of certainty, resentment, jealousy, anger (on all sides)—the discomfort can manifest itself in these and many other ways. It’s resistance. It comes from those comfortable with the status quo, and even those who aren’t but feel secure. Or the resistance might be internal, the lizard brain gnashing its fangs and spitting venom, fed by cynics.

            The linchpin educator, though, continues to create art, both drawing on rich traditions and experimenting with new forms. Just as an education should, the best art jars us into a new consciousness. It broadens and deepens our perspectives. It does so through taking risks mitigated by idealism and faith.

A Shrunken Head

            All of this requires a secure, under-control ego. Recall the function of a linchpin: to hold other pieces in place so that the whole can function. Ultimately, school is not about teaching. It’s about learning. Ideally, everyone’s learning. Ironically, an oversized head gets in the way of learning. Egocentricity causes someone to wrest too much control, to reject possibilities, to lessen others. It becomes about the I.

            The best educators shrink so that others may grow. It is about us and them. They challenge and affirm, reflect and imagine, prick and caress. In urging people to become better, they invoke our higher selves. Linchpin educators thus give us gifts wrapped in passion.

At the core, how a school functions depends on the relationships and interactions among all its constituents. Right now I’m imagining the utter awesomeness of working in a school full of such people. More importantly, I’m thinking about how truly joyful that school would be for kids. I see them emerging as the people who solve all our current and future problems. And some of those kids will grow up and become educators, and we’ll have more and more such schools. And then more and more flywheels will spin faster and faster, each held in place by a linchpin educator.

Leadership as Planned Obsolescence

       A great deal of leadership guidance emphasizes the need for the leader to beware the dangers of egocentricity. It's not abut the removal of ego, but having a healthy and secure sense of self. It's the essence of servant leadership. Lately I've found myself considering what seems an extension of this notion. Perhaps truly effective leadership means intentionally rendering one's self obsolete.
       The notion is not one that people in clearly-defined, high-profile, well-rewarded leadership positions are likely to find comfortable. However, I think we can spin the idea into a positive one. It might even be, if not the most tangible, at least the most meaningful sign of success. While I believe my points could be applied to perhaps any field, I'll stick to my realms of experience: education and parenting.
       Let's start really big picture. When a head of school is hired, it's because she or he is a particular person selected for particular reasons and a particular point in time. The school may be ready to launch a fundraising effort; there may be a need to focus on academic innovation; perhaps the school simply suffers from inertia. Over time the more immediate needs shift. If the head manages to meet all the challenges that arise during his or her tenure, at some point the time arrives for a new person better suited for the next round of work. In this scenario, the giant goal is simple. You want to leave the school in a much better place than it was when you began, what ever that may mean, and poised to improve even more under the next leader. In fact, you will recognize that you've done what you can and someone else is better suited at that point.
       In the shorter term, the leader prepares for this moment by shrinking him- or herself so that others may grow. Currently popular terms such as distributed leadership and flattened hierarchy capture this notion. Everyone--not just those with the titles--can lead from where and because of who they are. People then become more engaged and empowered. They feel more of the sense of mastery, autonomy, and purpose that fuels motivation and drives improvement. Then the institution flourishes. This directly contradicts organizations who have soared under dynamic, larger-than-life leaders, only to crash and burn when that person left. It's why it will be interesting to watch Apple over the next few years.
       The same notion can be applied to a classroom. Does the teacher dominate and attempt to control everything? Or does she or he create conditions in which the students can take control for a large degree of their own learning? Has the emphasis been on mastery of content or the fostering of skills and attitudes? Are we preparing them for the test or the next grade, or are we helping them become life-long learners?
       We could ask similar questions about parenting. There's no need here to go into a rant about helicopter and snowplow and lawnmower parents. Instead, I'll merely suggest that the top long-term goal of parenting is to help our children become independent adults who can thrive without us.

       In the professional world, a leader can delay this inevitable transition by continuing to grow, evolving as a group's needs change. It's why great leaders remain insatiably curious and pose provocative questions. Not just about the institution and employees, but also about him- or herself. They also don't accept the hackneyed bromide "Lead, follow, or get out of the way." They know when to do each, and do so quite intentionally.

Processing #ChangingtheOdds Conference 2015

     Last Thursday and Friday I had the great fortune of attending the Momentous Institute's Changing the Odds Conference in Dallas. It's an amazing event, with perhaps the most stellar line-up of big-name presenters, as you'll see by the names sprinkled throughout this post. The theme was Chaos to Connection, and the program unfolded in a way that fit that perfectly. It also touched upon multiple aspects of education in a very holistic fashion--mind, body, and spirit.
     Any time I attend such an event, I like to spend some time reflecting and trying to integrate the pieces into a single big idea. With any luck, it won't be one of the more explicit ones. (You can read two such pieces after last year's event: one here and another here.) This this I was having some trouble coming up with anything even though so much of the experience has resonated with me. Then, on Saturday night, some friends invited us to see the musical Matilda. This morning the seeds of an idea began to sprout. This process post is an attempt to see how they grow.
     If you know the story of Matilda, based on the book by Roald Dahl, you may just want to skip to the next paragraph. Matilda is a little girl who is incredibly smart, so intelligent that a friend worries her brains will ooze out of her ears. Her intellect appears mainly through her voracious readings, and I won't tell you the other ways so that I don't ruin the story for anyone. Her parents are psychologically abusive, and she attends a hellacious school dominated by the bullying headmistress Agatha Trunchbull. She insists on strict rules and procedures and calls the children maggots; punishment is swift and brutal. Trunchbull refuses to see anything special in Matilda except that might be a threat in some way. The heroine is Miss Honey, Matilda's teacher, who overcomes her own fears to help Matilda.
     In some ways the connection to the conference is rather obvious, in that many of the speakers focused on helping students overcome trauma. The institute focuses heavily on social-emotional health of children; one goal is to help children learn how to help their glitter settle.
     But as I've been swirling my mental kaleidoscope, another idea has emerged. Yes, Matilda is an exceptional child. But an underlying message of the conference is that all people--especially all children--are exceptional. Thus I've discerned an unstated but loud cry for greater non-standardization of education. It's necessary for both individual development but also an educational system that serves everyone.
     The amazing Story Corps project led by David Isay reminded us how each individual has a powerful story. Those stories guide us, shape our perspectives, forge our character, and give us something powerful to contribute. We can learn from each other, We heard how blogger Glennon Doyle Melton survived the depths of her mental illness and now sees it as what enables her to inspire others. Paul Quinn college president Michael Sorrell told of how his near death from a cardiac event led him to become a better leader. All that makes sense when we think about how, as Daniel Pink illustrated, true motivation depends on autonomy, mastery, and purpose. Similarly, author of The Gift of Failure Jessica Lahey argued that children have to be able to discover on their own what they can and cannot do in creating their own checklists. None of this happens in a world of rows and worksheets and bubble tests. In fact, psychologist Lou Cozolino explained how the assembly line system of education can inhibit learning because of how the social brain works best.
     For me, this boils down to three key issues as identified by Sir Ken Robinson. He said it's a matter of considering conformity versus diversity; compliance versus creativity; and linear versus organic. I see the question as practically rhetorical. I say "practically" because the ideal remains so elusive for far too many young people. They lack opportunities, or their talents go unrecognized or are devalued. We spend too much time focused on what kids should do...and not enough allowing them to discover what they could do. We're too much about efficiency and quality control; any flaws must be immediately fixed. If they're extreme enough, we scrap that product. There are those fortunate few who drop out at some point and succeed anyways. We tend to glorify them and hold them out as examples of how school doesn't work for everyone. True enough. But we forget about the much greater number who end up struggling for the rest of their lives. Yes, the standard approach works well enough for the majority. But is that good enough? Don't we want more for each individual?
     That's why we don't just need teachers. As educators we need to see ourselves as what Kevin Carroll called catalysts. We have to be the agents that spark change--on our own little corners, in schools and systems, and for each child. Then each will feel valued and empowered. Rather than merely conform, they will live per some lyrics from Matilda's "When I Grow Up":

When I grow up, I will be brave enough to fight the creatures that you need to fight beneath the bed each night to be a grown up.
(When I grow up)
Doesn't mean that you just have to grin and bear it.
If you always take it on the chin and wear it
nothing will change!
It doesn't mean that everything is written for me.
If I think the ending is fixed already,
I might as well be saying
I think that it's OK!
Just because you find that life's not fair
When I grow up
Just because, I find myself in this story,
And that's not right!

What's Your Mission?

     I conduct a series of seminars for St. John's parents called Inside the Head's Head, during which we focus on a variety of educational topics and how they apply to St. John's. Last year, for instance, we talked about education being responsive to changes in the world. This year we're pondering notions of success. This morning was our first session, and it was a very spirited and encouraging discussion. In response to one of the prompts I provided, the topic of money came up. Someone offered that while we all want to make a certain degree of money, and that varies from person to person, he believes it's most important to follow one's passion. I've been thinking about that very notion when it comes to students entering college. That's quite natural since I have a senior daughter.
     You know the question that people inevitably ask high school seniors: What do you plan to major in? While my daughter, Kate, has some possibilities in mind, she simply doesn't know for sure. I believe that is normal and probably healthy. I went to college with vague plans of entering the radio business, probably fueled by too many hours listening to Scott Muni on WNEW-FM while growing up. Anyway, more on that later in the post. For a seventeen-year-old, that's akin to asking what they want to be after college, as they often see the two in lockstep. She doesn't have any clear idea about that either. But she does know what she is interested in and passionate about and draws meaning from. So both of us have become rather intrigued with ideas being voiced by the new president of Goucher College, Jose Antonio Bowen. He has received quite a bit of press for introducing the concept of the video application. But I'm more interested in another one of his thoughts--having a student declare not a major, but a mission; or a major shaped by a personal mission (See paragraph 7 in this piece. Also read this New York Times article for other thoughts.) I love how this captures a sense of meaning and purpose that should fuel one's education.
     Of course, many think that's a "big ask" of a young college student. To some extent I agree. But I'm not sure it's any bigger than asking for declaration of a major. Actually, it should provide even better direction because it prompts much more reflection and perhaps less of a major-by-default process. I think about the incredible insights and then pointed guidance a young, impressionable college student could receive. Interestingly, yesterday I had the chance to visit with a former student-athlete of mine and I bounced this idea off him. He responded, "I wish someone had sat down with me at the start and asked me what I really cared about. I might have had more direction." I think back to the insight a career counselor showed during my senior year. The radio dream popped after I spent a couple days at that station and some realities. So I needed a new plan and went to the career services office. After looking at my paperwork and talking with me, she told me I should think about working in an independent school. I had no idea what that meant, but it's proven wonderfully rewarding for over thirty years. I just wish I'd been asked sooner. Until that session towards the end, I'd been left to figure it out on my own.
     Here's where much of the encouraging part of the sessions comes in. As we talked about success, the parents and I kept returning to ideals that fit this notion. Knowing oneself, values, perseverance, growth, mistakes, soft skills and qualities--the things that enable one to strive towards fulfilling a mission. It's why I believe the best schools are not just idea factories. While that suggests an innovative streak, it's too purely academic. The truly excellent schools, from elementary through college, are ideals factories. They are places where young people receive affirmation of themselves and their views and their aims. In other words, they become people with and on a mission.

Not a Connected Educator?

     Irony prevails in my writing this post now, the penultimate day in Connected Educator Month. For the past couple of months, I have felt less connected, at least in the technological sense. I've been posting less frequently. I've been reading fewer blogs. I've reviewed Twitter less often, have missed some chats I wanted to participate in, and tweeted less frequently and with less discernment. My detachment has been neither intentional nor borne of laziness. In fact, I've just suddenly realized what's been happening. It's been a case of, as I often say, "Life intrudes."
     It's also ironic in that just about anyone reading this post probably already has grasped its basic message. Perhaps those folks can pass it on, use it to support the cause, maybe even convert someone.
     Because I've been so busy, I can't say that I've really missed my usual on-line activity. That would imply an awareness that didn't exist. But now that the fog is clearing, I've begun reflecting on the notion of being a connected educator. That leads me to one direct question:

Why wouldn't you be a connected educator?

     I remember my early days as a teacher during the mid-1980s. I was in Lafayette, Louisiana, and I had little contact with other independent school people. Budget and location limited professional development opportunities. Yet I was an inexperienced, hungry teacher craving a steady diet of implementable guidance beyond the general mentoring I received. My primary source of inspiration became The National Council of Teachers of English. I would devour the issues of English Journal. More than that, I looked forward to the quarterly arrival of Ideas Plus, in which teachers from all over shared ideas for lessons. I would study it carefully, making tons of notes and then writing reflective pieces. All the information would then go into my lesson plan book, which was not your typical daily planner. Instead, I had it organized by category and theme (color-coded even, with shapes and numbers that allowed for cross referencing). It helped me grow tremendously as an educator. For years that served as my pedagogical bible.
     Now we have such resources available at all times, in all different formats, accessible in multiple ways. It's really quite remarkable how this has blossomed since I began teaching thirty years ago. Sometimes we seem to take for granted the amazing nature of being so connected and the  ways in which we have benefited. For instance, even though I haven't felt as connected the past several weeks, online experiences have been helping in my work, whether by referencing ideas picked up in chats or using images someone Tweeted out to make a point in a presentation. So the surface may seem different, but the connections have become deeply rooted. That's true even with people I've never met in person. Recently another head and I exchanged some great thoughts about failure, and I bantered with a dean from MA about his love for Oreos.
     So I have to ask again: Why wouldn't you be a connected educator? Well, I suspect my first paragraph is one reason. Life can become crazy busy in unexpected ways. Teaching is intensely demanding work, and there is life outside of school. Plus the first sentence of the previous paragraph is another reason I've heard people express. There's so much that it can become overwhelming.
     I accept both of those points as realities, but I do not see them as legitimate excuses. I always have believed that a committed educator's default mode should be one of constant improvement. The work is so important that we must keep learning how to do it better. Plus it's simply good role modelling to be the lead learner. This truism seems especially apt now, when constant flux has become the norm and the ability to learn in new ways is at a premium. To be perfectly direct, I see this as a basic requirement. I ask during interviews how a candidate does this. I'm not interested in hiring anyone who doesn't take advantage of opportunities to grow. That necessitates being connected in some fashion.
     Because I believe this, I also feel a responsibility to offer some advice to those who find it too difficult and/or don't know where to start. It's probably old to many folks, but could help those afraid to dive in.

• First, don't think of it as overwhelming. Think of the options as being like a teacher who is incredible at differentiating instruction. You don't have to tap into all the resources. I blog and love Twitter; but I've never used a Google hangout, Facebook, or LinkedIn. Try different things until you find what works for you.
• I'm certain in your school there are people savvy at being a connected educator. Connect with them first. No doubt they want to help. Knowing you, they can help you figure out where to start, help you navigate a path, and provide concrete tips.
• Even though many of us like to use Seth Godin's metaphor about there not being a map, I recommend you develop a plan focused on a few key objectives related to how you want to grow. That can help to determine the best path to follow.
• Similarly, be judicious in selecting those paths. For example, when I show people how to use Twitter effectively, I talk about selective following. Before you follow someone, look at the quality and frequency of their Tweeting to help you decide on its value to you. Plus you have to decide just how many people you can follow. 
• You also can let the tool help you. In another Twitter example, I encourage the use of columns set to search for certain hashtags. That highlights information related to what you want to learn. Another Twitter trick is, because chats can be overwhelming, to read just the archive. If you like blogs, use an aggregator such as Feedly to help you follow quality bloggers. That way you don't have to keep looking for new posts.
• Don't try to keep up with it all. Don't read deeply all the time. Skim along the surface and then decide when to dive.

I'm not bulleting my final point because it's not really just friendly advice. If you're not a connected educator, consider it more of an admonition. Why aren't you a connected educator? Could the real reason be discomfort? Fear? Fixed mindset? Whatever the reason, would you accept it from one of your students?

Failure of Promoting Failure

     For the past few years, we've heard much talk about failure in education. Not in the usual sense that our schools are failing, but in calls for all the reasons students need to experience failure. The calls seem particularly loud in the independent school world, where so many of our students are so success driven and have experienced little but that. I know people's intentions are in the right place. They want to help young people develop grit and resiliency and character. Qualities that will hep them succeed in life. No quarrels here. Still something has bothered me about how easily and loosely some commend this idea.
     The a few evenings ago I came across a Tweet from Josie Holford, the head at Poughkeepsie (NY) Day School. It resonated with me and led to this exchange:

I've never met Josie in person, but I have great respect for what I've seen her put out in social media. (A great example of the power of connectivity in the digital era!) We ended up favoriting each other's comments, and I've decided I need to try to articulate my concerns with "this whole failure trend." So I credit her for the prompt.
     First, we need to consider the word failure itself. It's a strong word, packed with negative connotations, suggestive of catastrophe no matter how much we may chant "failure isn't fatal." Words don't lose their power very easily. Let's rethink the language a bit and consider setbacks and misfires and missed attempts...possible replacements abound. And they likely are more in line with the mindset we want to promote. Some may say I'm being much too literal in how I am looking at the word. Perhaps. But language matters.
     Once we have done that, let's dig a bit deeper. Given the implications of failure, it certainly isn't conducive to learning. After all, I'm sure we can agree that failure--however handled--creates stress. And Rule #8 in John Medina's Brain Rules is "Stressed brains don't learn the same way" (p 169). He doesn't mean for the better. Yes, some stress can help. But Medina explains how stress "hurts declarative memory (things you can declare) and executive function (the type of thinking that involves problem-solving). Those, of course, are the skills needed to excel in school and business" (p 178). He adds, "Quite literally, severe stress can cause brain damage in the very tissues most likely to help your children pass their SATs" (179).
     You may be ready to dismiss my point by saying, "Yes, but he says 'severe stress.'" Sure. But don't you think children today feel stress from incredible pressure to succeed in very tangible and public ways? And we're throwing around the idea of failure as somehow good for them. I think that ramps up the stress more than it helps them deal with life's adversities.
     Plus I happen to believe that we learn better when we experience success. When we do something well, reflect on how we did it, rinse and repeat. Of course, part of that process necessitates considering what didn't work. It's much easier to do that when not sorting through what has been casually labeled a failure. The neurotransmitters most associated with the maintenance of mental health--serotonin, dopamine, norepinephrine--are released ruing more positive activities. Meanwhile, the levels of adrenaline and cortisol released during stress can cause damage if the stress is chronic. More particularly, cortisol damages the cells of the hippocampus, crippling the ability to learn and remember.
     Please understand that I am not advocating taking it too easy on students. I believe kids like to jump for high bars. It's about what sort of learning experiences we create for them. Medina cites studies which show that "a certain amount of uncertainty can be good for productivity, especially for bright, motivated employees. What they need is a balance between controllability and uncontrollability. Slight feelings of uncertainty may cause them to deploy unique problem solving strategies" (188). I'd argue this holds true for students as well.
     Throughout that process we must be extremely careful about our words and our actions. If we aren't, the students are not the only ones who will have experienced failure. We will have failed them.

Gut Check

            Consider two people. First, think about someone in a typical student leadership positions—team captain, student council officer, et cetera. Now, think about a student who reaches out to the “weird new kid.” Who shows greater leadership? Who may grow up to become a stronger leader?[i]

Leadership is a hot topic right now, particularly in independent schools. Many schools have added leadership to their mission statements. It seems simple enough. After all, of course we want to foster leadership. And I believe that leadership can be developed in many ways. Plus I think everyone has opportunities to lead and must be ready to grasp them when they appear.

I appreciate all the traditional ways schools have helped students develop their leadership skills. Many schools have added special leadership programs; kids go off for special leadership experiences; and I’ve toyed with the idea of teaching an elective on leadership. Many such programs are excellent, and I’ve certainly grown through participating in some. Still, I feel we’re missing something.

I think about great leaders from history. (Rather than name them, I encourage you to create your own list.) I recall examples of truly inspired leadership shown by young people. They all have one common secret ingredient.

Courage.

For kids to develop leadership, we have to allow them to face discomfort. Even more, to wrestle with big, hairy challenges. They must be able to stare at themselves in the mirror and promise themselves that they will do what is hard and uncomfortable and right. They have to grow more and more resilient.

Contrast this to another hot topic in schools—snowplow parents. Unlike helicopter parents, who hover and are ready to swoop whenever necessary, snowplow parents try to clear any obstacles from their child’s path. They jump out in front and smooth the way.

That leads to a logical question: How does a child learn to lead if he or she is always following?

The quick answer is that he or she can’t, except in theory. And in theory leadership can be taught. But in practice leadership is learned mainly by discovering what lies in one’s gut.

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[i] The answer is, I think, “Depends.” Many factors could come into play here. I’ve seen fantastic student leadership in those positions, but also some poor leadership. Please understand I am not disparaging those roles. It’s just to start myself—and, I hope, you—thinking.

For the Long Term

                A few days ago I was having lunch with St. John’s board president. Our conversations always are interesting, and we cover a wide range of topics—most directly tied to school, some not so much. Well, at least not as directly…but I find myself later bridging the gap.

                At this particular lunch we somehow reached the topic of short- versus long-term thinking. He’s a finance guy, and he pointed out that people don’t think long-term when it comes to investing and financial growth. As an example, he used the way we react to quarterly statements.

                Too often education operates with this same sort of short-term thinking. We organize by short term units, assess by limited instruments, motivate with carrots. Some of this is necessary. We are dealing with young people, who have limited ability to think long term. We have to ensure that certain scaffolding occurs as part of the learning process. At the same time, however, I want to think that we do so with a long-term vision in mind of what an education really should be for.

                It brought to mind a video I had not watched for a while. In it Tom Peters finishes with some examples who really used their learning for a grand purpose.

Seal Training

                                                            --Slogan on back of my US Navy Seals t-shirt

                With the recent killing of Osama Bin Laden, we’ve heard incredible stories about the  U.S. Navy Seals’ training, talents, and execution—they truly are the elite.  It’s fascinating stuff, and I’ve always admired them. Of course, many talk shows have had former Seals on for interviews. Last Friday I heard one on the radio. Along with being a Seal, he had attended the Naval Academy in Annapolis and had three professional football try-outs.

                The entire interview intrigued me. In particular, two sections struck me as holding important lessons regarding education and the development of healthy, mature young people.

                First, Seals obviously have physical gifts that evoke superhero status. The long swims in frigid water, marathon runs with gear, surviving sleep and food depravation—it’s kind of freakish what they can endure.  This guy described how the Seals learn to be drownproof. With hands and feet bound, the Seal is thrown into a 10-foot-deep pool to “figure it out.” (I’ll let you think about how you might survive that; you wouldn’t have long.) But what really struck me was that the interviewee said this about his fellow Seals: “These guys are the toughest, hairiest athletes I’ve ever seen. Physically they can do anything. But what really stands out about every one of them is what great, creative thinkers they are.  They have to size things up immediately and innovate on the spot.”

I’ve written many times about how we have to help kids become creative, supple thinkers. Here’s the interesting personal connection for me as an educator. I taught a young man long ago who became a Navy Seal. I mentioned to my family the other day that none of his teachers would have expected it, given what we had seen from him. School was a constant struggle; while he was a wonderful person, some questioned if he belonged in the school because of his academic shortcomings. Compare that to the interviewee’s comment, and you can see the moral of the story.

Second, he made two powerful points about the grueling training. We assume a Seal survives the program because they can endure anything.  In fact, he stressed, “The point is not to see if you can survive everything. The training will destroy you. It’s how you respond to it; that’s what they want to see. It’s if you’re resilient.” A moment later he added, “Life is going to throw bad things at you. You can’t control that. You can control how you choose to respond to them.” You’ve all heard about the concept of helicopter parents. They are always hovering, ready to swoop in to rescue a child in mild distress. Recently I heard a new twist on this idea: the snowplow parent. This is the parent who keeps clearing any obstacle out of a child’s way.  These types of parents end up with what Wendy Mogel has termed “teacup children”—beautifully crafted but incredibly fragile. Tiny bits of stress—let alone life’s bigger challenges—can cause them to crumble. Over the past decade college health staffs have reported higher rates of anxiety and depression, and studies reveal more students with a “foggy sense of self.” If someone has never had to deal with failure or even struggle, how will he or she respond when life throws them in the pool?

This summer I’m going to be in Coronado, CA, where the Seals do much of their training. I’m in even a bit more awe of them and what we can learn from them, and I suspect I’ll buy a couple of new t-shirts.

Loud and Clear--Lessons from The King's Speech

                Recently I watched the critically-acclaimed film The King’s Speech. I’m not a huge movie fan and certainly not a reliable critic, but I have to say that this film deserves all the praise.  It’s amazing.

                In case anyone doesn’t know the basic story, here’s a recap. Prince Albert, Duke of York (“Bertie”) has a severe stammer. It’s the dawn of radio broadcasting as a political tool, and the film opens with his inability to deliver a speech across the empire. Having tried multiple approaches to overcoming the stammer, the Prince begins to see Lionel Logue, a speech therapist found by his wife Elizabeth. In short order his father dies, his brother both ascends to and abdicates the throne, leading to Bertie being ordained as King George VI. Meanwhile, war is declared against Hitler’s Germany. The film climaxes with the king’s speech about this event. (If you want to know more of the basics or delve more into the film and the history, here are the official site and the Wikipedia page.)

                The main plot and various sub-plots reveal insights into most complicated human relationships. Leadership, marriage, family, therapist-patient, politics, social class—certainly I’m missing some others. Naturally, I had on my education lenses. Without spoiling anything, I want to highlight how the film reaffirms some essential truths about education:

·         Meet the Student Where He or She Is—Lionel has treated many patients and experienced a great deal of success. But he doesn’t assume what has worked for any other patient will work for Bertie. Instead, he studies his patiently carefully and asks numerous probing questions. He learns exactly how to help Bertie with specific sounds and in particular situations; in one scene he literally becomes a conductor attuned to every nuance of Bertie’s speaking. It’s emotional and intellectual empathy.

·         See the Possibilities—One of my favorite quotations is by Bengali artist Rabindranath Tagore: “Every child that is born is proof that God has not yet given up on human beings.” Keeping this idea in mind stresses what each child may be able to become. Lionel sees the greatness ready to burst out of Bertie. He helps Bertie believes it’s there.

·         It’s Always about More than the Subject—Lionel determines quite early that the problem is not a physical one, meaning that Bertie has all the basics in place. In other words, he can learn the subject. Other factors are in play. And what enables the men to work together is not just Lionel’s expertise, but also the relationship that develops between them.

·         Create a Safe Place—The entire situation is unnerving for Bertie, and from the beginning Lionel seems a threat because of how he breaches standard royal etiquette. Yet he gradually makes Bertie feel safe with him, enabling the breakthroughs necessary for him to progress in his treatment. Almost always emotions rule over the rational.

·         Motivation is Major—Bertie has pressures and the related motivation that few of us could imagine. It’s an extreme response to the age-old student question, “When am I ever going to use this?” It also reminds us that students learn best when they see some relevance, and they want meaningful opportunities to use the skills they are developing.

·         Resilience is Huge—Unless a person develops the tenacity and grit and determination to overcome challenges, he or she will suffer from limitations, particularly in difficult situations. In many ways, failure of some sort is necessary for learning and growth to occur. Great teachers know to frustrate students in just the right way, then help them build themselves back up. We aren’t really helping kids if we are always clearing the path for them and/or picking them up when they stumble. If we do, how do they learn to persevere?

·         It’s about Who You Are and What You Give—Lionel is not a doctor or even a licensed therapist. Yet his personal gifts and his generosity with them make him a master teacher. Bertie’s heart and courage override his shortcomings. It’s like the strengths finder concept.

As I ponder this list, I’m reminded of Parker Palmer’s oft-quoted line, “You teach who you are.” It also suggests that learning in many ways means finding out who you are…and what you can become.

Learned Happiness

                In an admission of my true nerdiness, I jotted my initial notes for this post while sitting on a bench in Stonebriar Mall this past Saturday evening. No, this isn’t some sociological study. And I really do have a life. My fifth-grade son was attending a birthday party at the skating rink there, and I’m not much of a shopper. So after picking up some Christmas gifts for my wife, I found a spot to sit. Around me swirled an incredible flurry of people, some of them looking like overburdened pack mules. I was heartened by the scene for a few reasons. I hope this means people are feeling greater consumer confidence than they did a year ago.  People also seemed genuinely happy as they bought gifts for others. We’ve always known that doing for others makes us feel good. Now it’s been scientifically proven: a study by the National Institutes of Health found that when people are prompted to think of giving money to charity, the pleasure centers in the brain are activated.

                Yet too often we can find ourselves searching for happiness in the wrong places. Money, possessions, attention—yes, these matter and are necessary; but once people have enough, studies have shown the direct link to happiness weakens. The obvious correlation in schools is grades. Yes, they matter. But students—and teachers and parents—can emphasize them in ways that erode the joy of learning.

                So what brings about eudemonia, or fundamental happiness? Daniel Pink, author of A Whole New Mind, recently published Drive: The Surprising Truth about What Motivates Us. I highly recommend reading both books, as they have fueled a great deal of important discussion regarding education. In the meantime, you can watch Pink’s presentation on the ideas in Drive at the July 2009 TED conference or this cool animated summary.  I won’t ruin it for you by citing any of the wonderful evidence he uses. For the sake of this post, I will share the basic premise. The traditional carrot-and-stick approach to motivation doesn’t work, at least not beyond the immediate. Instead, people are motivated by three things: autonomy, mastery, and purpose.

                Think about the times you have had a flow experience. Once of those times when you get into such a groove that you lose sense of time. When you feel that you truly are in your element. (Another book recommendation: Sir Ken Robinson’s The Element.) I suspect you enjoyed the three feelings stressed in Pink’s work.

                Perhaps not all of school can become such an experience for all children. But I believe that more of it can. Whatever pedagogical approach teachers take, they should assess what they ask students to do per three criteria. Is it engaging? Is it meaningful? Is it productive? Not every lesson or activity will meet these lofty standards. But as we reassesses and redesign program, we must aspire for the overall experience to reach them on a regular basis. It’s going to require reconsideration of some fundamental principles, from the language that we use when talking about education to how we have structured our schools.

                We owe this to our kids. Not only will it better prepare them for their futures. It also will help them in the quest for eudemonia. Think of it as learned happiness.