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.

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.

Essays to Blogs to Tweets to One Word?

     I get it. I even like the idea of it. I've tried to make it work for me. I love the inspiration it seems to provide others. But the #oneword craze just doesn't jazz me. In simple terms, I'm reminded (as I Tweeted recently) of a former student's yearbook quotation: "My life cannot be captured in a single quotation." I suspect the irony was intentional in how well this line captured the student. I'm certain there was also some teen and intellectual rebellion happening. It also fits a worrisome trend of reductive thinking, one in which less is not more.
     The earliest essays of the 16th and 17th centuries were not the sort of formulaic expositions that have become standard school assignments. In both Europe and Japan, the essay began as explorations, often consisting of fragmented ideas the author was attempting to piece together in some sort of understanding. Indeed, the thesis, if there were one, often remained unclear until the very end. The term essay comes from the French infinitive essayer, which means "to try" or "to attempt." Montaigne, the first to use the term for his works, described them as attempts to capture his thoughts in writing. Since then, essays have varied greatly in terms of content and purpose, from light-hearted fare to political polemics. Now we find them mainly in certain magazines, and op-ed columns seem to fit the genre.
     One positive aspect of the blogging phenomenon is was that it had many people, without necessarily being aware of it engaging in the sort of intellectual exploration associated with the original essay. This idea holds particularly true in what many called "process posts." I often begin with just a seed of an idea, unsure exactly where the post may end up. I do almost no drafting, editing, or revising. In a way it's like journalling publically. The quality of writing in blogs is not always high quality; it can sometimes be rather poor. But that's besides the point. More people were struggling to capture their ideas via the written word, which often sharpens one's thoughts and leads to unforeseen conclusions. Many notable authors have said something about the notion of not knowing what they thought until they wrote it down. The back-and-forth in comments can extend that thinking. This reason, more than anything else, is why I keep blogging.
       Then along came Twitter with its original 140-character limitation. Try capturing the complexity of your thoughts in that. Yes, some would create threads and thus micro-blog (I think those are the same thing...). And while I love Twitter and have marvelled at some incredible Tweeters, it simply isn't the same. Points come across as definitive rather than speculative. It was interesting to watch as people who first scoffed at the character limit gradually embraced it. When Twitter recently doubled the limit, many folks were unhappy, talking about the forced concision as being the point. Certainly. But is there not also great value in the process that led to such concision, especially in really fine Tweets? Yes, I know that's not really the point of Twitter. Especially not when one has just 280 characters, which is the equivalent of 46.67 words if using the standard measure of five letters and a space.
     Now, a current fad is choosing one word as a yearly theme. It can serve as reminder of one's resolution, becoming a sort of mantra. It becomes very personal, and it's interesting to see what people choose. But what we don't necessarily know is why--unless the person sends out a series of Tweets or publishes a blog post. Words also pack incredible power while remaining quite limited. Context, nuance, connotation, tone--all these matter greatly. Yet they don't exist when a word dangles out there by its lonesome self.
     You may be thinking I need to lighten up, and you're probably right. But I want to be clear that I think all of these are often-powerful things, especially when used together. Still, the linguist/epistemologist/educator parts of me worries that we're reducing life's beautiful, enchanting complexity to over-simplicity. This, in turn, impacts how we read, question, think, feel. Without realizing it, we can find ourselves effortlessly skimming along. To live fully, we have to ponder deeply the intricacies of ourselves and others, individually and collectively. Of every aspect of our existence. That's the heartbeat of great learning.

*An aside: it's interesting that this is counter to so much of what I've long believed about writing, in that you must be incredibly cognizant of writing for your audience. This is almost all about the author. I'm not sure how many people actually read blogs any more.

No Time to Waste: Post-#NAISAC 2017 Reflection

       I enjoyed the 20017 National Association of Independent Schools Annual Conference...but I didn't love it. I went into it with perhaps unrealistic high hopes. There certainly were some great moments within the experience. I met people in person with whom I previously had a close but only virtual relationship, in a couple of cases even leading to an embrace. I bumped into some folks I hoped to. I caught up with some folks I don't see often enough while enjoying good meals.A couple of keynotes, especially Brene Brown's, enthralled me. I hit paydirt about half the time on the workshop roulette wheel. In general, the typical large conference experience.
       One thing that was different--and should encourage all of us--is that more people, whether through conversation, blog posts, or tweets, seem to feel that some real innovation is starting to occur. Apparently more places have moved from realization to theory to ideation to implementation. And evidently they've done so in some very intriguing ways. I'm very excited by that sense.
       At the same time, though, I wonder. That's why a careful reader may have noticed the words seem, apparently, and evidently in the previous paragraphs. It's not that I'm cynical or skeptical. In fact, I'm quite hopeful. But my caution arises from my sense during the entire conference that I was, in the words of the great philosopher Yogi, experiencing "deja vu all over again."
       One of the biggest waves of that feeling came during Sir Ken Robinson's keynote. I love his work. I have since 2006, when his famous TED talk went viral. Therein lies the point. That was 11 years ago, and some of us were preaching this message even further back than that. I hope we've all caught on by now...indeed, well before now. Another such wave inundated me with all the buzz about the Mastery Transcript Consortium. Admittedly, I know little about it and haven't done much further research. But a colleague who has asked me, "Isn't that what we saw when we visited that coalition school back around 2000?"
       Of course, better late than never. But is a new transcript a "game changer" or "silver bullet"? Maybe. We've thought that about other things. We'll likely think it about new things in the future. That suggests how we know things need to change.
       They will if we take ownership of our role as the real game changers. Whether a transcript or some new app, inquiry-based curricula or project-based pedagogy, none of it really matters unless we engage in really deep reflection and then bold action. Ultimately, we are responsible for what happens in our schools. We design and play the games.
       We know all this. We've known all this. So perhaps my deja vu is really rooted in an impatience that grows as I age. I see and hear of progress--at my school, at other schools--and I see amazing people doing truly inspiring work. It makes me want more and more and more. But I also know how much traditional and bad practice occurs. Sometimes we overlook it because it receives a fresh coat of paint or window dressing that suggests innovation.
       Yes, meaningful change requires doggedness and patience, Yet we also have to build on all this momentum, and our students don't have time to waste. As Grant Lichtman wrote after the conference, the introduction to his new book challenges, "Let's roll!" Josie Holford urged, "Make it happen!" Not wanting to be stuck in deja vu all over again, I add, "If not now, when?"
     

From PD to the Classroom

       We have our interim reports due to our accrediting agencies, and one of the questions asks us to describe the school's approach to professional development, along with a summary of some specific examples. Just to see what people would say, I sent a query to all St. John's employees. While I'm always proud of the people here, their responses made me especially so. I was struck not only by the incredible amount of professional development they had done--whether as part of our in-house activities or own their own--but also by how much they had reflected on it and grown as educators through it. It epitomized a communal growth mindset.
       One other point made an impression on me: the incredible range of activities.People had read books, articles, blogs. Attended conferences and workshops. Collaborated with colleagues here and elsewhere. Studied YouTube videos. Joined groups on Pinterest. Attended an EdCamp. Set up professional portfolios. Visited other classes and schools. Joined Twitter to follow threads and participate in chats. Those are just the things popping into my mind right now, and I know there are others. Furthermore, great range existed within each of those activities.
       In many ways, we're talking about the ideal learning scenario. People were operating under some broad objectives tied to our vision for the school. But at the same time, they could pursue learning per their particular motivation and and personalities and preferences. Because of that, people embraced the professional development opportunities and actually, well, developed.
       And if it's good for adults, might it not be good for kids? Yes, the question is rhetorical. So now I'm wondering how might we make more of the student experience work that way?

Creative Discipline

       For the past year, here at St. John's Episcopal School we've been immersed in the early stages of some large-scale marketing work. After the initial research, we moved into all the areas of branding, design, copy, et cetera. The process has proven fascinating, and I've learned a great deal. As part of that, I've spent extensive time talking with various "creatives." Fortunately, we've engaged incredibly talented people for this work, and I'm in awe of their work. I've also enjoyed learning about them and their work because I've been calling for more creativity in schools for quite a while. (See this or this.) It's in line with the work of people such as Tony Wagner and Sir Ken Robinson.
       One thing which has surprised me--but probably shouldn't have--is how tied to process these people are. They are, contrary to the assumption and stereotypes many people have, quite committed to certain rituals and disciplines. In fact, in the only case where we weren't pleased with some of the work we received, I realized we had basically forced the creative to operate in a way that was not his normal methodology and thus out of his comfort zone.
       I've read enough about creativity that I should have realized this basic truth. Creativity, Inc, for example, spells out in great detail the systematic process that Pixar uses. Most writers and artists have very specific work routines, whether the times they work or how they lay out materials or follow certain steps.Some of this is the sort of exacting discipline required for success in any area. Too often people forget, or perhaps never understood, that creative pursuits share a great deal with other areas. We seem to think that creative work is somehow different, that it strikes at random moments of inspiration; and that when it strikes, somehow stunning art suddenly appears.
     But in many ways creative work is not that different than any other. Just as an athlete must practice a skill over and over, a painter works on brush strokes. Just as a scientist studies all the theory in their field, a musician studies past songs from many genres. More than that, it's simply a matter of getting the work done. And a great deal of it, because the misses far outnumber the hits. Picasso produced 79 different drawings in coming up with Guernica. In fact, while we know of several famous Picasso works, his total output numbered more than 1800 paintings, 1200 sculptures, 2800 ceramics, and 12000 drawings. In music, beyond their noted compositions, Mozart composed over 600 pieces;, Beethoven, 650; Bach, over a 1000. Compare that to the number of papers of Einstein's 248 publications or patents of Edison's 1093 had real impact. So even beyond creativity, it's about persistence.
     It also affirms my belief that we can teach creativity. Or, to be more accurate, design educational experiences that nourish our innate creativity. Well, at least not tamp it down, let alone beat it out of us. There exist plenty of practical and philosophical arguments for this, and I don't need to reiterate them here.They all seem to have one underlying commonality: life as a work of art. How does that happen? Creative discipline. So perhaps as we rethink these intellectual conveniences that we call academic disciplines, we need to make creativity one of the new disciplines of future education.

Wrapping Up Day One of #NASIAC 2016

                During a rich conference, I always spend some time reflecting on how I can weave the threads of a day together. So this will be a process post in which I attempt to do just that. If it becomes incoherent or I veer too far off topic, please forgive me. But what follows is literally a look at the inner workings of my mind.

                After breakfast with a dear former colleague, I headed to a session on diversity. One speaker prompted us with a great question: Why is diversity vital to your mission? In answering, we had to consider several domains, one of which was the intellectual rationale. This is something I’ve pondered and written about quite a bit as it’s tied to creative and innovative thought. Diversity increases possibility by bringing multiple perspectives and experiences and ideas to the learning process.

                This segued quite naturally into Randi Zuckerberg’s keynote, in which we heard about all sorts of tech trends. Some were a bit old hat (at least in current tech terms), but some are just emerging. Her examples of the tech in action were both mundane and ridiculous. The real point is that much of what’s happening was, just a generation ago, inconceivable. That is, it was except to those who had new diverse conceptions of the possible. Meanwhile, in an awesome development, from what I’ve picked up via the Tweetstream, more sessions this year have focused on new models for independent school education. Someone—sorry, I forget who—tweeted that things this year seem to be more about possibilities.

                I also attended two sessions on branding. Both could be reduced to one key idea: how are you going to capture and express naturally what is truly powerful and unique about your school? That’s a very challenging task, more than it might seem. It’s particularly so when, bottom line is, we all have in common that we want to prepare kids for their futures, whatever the nuts and bolts of doing so may be.

                With that in mind, we have to think about young people and the two general notions running through this post. They have a wonderful, refreshing comfort with all sorts of diversity. They have grown up accustomed to what many of us at their age considered the impossible. Naturally, they question everything. Even college (at least as we know it), for so many of us the ultimate marker of success, is coming into question.

                These are all things with which many of us are still coming to grips. But we can’t wait until we become totally comfortable. It’s an increasingly diverse word in every sense, and with that comes even more disruption. I would hope our brands show us not only accepting but also embracing the opportunities that affords us as independent schools who have all we need to be responsive to such a world. It begins with taking a flying leap into possibility.

Hmmmm. Really? Too much innovation?

One could actually argue that the social sector is rife with too much innovation. Each day a new “silver bullet” seems to emerge that will somehow solve all our challenges. What we really need is to be more informed about where we innovate and to what end. (Tom Vander Ark, Smart Cities ThatWork for Everyone: 7 Keys to Education and Employment, Loc 2522)

                Hmmmm. Really? Too  much innovation? I know I’m providing a snippet out of context. Surely that’s why this passage jumped out at me in a book I eventually found myself skimming rather than truly reading. So bear with me as I try to make some sense of this, which I’ve been trying to do for a few days now.

                On some level I get it. In fact, a couple of the points could be lifted right from previous posts on this blog or from presentations I’ve made. I’ve referred several times to the silver bullet thinking that seems to be inherent to education reformers’ thinking. I think it’s a result of the author’s second point, which is that we really lack a clear north star by which we’re orienting our efforts. Just think about some of the debates about the basic purpose of education. Is it life preparatory or college preparatory or job preparatory or all of these or none of these and actually something else? Even if you manage to reach some consensus on that topic, chaos can ensure about what it actually means in terms of implementation. We’ve all been through some curriculum skirmishes, if not outright wars. Both of these notions tie to another concern I’ve expressed: those schools which grab quickly onto any shiny new idea as the thing so rapidly that you can begin to wonder who they are at their very core.

                While I can see some validity to Vander Ark's claim, I’m still perplexed. Let’s put aside the fact that the book has basically outlines all sorts of “innovative” (yes, not the quotation marks; I’ll be coming back to this). It’s only now, after however long, that we’re beginning to see schools that look any different than they have for decades. I’m not talking about the outliers, those places which always have done things differently. I’m talking about those based on the assembly line model; in other words, the overwhelming majority. Even where we see new practices within them, they retain many of the same characteristics schools always have had. Some trappings have changed—kids many have laptops rather than notebooks—too many practices have not. The innovative often is not that different. When it is, that’s when we see what real, deeper learning looks like.

                To return to the skepticism-signaling quotation marks. Vander Ark seems to want things both ways. He writes this book to show how innovations in education are the key to cities flourishing—and I agree. But—big, bold, all caps screaming but—the innovations he holds out as grand and working are really not impressive.  In fact, they seem to be mainly about efficiency and pace, i.e. having more kids take AP courses at younger ages. He holds out many models of personalized learning, many of which would seem to be self-paced drill-and-kill work, with loads of testing to ensure accountability. If that’s the ideal, then of course you will believe that there is too much innovation. And of course I end up skimming rather than really reading.

                Now, reflecting on the book, I can help but thinking of that wild-haired genius who was deemed an idiot in school, Einstein, and the so-often used quotation that “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” And we sure aren't going to end up with smart cities, at least not in the current and future world.

Tipping Point(s)?

       In some ways, at least 40 or so pages in, Geoff Colvin's Humans Are Underrated: What High Achievers Know That Brilliant Machines Never Will, doesn't offer anything particularly new. The basic premise is one that has been repeated in many places by many voices over the past 20-25 years: technology is forcing changes at an incredibly accelerating rate, and humans have to adapt. I've written and spoken about it over and over and over. The cries have accelerated right along with the technology...well, honestly, behind the technology. After all, most of us have better hindsight than foresight. I'm sure the book will become more interesting once Colvin starts to address the part of the title following the colon.
       One snippet, though, did jump out and give me some pause for thought. Colvin quotes economist Tyler Cowen from a 2013 book: "But it takes more and more time for you to improve on the computer each year. And then one day...poof! ZMP for you." Colvin explains that "'ZMP' means 'zero marginal product'--the economists' term for when you add no value at all." Maybe it was the bluntness of the line; maybe it was a person being reduced to a product. Whatever the reason--and it's not absolutely logical--it made me wonder if we've reached a key tipping point or two.
       I've always contended that we remain in control of our machines. In a simple example, we can decide how tethered we remain to our machines. Do we respond to every enticing ping from the phone no matter what? But when I think about some of the work machines are now doing and likely will be doing soon, I wonder if we've ceded a much higher degree of control that we realize. Actually, I don't wonder. I know. In large part this is because, while formerly humans and machines often complemented each other, that is less often the case. Consider chess. It was considered remarkable when a computer first beat a human. Then humans and computers could pair up and play chess most effectively. Now the computer alone has the edge. Studies also chow how computers analyzing data in abstract situations often reach better conclusions when analyzed over time. That's the first tipping point.
       If that sounds rather dire, the second one is more hopeful. Yes, we still put too much emphasis on standardized testing, too much faith in packaged curricula. Yes, in some ways we've simply repackaged tired pedagogy in new technology. Still, I hear more and more tales of change. Of different models. Of more student-driven, active learning centers. Of greater focus not on providing simply answers, but on posing complex questions. Of school becoming more clearly relevant, flexible, meaningful. Of educators more aware of the need to help our students become, to play off the title, the high achievers who know what brilliant machines never will.
       We're not nearly where we need to be yet, and we have many hurdles to overcome. But finally we seem to be not only hearing the message, but also listening and responding.

Data, Boxes, Curricula, Fork in the Road

"If you don't know where you're going, any road'll take you there." –paraphrase of an exchange between Alice and the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland

"If you don't know where you are going, you'll end up someplace else." and "When you come to the fork in the road, take it!" --Yogi Berra

            At the recent gathering of school heads from Independent Schools Association of the Southwest members, we heard a presentation which was about the relationship between big data and fundraising. More specifically, some of what big data has revealed about fundraising and some common practices we need to reconsider. I picked up some good tips and some pointed questions to ask. More than thought, I found myself thinking about some of the more general implications of big data.

            The speaker used the analogy of a reservoir that keeps filling up more and more. No surprise there, as we all know how much is out there…and how much more keeps appearing. He also compared it to advertising at Times Square; in the past, I’ve used the analogy of advertising at a hockey game. It’s really quite overwhelming, and it creates a certain pressure/guilt: I know all this information is out there, and I’m not really using it, but I sure should be, and I better spend all of this time mining through it, and I’ve got to see what patterns emerge, and what about what I’m not finding, and then there is that data that tells me how much better I could be using data, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. We’re lured by the siren song of data at the same time we’re told we have to think outside the box.

            Now, I like to think that I’m a reasonably intelligent person. But sometimes it’s all enough to make me—and, perhaps to make myself feel better, just about anyone—feel like a doddering simpleton.

            Some of that is because we’re human and how we learn. We develop conceptual schema. As we encounter anything new, we figure out how we can latch it onto some hook within those schema. Eventually we form a rather tightly woven intellectual framework. Our box.

            So when faced with torrents of data, most of us have the natural instinct to figure out how it fits into those boxes. Because of that tendency, telling someone to think outside the box can almost become not just a cliché but a platitude. Besides, it implies that in some ways the box is okay and we should leave it alone. We can venture outside it for a while, pretend to be all revolutionary in our thinking, but know the whole time we can return to the safety of those tried-and-true packing crates.

            As humans, we need boxes. They help us make sense of things. So I’m not saying we need to destroy the boxes. I’m arguing that we need to re-design them. How does great design begin? By asking much better, more beautiful questions.

            The larger point, of course, is about more than dealing with a deluge of data. It’s about new ways of thinking. This is hard to do with adults. But we can help young people become adults educated in ways that make this easier. In doing so, we need to take what I just said about boxes and consider the notion of curricula.

            As many of you surely know, the word curriculum has its roots in Latin and refers to a race or a course of action, a path. It implies a clear destination that one can reach by retracing proven steps. People often derive comfort from knowing that a school has a well-articulated, tightly-sequential curriculum. They may scoff or sneer at any deviations; at the least, they raise an eyebrow, maybe both. Enough people trod a path, and the ruts deepen. The ground hardens, inhibiting any chance of new growth. Those traveling the path, like the students in a classic scene from Dead Poets’ Society, fall into lockstep. They can end up marching right into boxes. Those boxes which perhaps used to work.

            Just as that presentation prompted me to think about re-designing boxes for development purposes (and for all other purposes), we need to be reconsidering every aspect of curriculum, explicit and implicit. After all, we’re living in a time when we don’t know exactly where we are going. Myriad possible paths will lead us there. None of us can know what they all are. But I’m positive that taking the same old path won’t have kids ready for what they encounter once they go get there. We reached that fork in the road a while ago.

Not so Fast--Pondering Rate of Change

       When does something become cliched? Is it when the frequency of use reaches a certain level? When it captures a truth we now all accept but people still attempt to use it for shock value? I'm not sure; the answer is probably some combination thereof. I am, however, positive that it has become rather cliched to use the following (or some sort of variation): "If you think the rate of change, mainly forced by technology is fast now, just you wait cuz you ain't see nothing yet!" If used it myself, such as in this post. I've used what's happened the past three decades to make the argument for schools changing for years, in writings and in presentations such as this one. I still believe the part about schools needing to change in response, but lately I've been wondering about the continued acceleration. This is happening for several reasons.
       I don't question that we live in a time of extreme, rather relentless change. I feel it every day in some form or fashion. However, humans tend to be rather short-sighted about history, and we usually believe that the time in which we live is the most whatever. But just as every age has had its share of doom criers, I'm certain each has felt the angst of extreme change. After all, in many ways this is a relative phenomenon, dependent entirely on that to which one is accustomed. Right now we 're seeing the extreme direct effects of digital technology on our lives, and we envision it dragging us in its wake right towards the Kurzweilian singularity before we can even realize what's happened. It's as if we believe Moor's law is universal and applies to everything--not just processing power, but disruption and influence and implementation. But humans don't progress per Moore's law.

       Actually, neither does technology. Yes, the rate at which processing speed has doubled since the invention of the microchip has enabled incredible advances. But those advances actually are simply building upon decades of work, much of it begun with the work of Ada Lovelace and Charles Babbage in the mid 1800s. Walter Isaacson's The Innovators makes very clear how the development of current technology is the result of many, many people, often working independently, attacking the same challenges for a long time. It's a classic case of multiple forces coming together in various ways at assorted times. For the most part, progress was slow, with sudden breakthroughs at key times. 

       I'm reminded of a short writing assignment I had to do in graduate school for a course called The History of American Ideas. The professor challenged us to come up with an original metaphor tto capture how history proceeds. I compared history to a Slinky. My contention was that various factors come together over time, and the there is a gigantic springing forward. Then the cycle repeats.

       I wonder if now we're somewhere in the springing forward, and perhaps towards the end of it. Things may slow down for a bit, gathering for another unleashing. Of course, I easily could be wrong. After all, cliches become so because people discern some truth in them. Either way, we still need to make sure we're educating kids for their futures, whatever they may be.
     There's another reason it really doesn't matter who's right about the rate of technological change. Too often we act as if technology is happening to us, and certainly it often feels that way. But to invoke another cliche, as a human creation, technology is just a tool. It's value neutral. Rather than worrying so much about the rate of change, we need to spend more time talking with young people about what needs to change. Not just regarding technology and in schools, but everywhere. And maybe to bring about that desired change that much more quickly.

       

My Big Thought in Early '15: Staying Amazing thru Independence

       In one of those cases of pure serendipity, recently an email from gapingvoid.com  appeared in my inbox to advertise this print:

The message explained that Hugh McCleod had created the image for Zappos, widely considered a great place to work. The body of the email went on to explain: "It might seem counter-intuitive, making these kinds of basic reminders for smart people at smart companies. But we've found that often, they're the ones who need it most. Because smart people are always looking at what they can do to make things better, they tend to forget that what they're already doing is pretty awesome. How do you inspire the very best? Just keep doing what you're doing."        I call this serendipity because it fits with an idea I've been pondering quite a bit lately. The topic is, I believe, an essential balancing act of effective leadership. It's managing to inspire the necessary forward movement while honoring and even retaining that which is of essential, timeless value. The tension is captured in the essential questions of a workshop we'll be having at St. John's Episcopal in a few weeks, led by Grant Lichtman: In what ways are we already great? How do we become even greater?        Too often we neglect all the amazing things that already happen in our schools. Education is, in many ways, a pretty easy target for people. Those who spend their time emphasizing the problems attract a wide audience. But they also tend to paint with a very wide brush, often unfairly and in a way that ignores the exemplary work many are doing. Long-time, clear-minded independent school voice Peter Gow recently addressed this notion very well in a blog post he published while I was in the midst of formulating this piece. During some remarks this morning I made the comparison to how we act about cars and computers. Most of us take their functioning, despite how complicated it is, for granted. We don't express our gratitude when it works each time; but we express incredible frustration the first time it doesn't. And learning is in many ways a much more mysterious process than such mechanics.        Having said that, I also argue quite fervently that we need to rethink aspects of education in some fairly dramatic ways. Certainly, as so many others and I have pointed out in various ways over and over, that holds true because of how the world is changing. But many of those changes were necessary even before now. I look back at my own education--I'm 53--and listen to others describe theirs, and everyone talks of too much emphasis on lower-order skills and memorization. So the problem is not new. Perhaps the urgency for change is greater now. I suspect many generations, while living in the moment, felt the pace of change was accelerating faster than at any other time. We tend to throw around terms such as innovation and transformation and disruption rather easily, and education has a long history of silver-bullet thinking. I want to be clear that I love the spirit and optimism and direction behind this. I'm thrilled that schools seem to be putting more emphasis on growth mindsets and creative intellectualism. But I worry that as we talk so much about the future into which our students are heading, we can lose sight of the past that brought us here and what kids may need right now.      My thoughts on strategic plans and vision capture what likely seems like my ambivalence with this topic. I have problems with how often the strategic planning process occurs, as various groups submit their "thoughts," the final product thus becoming a wish list and action items, and perhaps not really a strategy. The commitment in theme can lead recklessly down a path. Similarly, too concrete a vision strikes me as grandiose and can actually signal myopia and a degree of blindness. That's not to say that one shouldn't have a direction, and ideal for which one is striving; a really wonderful picture of what things could be like. For instance, a teacher may envision an ideal class. The hard work--the work that really matters--doesn't lie in that vision. It lies in seeing how each day one can do the job better and making that effort. Sometimes those are big things. I suspect more often they are small things. And they add up over time.        But leaders must show vision. We want it to be sweeping in a way that inspires. Perhaps, however, it must be rooted in a simple idea(l) rather than a utopia of magnificent facilities and beaucoup initiatives and measures. I could--indeed, I have--riffed on and on about my educational utopia in many times, Certain elements remain the same; others change. But I think that to "stay amazing," schools like mine must emphasize their independence. Not just emphasize it, but take advantage of it. That is what has made us unique, more often for better than worse, albeit not always. That independence is what allows us to be responsive and agile and to emphasize what matters; and in doing so, to provide what kids need, right now and for the foreseeable future. Any school that does that is quite amazing.

A Further Thought on #EdJourney

     A few days ago I posted "First Thoughts on #EdJourney." It wasn't really a review of Grant Lichtman's new book--just some of the larger ideas it prompted and some of what I guess could be called cautionary notes about how people might miss some of the more important ideas. That could occur mainly because it's easy to become focused strictly on the many wonderful examples from different schools. Almost as soon as I posted, a new idea about the book occurred to me. Not just about the book, but about the entire project that has led to the book.
     Grant set out in search of innovation in schools. He found plenty of it, sometimes in little pockets, sometimes in sweeping models. We now have this wonderful book as a product. But we also need to think about the process. Both literally and analogously, we have a wonderful model for the type of learning that should be going on in our schools.
     Consider, in no particular order:

• The entire idea begins with a giant question about education and is a deep, wide exploration. Questions beget more questions, with ongoing reflection and generative thinking. "How might we..?" and "What if..?" never cease to peel away more layers. 
• Rather than merely muse inwardly, Grant looks outward, connecting with the much larger world in a search for understanding.
• In doing so, he forges multiple connections with people all over and brings in varied perspectives. He refers to myriad sources. In a sense, while Grant is the sole author, one gains a sense of collaboration.
• That happens because Grant let us share the experience and comment on it through social media. Reading his blog, for instance, was like reading his drafts as they developed. We see his thought processes.
• Speaking of his blog, Grant utilized the best technology tools at his disposal, from his Prius and iPhone to his blog and Twitter. Of course, he also went through dozens of the old stand-by: legal pads and post-its.
• The book is a creative endeavor. The whole thing is a creative endeavor.
• The work is highly relevant, and the contribution to the field is meaningful.
• The quest leads not just to accumulation of knowledge, but to some new wisdom.

     When you consider the entirety of the project, Grant is both student and teacher. He writes about the schools he visits,

"I increasingly hear teachers and their students talking about the adults becoming 'lead learners' and 'co-learners' along side their students...teachers develop a view of themselves as participating in a constantly evolving journey of exploration with their students, as opposed to teachers' traditional role of providing knowledge to their students" (104-5).

He has given us many models--including himself.

     So here's a thought. A challenge if you will. Obviously we can't send students off to drive around the country on their own. But how might we design learning experiences just as full of purposeful discovery?

Challenging Indy Schools to Take Advantage of Independence

     During some various Twitter chats on assorted subjects, I've often asserted that I believe independent schools (including mine) should take greater advantage of their independence. Out of all my tweets, these seem to generate the most positive responses, retweets, and favoriting. Clearly this notion strikes a chord, at least with a certain audience, one I believe is fairly representative.
     The question becomes rather obvious. Why don't we?
     Let's first consider the answer from a rather sweeping philo-psycho-socio-historical perspective. Recently I've been reading Frederic LeDoux and Ken Wilbur's Reinventing Organizations: A Guide to Creating Organizations Inspired by the Next Generation of Human Consciousness. The basic premise is that each major shift in human consciousness has led to giant leaps in our level or collaboration and thus how we set up institutions. Under-girding it is how we perceive humans and how we measure value. Each stage is assigned a color. Currently most of our organizations (and I'd say much of how we live) is based on amber and orange type thinking. This emphasizes power, authority, hierarchy, measurable outcomes--that which we associate with the "business" world but dominates so much of human establishments. It's obvious how this links to the factory model of education that has become so entrenched over the past 150 years. The authors believe we are moving into the teal stage, which is more about extensive collaboration, transparency, and self-management of individuals and teams. It's much more soulful. They cite 22 businesses, both profit and non-profit, that operate in teal fashion, the best known of which may be Patagonia. They do refer a few times to a school in Germany. All, of course, sound like wonderful places.
     I'm not going to question Ledoux and Wilbur's general thesis. In fact, I think it makes great sense. We know, for instance, that schools operate as they do because of large cultural shifts and needs. Now they're changing, albeit slowly for the same reasons. And therein lies the real reason that, in this broadest of senses, we don't take advantage of that independence much, much more than we do. We're rather trapped within a strong historical framework, and such shackles are difficult to break off. Especially if we're not fully conscious of them.
     Even if we are aware, it's all many of us know when it comes to education. It's how we were educated. It's how our parents were educated. It's how much of the world has been educated. And, to a certain degree for a while, it's worked well enough. That's particularly true in independent schools, where we serve a clientele that is highly motivated and thus basically compliant. Tied to that, it's how many of our families want their children to be educated. As some parents have told me, they don't want their kids being used as guinea pigs in an educational experiment. So, yes, it's what we know and what we know is safe.And there, for independent school leaders, reality hits. Like it or not, we are a business; and we need for enough people to buy what we are selling. For us, full enrollment is safe. Glowing next level placement, high test scores, prizes and honors--those are assurances of safety. For us, anyway. Or, I should say, some of us. At least in the immediate and short term.
     The problem lies in a certain failure, or lack of imagination. We know the world is changing, but we do not fully conceive what this means. In fact, we can't except in abstract ways, and that troubles us because we can't fit in in our existing schemes. Similarly, it requires true vision to conceive of truly different ways of doing school. Then come the challenge of actual implementation and courage.
     I realize this post may suggest frustration, even hopelessness. There is some of the former, but none of the latter. Quite the opposite actually. We see wonderful innovation happening in independent schools around the country, and I'm very proud of the strides we've made here at St. John's. I expect even more this year as we focus on creativity in our professional development. As we all work on rethinking and re-imagining education, it's essential to understand the deep and broad complexity. Then we'll be better poised to take full advantage of our independence.
   

Why Creativity Really Matters

     Many practical reasons exist for schools to be putting more emphasis on creativity in all its forms. The move from the information age to the creative age, employment prospects, the new emphasis on design, ties to innovation, the fact that thus far computers can't ideate--if you're reading this blog, like me you know most of the broad strokes, all of which I have invoked in various fora. I've even made hour-long presentations on this very topic.
     I love what this emphasis on creativity has brought to schools. We see more project-based learning, more integrated curricula, more collaboration, more questioning. The use of design thinking principles fosters key character and intellectual principles foundational to human progress. Maker spaces and design dens and innovation labs (and whatever else they are called) are pretty awesome places to see in action. Simply yet profoundly, education now seems more engaging and more relevant. More real.
     Having said all that, I don't know that we've articulated maybe the most important reason this trend matters.
     As I see it, the educational process and all its pieces should add up to a single whole: the creation of a self. In many ways growing up is forming updated prototypes of oneself, better iterations of one's core, hopefully in relation to others.For that to happen, one must be able to dream, to conceive of the possible, and to imagine oneself moving into it, whether by baby steps or in a giant leap. The stages of design thinking, for example, thus becomes a metaphor for striving to fulfill the mission. But a crucial difference is that doing so is as incumbent upon the students as it is the school. Probably even more so, which should be the goal since education should be about their futures. When it happens, that's learning at its most meaningful.

Just How Much 21st Century Teaching Occurs? Reflections After an #Isedchat Session

     Last Thursday night I was only half paying attention to the #isedchat session, even though I love the sessions found the topic fascinating: classroom design for the 21st century*. So I may not have all my facts correct, and I fear this post may come across as cynicism rather than genuine wonder. Some comments and points made me ask just how much innovative, engaging teaching is actually happening in our schools.
     First, I have to say that I find the people in these chats to be extremely thoughtful and dedicated, the type of people I want working in my school. Just think about the fact they are in an hour-long Twitter chat on a Thursday evening at 9:00 Eastern time, looking for nuggets to improve their craft and schools. They are the people advocating for positive changes. Every time I participate, I learn something; when I can't, I scan the archive. On this particular night there were multiple great points about furniture, multi-use walls, idea paint, configurations, sitting versus standing. Much of it centered around a much more active environment, with students much more active in their learning.
     Then I think about what Grant Lichtman calls all the "brush fires of innovation" he discovered on his massive journey around the country and since. I see the amazing things many of my faculty are doing and what my children's teachers at Greenhill School are doing. I hear from other heads of school. So I know we're moving in the right direction.
     But how much so? And how fast?
     Here is why I ask. In the midst of that wonderful chat, people raised concerns and/or asked questions about the following points. What about when it's blue book/final exam time? Don't we have to train them to sit and listen for long periods of time? To sit for SATs and APs? They won't have classrooms like this in college, and we have to get them ready for that.
     Those are realities, and people are right to bring some of them up. As a head of school, I battle constantly to balance my idealism and my practicality. Why, though, would there be a blue book final exam in such a classroom? Maybe schools that have fully embraced this type of modern education should forget about AP courses and exams. At times the conversation felt a bit schizophrenic. It seemed tinged with a degree of resignation, perhaps even assumption, regarding certain "time honored" practices. Thus arose the question which has been rattling in my mind ever since: just how much innovative teaching--and thus better learning--is going on?
     Whatever the elusive and likely-to-some-degree disappointing answer to that question, I think there is a more important question. It's a big, hairy question, multi-faceted with myriad responses. How do school leaders make sure those who are creating those incredible classrooms for the 21st century, whatever the furniture, feel encouraged and supported?

*As many others have said in other places, I really dislike how we continue to use this term.

Whither the Bridgetender?

     I recently began reading Doris Kearns Goodwin's The Bully Pulpit about Theodore Roosevelt, William Taft, and the muckraking journalists of McClure's magazine. Last night one tiny scene jumped out at me. As Ida Tarbell was travelling on the train from Western Pennsylvania to New York, at one point she noticed the bridgetender. This person had a simple role: every time a train crossed the bridge, he was to make sure no coals had flown off the train and could set the wooden bridge on fire.
     This was a job created by a relatively new industry/technology in the form of railroads. But it also was a job that rather quickly became obsolete with other developments such as steel. And while there remain bridgetenders in other ways, such as on some old drawbridges, it's certainly not a job I'd heard of or even thought about before. I'd like to know how many bridgetenders remain in any form.
     Metaphorically, I also wonder who the bridgetenders of today are. To play off that idea further, I also hope we see the purpose of education to help people become not just bridge builders, but also designers of amazing new bridges.

Killdares Concert and Education

          

 

          Last night my 16-year-old daughter and I went to GrapeFest in Grapevine, Texas, so that we could attend a concert by The Killdares. (You can hear the music!) The easiest way to describe their music is hard-driving Celtic alternative rock. It's new and fresh, but with many traditional rock and Celtic elements thrown into the mix. They also have an incredible amount of fun when they are playing. My daughter was able to meet one of the band members after they played at her school, and he said, "Where else am I going to get to play the bagpipes in a rock-and-roll band?" As you can see in the photo, they have the usual lead guitar, drums, and bass--but also a fiddle and bagpipes. (One song last night highlighted the Irish tin whistle.) Anyway, I came home nice and sweaty from bopping around.
           And during last night's concert, I saw something I'd never seen before; I don't think I'd ever even heard of it before, actually, although it makes sense. For one song the bagpiper pulled out something that looked like a giant meat thermometer.
Electronic bagpipes! When he started playing them, I couldn't discern any real difference, and I thought it was quite cool. What a great piece of innovation!
          On the ride home, my daughter asked why I thought the Killdares have not become a really giant band. We concluded that their music might be just a bit too quirky for many people, even though that's what we love about them. The Killdares combine some very traditional elements from rock and Celtic music in really creative ways to provide a very unique, truly engaging sound. They very much appeal to that primal part of us that responds to wonderful music.
         Naturally, I see all this as a metaphor/lesson for what I'm urging for schools. We can't ever cease to be, first and foremost--places about those things which make us human at our very essence. Learning, creating, growing, connecting--these are what keep us moving forward as individuals and as a species. Now we live in this amazing time that fosters us so many opportunities to relish in those activities in new ways. Keep those traditional elements that truly matter, but design experiences that grab kids and makes them want to dance.

Learning to Fly: The Greatest Time to be an Educator

Note: This post works as a follw-up to previous post, "The Real Enemy of Great."

Earlier this month, St. John’s had Jonathan Martin lead an in-service on 21^st Century Education for us. It was awesome—“best in-service ever,” several teachers praised. Jonathan packed his presentation with loads of theory and concrete information, and teachers left with clear steps for moving forward. The day made me miss being in the classroom as a teacher. What has resonated with me since then is a question Jonathan asked: When was a time when you suddenly knew things would never be the same?

While I can think of many pivotal moments during my career in education, four stand out as “Aha!” sort of experiences.

·         The first came in the mid-90s. I was teaching 9^th grade English, and students were doing research on a small section of Genesis or Exodus. The idea was to dig as deeply into it as possible, from various angles. Our library had limited resources, and my knowledge was finite. I convinced the tech director to give each student an e-mail address. Then I contacted various seminaries and religious studies departments around the nation to see if anyone would be willing to serve as a “telementor.” Suddenly my students were collaborating with experts on some very serious scholarship. I wasn’t obsolete, but my role was certainly different as I became much more of a guide and partner in the learning process.

·         Around 2005 or so, I was teaching a self-developed course called The Ways We Know, a hybrid of neuroscience, cognition, and epistemology. Needless to say, there was no pre-existing textbook, and I wanted a wide variety of resources. The course book became a page in a content management system with a bunch of links to myriads materials. So much for my notion of the textbook.

·         About that same time, I was teaching a junior poetry course. For the final project, I wanted the students to do something that would incorporate all the facets of the course. The typical analytical essay just wasn’t going to work. Instead, the students created electronic poetry museums which had multiple facets, including the usual written elements along with created and downloaded multi-media elements. An added bonus was how much time the students spent exploring each other’s museums.  Authentic assessment became my ideal.

·         The final one occurred in the spring of 2010. The chairman of the arts department came to see me about an email he had received from someone in Bhutan. The person was an education student and was inquiring about something she had traced to our school via an article in some education journal published in Asia. But the information was vague, and we had no idea what she was referring to. We apologized for not being able to help, but the person politely tried us again. We involved the educational technology director, who did some searching and “got a Google”— a single hit for the entered search terms. It turns out the article had contained a reference to a website some of my students had created in a junior English class several years earlier. Yes, we are closely connected in unforeseen ways, and students can make important contributions.

At the end of each anecdote I comment very briefly on its significance, and each point matters. More important is the composite. Together, they show just about every traditional aspect of the teacher-student relationship beyond the basic human connection being upset to some degree.

                At the same time, however—and this where the crucial idea really starts—these epiphanies did not alter my essential philosophy. Powerful relationships, finding relevance and purpose, learning how learn, creativity, collaboration, student as worker—all these ideas and others have fueled my practices from the first time I stepped into a classroom. After all, I’m the guy who put everything aside for a month in 1988 when a bunch of eighth graders wanted to rewrite their own version of Romeo and Juliet and then videotape the performance (still one of my greatest experiences as a teacher; how I wish it had been digitalized before the tape was ruined). Two simple truths often held me back. The first was, as a young teacher, having to reconcile my beliefs and wishes with so much of what my experience as a student and the larger culture were telling me a teacher should do—the very traditional view of the role. Working through that was difficult, full of inevitable pitfalls only deepened by the mistakes most young teachers make. The second was more practical. It was too hard and even impossible to do some of what I would have liked. For example, recall the story above about creating the on-line repository of resources for a course. Back in the 80s, I wanted to create a reader for one of my classes. Dealing with the publishers, the copyright issues, the fees, and the sheer time involved were simply overwhelming; and I abandoned the project. Twenty years later, I could create just what I wanted, with multimedia, rather easily.  I’ve written many times that technology must function as a tool that allows us to achieve our objectives in the bet fashion. Tablet, laptop, phone—the device doesn’t matter. The power lies in the what and the how, driven by the why. As suggested above, that why becomes much more achievable.  It’s really quite amazing and empowering.

                Sometimes I think we forget that. We have become so accustomed to rapid technological change that we fail to consider its impact. Take a minute and ask yourself: What am I glad I can do now that I couldn’t do x number of years ago? Even more importantly, what can students do? Think about what happened in the examples outlines above. In just about a decade, my students went from passive consumers to active creators and even contributors on a global scale. Imagine, then, what the future may hold. And we must prepare young people not for our pasts or even our presents, but for their futures.

                Even beyond that, this empowerment feeds the educators our children need in other key ways. As Dan Pink’s work in Drive shows us, true motivation and fulfillment come from autonomy, mastery, and purpose. In the right environment, teachers have more and more opportunities to sense those feelings. While doing so, to borrow Seth Godin’s metaphor about important work, thoughtful and brave educators can become true artists. We can build upon the great work done before our time. However, we have an obligation to break molds, to imagine and design and create, to take small steps into the adjacent possible or flying leaps into the skies of what could be.