Last Last Day

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

Is The Room Really That Smart?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Mark Crotty (@crottymark) March 2, 2019

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

Serendipitous Synchronicity on Day 1 at 2019 NAIS Annual Conference

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

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

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

Questions and Possibilities: The Best Part of NAIS Annual Conference

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

As I Head to NAIS Annual Conference 2019...

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

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

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

The Irony of School Security

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

My Own #BookChallenge--Art of Culling

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


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