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.
Wednesday, February 27, 2019
Monday, February 25, 2019
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.
"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.
Wednesday, February 20, 2019
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.
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.
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