Death of My Blog?

                A bit over two years ago, I published the post “Death of the Blog?” In it I mused on the state of blogging, particularly what I felt was its gradual demise. One main point compared blogging to tweeting, the conclusion being that I believe there is both the room and the need for both as they operate in ways that serve our divergent modes of thought.  In it I also linked to a slightly earlier post, in which I lamented the death of an individual blog, whether because the author never really developed a groove, simply ran out of fresh ideas, or gave up. No matter the cause, a dying/dead blog reeks of unfulfilled promise.

                Now, I wonder, is my own blog is approaching its inevitable demise after seven years and 282 posts? Recently I noticed I had not posted since early March, and that was prompted by the annual National Association of independent Schools conference.  Before then, over the past I was posting less frequently, despite promises to resume regular writing. If I look longer term, the rate has steadily slowed since I started at a healthy post-a-week clip. Sometimes I’ve had to force myself to post, really out of self-imposed guilt. On some level I know I’m only maintaining it at all out of some sense of obligation. Exactly to whom, I’m not sure.

                When we are fully honest, blogging is a rather egocentric activity. Any form of publication is based on the foundational belief that one has something important to share. We all do, but actually putting it out there ups the ante. And while one hopes the work serves an audience, human nature dictates that we pray we’re even getting an audience. Lack of readers may be a primary reason—the feeling you are a tree falling in an endless forest. Many also may expect all sorts of reader feedback. In some ways, many of us have bought into the idea that the internet allows anyone to have a loud voice. That appeal slams into the wall of reality. I say that as someone whose views—while not staggering at an average of around 350 a day—are beyond anything I ever expected. I’m proud and honored…but I also no longer get that little dopamine rush from positive data.

The ego also demands that we are initially entertaining ourselves. Comic strip artist Stefan Pastis recently said he figures a joke works if he makes himself laugh. For whatever reason, lately blogging has not brought me the usual satisfaction. Friends have counseled not to worry about repeating myself or thinking every post has to be profound.  I understand that thinking, and I don’t worry about becoming self-derivative in a reader’s eyes (mainly because I doubt they would notice except in some sweeping, thematic fashion).  I need the process to be a bit more primal, perhaps even narcissistic. It has to feed me. Perhaps not surprisingly, my pieces I like most are process posts, when I’m figuring something out as I write and begin unsure of how I will end.

Ironically, given that last point, developments in our larger culture over the past few years have me feeling even more of a need to struggle to figure things out. I think many feel the same sort of discombobulation. Of course, I’m talking about national and geo-politics. Those are obvious. But I sense people feel angst and uncertainty in other parts of their lives. In education, while so many preach about what we need to do to prepare kids for their futures—and we speak with a certain assumed authority—it’s all speculation given the rate and breadth of change.  As an educational leader, in some ways I feel more certain about what needs to happen; and in others, even more confused. To extend the irony, in such situations, people often react in one of two ways. They may resort to quick bits of bombast, rushes to judgment, such as a spontaneous Tweet or snarky comment on social media. Or, on the other hand, like me, they may be leery of treading into certain areas for fear of detonating a landmine. It could reach a sense of futility.

Those last points may actually be the most crucial reasons to keep a blog going (or find other fora). We need deeply thoughtful discourse more than ever, and the root of that lies in ongoing reflection. Ideally, then, a blog serves the needs of both its author and its audience. As I decide whether to pull the plug, to maintain basic life support, or to resume regular care, I’ll have to think hard about that balance. Right now the focus is probably too much on me. Whatever I decide, I hope I’ve contributed something along the way.

Death of the Blog?

       This post is longer than usual, and for that I apologize. Perhaps I could have shortened it. In fact, I'm sure I could have. Yet, as should become clear to those of you who endure, the length reflects the theme.
       A few weeks ago, in a post of somewhat random thoughts, I mused about the current state of blogging. I noted that fewer and fewer posts seem to be showing up in my aggregator. Then, in a very unscientific experiment, I kept clicking on the little link at the top of this blog that says "Next blog." I most often--and it wasn't even close--came to blogs that hadn't been updated for many months, sometimes even years. Some announced their own demise. Others simply fizzled out. Saddest of all were the ones on which the final post declared one's sadness at not having blogged for a while, followed by a pledge to resume and keep it up, sort of a digital-literary New Year's resolution by February. Some were quite good. But one point above all depressed me a bit, something about which I've written before:

I find it incredibly disappointing when a blog dies, abandoned by its creator, no longer lovingly nourished through regular cerebral feelings. You can see it coming. The posts become less frequent, the content less stimulating, as if the author has begun to bore him- or herself. Though the author owes me nothing--and, I hate to admit, I did not encourage through comments or Tweets--I still feel somehow betrayed. When reading a book or article, you know it will end, even wonder how it will, appreciate the fabulous wrap up. But a blog seems to carry an inherent pledge of infinite development.(from "On Blogging During Break")

       I totally understand the challenge of maintaining a blog. I once confided: 

Writing this blog, I feel real pressure to ship at least once per week. As someone pointed out to me, “You create a monster; then you have to feed it.” At first this was easy: I was new to my school, wanted people to learn about me and my ideas, had plenty to say. It was purely rational, grounded in my cerebral cortex. Now, shipping has become harder. I find myself asking questions that, while logical, still drip with juices of the lizard brain. What am I going to say this week? Haven’t I already written about that? Is this worth posting on? What are people thinking about my posts? Have I gone too far in some of my points and overly offended someone? Would anyone notice if I didn’t post for a while? If I stopped posting at all? Why isn’t my mind working the way I want it to? When did I forget how to write?  (from "Taming My Lizard Brain: An Unforeseen Lesson from Blogging")

I compare that to Tweeting, something about which I was once skeptical but now embrace. It's really easy, almost automatic now. It's a wonderful way to share information, to compile quality resources, to engage in quality conversations during chats. It's amazing how well I feel I've come to know some people through Twitter although I've never met them or read anything else by them. That also may explain another trend I've noted in relation to the first. As I've noticed less blogging, I've noticed more Tweeting. And despite my love of the Twitter-sphere, that concerns me.

       In  Thinking, Fast and Slow. Daniel Kahneman contends that our thought patterns operate in two ways--System 1 and System 2. System 1 consists of our automatic, almost instinctual reactions to things. They are often based on prior knowledge, assumptions, things we take for granted. System 2 involves deeper thinking; it is more reflective and analytical. Not surprisingly, Kahneman contends that we operate mainly per System 1. He says that this occurs in large part because we are intellectually lazy. But there are other reasons. Heuristics cause us to see things in certain ways. For example, the way information is presented can "anchor" us and influence how we respond. Other heuristics include availability, emotion, risk, sample size. We also have a poor grasp of statistics. I would add that we are simply busy, we want quick answers, and we haven't really been trained to think deeply. In "Some Thinking About Thinking" I relate this idea to education.

       I think we can use this framework as a way to think about Tweeting and blogging. While exceptions certainly exist, in general I would say that Tweeting equates to System 1 thinking and blogging to System 2 thinking. In anticipation of one argument against this, I acknowledge that good Tweeters will reveal the outcomes on System 2 thinking in many of their Tweets. Yet I'm focused on the process.

       For me the best blog posts have a meditative quality, as if the writer has peeled back his or her scalp and allowed you to see the neurons firing. Such posts echo the origins of the essay, its name derived from the Middle French essayer, which means to examine and to test. Part of the power lies in the struggle to construct that scaffolding, and it's why we hold in awe those who can do it so gracefully that we read the words and they seem so natural, so easy, so much what we want to say...but can't figure out how. They capture humans at their reflective best.

       It also captures the very essence of teaching and learning. Teaching, no matter what subject, boils down to an attempt to capture and to communicate an understanding. Math, for example, is much more than numeracy. Eventually it becomes a tool by which we can understand basic truths about the physical universe. Learning does not occur without at least a bit of reflection, when we take new information and figure how how it fits within existing schemata. Notice I said bit of reflection. Deeper, more powerful learning entails more extensive, more probing reflection. It's why, when I asked an admission director at a top liberal arts college what makes a student essay stand out, she told me a student's ability to truly reflect.

     I fear even the idea of our losing that. I see schools doing cool things with Tweeting and video and other forms of expression. They're wonderful and creative and often worthwhile. Yes, the notion of literacy is much more complex than it used to be. But what has gone by the wayside? I worry it's writing, something which often was not taught often and/or well enough anyway. I've argued for a long time--long before the days most of us had any idea about personal computers and the Internet-- that students need to be writing more in all their classes. And, as I argued in "Do Students Ever Get to Blog in Their Underwear?", it doesn't all need to be your typical academic writing. The important thing is the digging, the connecting; the discovery; as someone forgotten once said, and many have repeated, "I don't really know what I think until I write it." Ponder what I proposed in "Potential of Student Blogs."

But consider what could happen if each student's blog became truly personal, a place for musing and exploring and poking. A place not for trying to build a strong case, but a place for refining a big question while considering various options. A place for students to share with each other in a collaborative "big dig" that spills over into the classroom. A place where the teacher doesn't go looking to see if students have the right answer but a place to be surprised by what they know and are figuring out.
     I hope the assessment would focus on that. Of course, I want more of that to be happening everywhere, not just in blogs. In this case, a powerful blog becomes a multi-faceted symbol of a more modern education. It captures a new dynamic of individual and collective learning. It highlights a more necessary set of skills and attitudes. It marks a shift in the dominant voices of a class. It suggests a way in which each student can play a leading role in his or her own fashion. 

Even if not the sort of collaborative learning suggested by using blogs in this fashion, the larger goals remain paramount. We must help students develop the skills and attitudes integral to sustained, deep thought. Otherwise, too often we're content to skim along the surface. That's not just about individual growth. It's foundational to our growth as cultures and societies and a species. At the risk of being dramatic, evolve or die.

       Of course, all this really points to much more than a consideration of blogging versus Tweeting. It's about purpose. Values. It's about making sure making sure we always protect them. Ultimately, I see education as being about how we become better humans. Writing, whether for oneself or for an audience, is key to that. So when it comes to blogging, to riff off Mark Twain's famous line, I hope reports of its death are exaggerated.

Single Tweet Spurs Big Thoughts

Last week I was reminded of just how awesome Twitter can be. I follow Tom Peters, the famous business writer. I'm honored he follows back; and he's even replied to, re-tweeted and favorited a few of my tweets. On this day he was wound up about email and sending out several mini-rants on email etiquette. I replied that I often write email I wish I could send in Word so I don't accidentally send it, then write the more appropriate one. He replies and re-tweets. Over the next twenty minutes or so I'm in a conversation with him and people from South Africa, Dubai, India, England, and various U.S cities. They were people from various professions, from financial advisors to tech consultants to a Wall Street Journal reporter. Pretty darned cool!
The reminders go deeper than that. After all, that story can be reduced to a rather simple and oft-repeated notion: that now it's so easy to connect to anyone in meaningful, purposeful ways. Indeed so, and really quite amazing. We've even reached the point where we've stopped realizing just how signficant this is. Yet while we take it for granted, schools have yet to harness the full potential of this. Yes, many are doing more with different types of connections and blended learning and social media. But how much has it changed school as usual? That question is borderline rhetorical, except that I think it begs many others, beginning with "Should it?" and "How?" and "Why?" Any regular readers know my answers. The point is that the possibilities should be driving us to ask such questions continually.
That becomes quite philosophical. As much as I like to swirl around in pedagogical ether, since that Twitter experience I've found myself thinking about something more practical. The exchange dealt with email etiquette, and one point early on was that in many ways we are the sum of our emails. (You could substitute tweets, posts, et cetera for emails.) So in many ways it was about digital citizenship and how it plays out in two distinct yet overlapping realms. First, how do we treat others? Many people find it easy to hide behide the anonymity of the screen and a cryptic user name, spewing vitriole they likely would not say to someone in person. Even if the people know each other, something about it being on-line empowers--if that is the right word--people to express things in a manner they normally wouldn't. I think it's a matter of physical and psycholgical distance. We have no face, no voice, no body as we do on the phone or in person. Becasue of that, we are less likely to consider the impact of our words on others. The inverse, however, holds true in that the recipient is forming a very strong impression of the deliverer and creating a distinct persona of that person. Hence we have the second area: What is the online persona we are creating? As much as we might wish otherwise, the reality is that our online and "real world" selves are not separate beings, as much as we may try to keep them distinct. Analogously, while someone may try to separate her personal and professional lives, together they form the whole person. Schools must be very intentional in realizing this and in helping students understand this.
That is very practical in that it involves essential knowledge and skills for the world today and the foreseeable future. Yet it also speaks to a broader philosophical view. During and after the Twitter chat, I found myself reflecting on my practices and what they say about me. Not just in email, but other parts of my life. What are my actions saying? How, to use the Quaker saying, does my life speak? I believe that's what a meaningful education is for. It helps young people struggle with the answers to such questions. They also need to do so in conjuction with what's happening in the world around them. To grapple with what local, regional, national, and world events say about humanity and about themselves. That's how they find solid footing and a place in the world rather than drift along aimlessly. It determines the quality of our relationships in ways that go far beyond email.
I know I've rambled in this post, and I hope it makes sense. Maybe there are bits and pieces of something slightly profund. I know I've written and said much of this previously, and others have done so better than I have here. But reminders never hurt.
And to think it all began with a simple Tweet.

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The Teachers I Most Appreciate On-Line

     For my annual post during Teacher Appreciation Week, I've decided to take a different approach. After all, in the past I've written about my two greatest teachers; and I often refer to other teachers, coaches, and colleagues. Usually they are figures from my past. Fortunately, I also have current mentors and role models. For this piece, I'm also thinking about how the digital revolution has opened incredible possibilities for learning. In that context my driving question becomes "What sort of teachers do I most appreciate on-line?" For me that means mainly blogs and Twitter.
     While perhaps I should not begin with the negative, I want to state right away what I don't like. It's not much--there are just two things--but they truly rankle. First, I don't like what I can only describe as a form of self-centeredness. It manifests itself in some key ways. Tweets are strictly self-promotional. In the same vein, someone requests information but never supplies information in response to someone else's queries. A person ignores basic etiquette. (Fortunately, I don't encounter too many people who operate this way; when I do, I choose to ignore.)  Second, I don't like pieces that are overly definitive, i.e. "The Six Surefire Ways to..." Nothing is that simple. At least nothing worthwhile. These two dislikes often overlap in ways that point at the heart of what I do like.
     As a place to learn, the true beauty of the digital world is access. That holds for both quantity and variety. Plus the information links in all sort of intentional and random fashion. The structure forces one to spin a web of meaning. Despite what some promise, ultimate answers remain elusive, perhaps non-existent. In that way it is analogous to life in ways few school curricula are.
     My favorite on-line teachers are those who not only acknowledge such intellectual murkiness but actually embrace it. They are the truly honest bloggers, the ones who are willing to share the struggle and thus admit their own shortcomings and even vulnerability. They dine upon a smorgasbord of feeds and draw nutrition from each. They are the Tweeters who share all types of resources and challenge each other in chats and celebrate the virtues of others.
     Society often confuses learning with achieving a certain end. To an extent this is accurate if we're talking short term or one has a simple task to complete. However, such a misconception underlies many of the problems with educational systems. We must understand and embrace the opposite notion. Optimal learning is not linear, zeroed in a particular goal. It loops, twists, starts and stops. It's also about unlearning. It's about having the guts to ask dangerous questions that may force answers which drive us off the intended course but right where we need to go at any given time on an endless journey.
     For a society to prosper fully, it needs a spirited life of the mind. That cannot be just pockets of citizenry. It must be the culture. Standard operating procedure. So those qualities of the teachers I most appreciate on-line? Exactly what we also need off-line. Those great teachers understand it's about truly meaningful learning.

   

Move Out of the Way, and Be Delighted

     Recently Lauren Bush, an eighth grader at St. John's, won the USA Network and R&R Partners Foundation's Flip the Script Unite Against Bullying Commercial Challenge. This allowed her to be part of the creation of a public service announcement based on her original video:

We're incredibly proud of Lauren and the immense quality of her work, along with the poignant message. No surprise the video is going viral. She deserves all the attention and accolades.
     It's also important to consider the circumstances that allowed Lauren to create the video, as I believe they hold vital lessons for how education can function at its best. It was a first trimester film elective, and the students had a "simple" charge: create an inspirational video. Lauren then created "Word Play."
     Let's examine what the teacher did and didn't do. He gave the students the very basics of film-making and let them play with each of them. They had a powerful tool (we're a 1:1 iPad school) that made the filming and editing process easy, meaning the students could focus on the creative aspects of the project. The assignment was specific and broad at the same time, and no rubric confined their ideas. He set them up for success...then moved out of their way. Finally--and this probably is the most important point--he believed in the students and their ability to delight us. To push what too many teachers see as impossible.
   

Coming to Embrace Twitter; Helping Others Do the Same

                When it comes to Twitter, I was wrong. I had all the usual skepticism, even cynicism; I even blogged about it. Once I signed on, I tip-toed into the water. I remained doubtful when another head of school told me he found Twitter to be a real time-saver.

                But I can admit it: I was wrong. Now I love Twitter for all the reasons you’ve probably experienced and heard, especially if you learned of this post via a Tweet. The professional connections, the flood of useful resources, the serendipity, the pithiness of strong Tweets. I’ve been able to interact with big names whose work has really influenced my own thinking, such as Tom Peters (in one link above, I lamented not hearing back from him; I did a different, later time), Dan Pink, and Steven Johnson. I can see the amazing work some former students are doing. At random times I’ve had brief but enlightening conversations with people on different coasts when three of us happened to be on at the same time.

                I’m not a power-user of Twitter. I don’t follow hundreds of people or have hundreds of followers (though I wouldn't mind more...). I know I could use the tool in ways other than I do, and I also see loads of great ways that a teacher could use Twitter in class. But that’s not the point of the post, and you can find tons of Twitter related stuff here. It has more to do with the questions I often hear from people who have discovered Twitter’s magic: Why aren’t more educators using Twitter? Shouldn’t they all? I've even seen queries wondering if it should be mandatory per a policy. I’ll address that at the end.

                My goal in this post is to provide some hints that may help get some people onto Twitter who otherwise may not have started using it. They come from some workshops I did for folks here at St. John’s Episcopal School and really helped some people give it a shot. A few have really embraced it.

                Before I go into my six specific tips, I offer two cautionary notes. First, don’t get caught up in numbers; think quality over quantity. Second, lurking is just fine; it’s an easy way to begin.

                Many of you likely already know what I’m about to say. But maybe you know someone that would benefit from having this in one place like this, and you can share it. Maybe you’ll also like the musing at the end about Twitter use as a symbol. Anyway, without further ado:

·         Judicious Following

I consider this the most important point, but I acknowledge it can feel selfish. I don’t believe in automatic reciprocation when it comes to following. Before I follow someone, I consider several factors. Do I already have a personal relationship with the person? I check the profile. What’s the connection to my network? How often does the person Tweet? Are the Tweets going to be of value to me? I also “test follow” people to see how it goes. You also can’t be afraid to un-follow. For example, I’ve stopped following some people whose Tweets didn’t add value for me. They weren’t bad at all; they were simply using the tool to disseminate information that I didn’t want, such as a steady stream of their school’s athletic results. I’m sure it was awesome for their school community. Similarly, I’ve kept on people who don’t Tweet very often, but each one is always something good.

·         Hashtags and Fixed Columns

I find it incredibly helpful to have fixed columns set up in the app I use for Twitter (HootSuite is my choice), each one set up to search for a certain hashtag. I’ no talking about the generic ones people will stick in Tweets. I mean ones that highlight a specific topic. For example, because I’m in the independent school world, I have a column devoted to #isedchat and another to #indyschools. During the upcoming NAIS conference, I’ll have one for #naisac14. This enables one to regularly update and then easily skim in that area of interest. It’s also a great way to identify people it would be worth your following. You can find a complete list ofeducational hashtags at the site of @cybraryman1.

·         Chats

A Twitter chat is a wonderful chance to interact in a focused way on a particular topic. At first they can feel very chaotic until you get hang of it (one teacher here described it as cyber-NASCAR). Until you do, almost all post archives; you can follow the moderator to get them. I often will access the archives because it’s hard to do all the one I would like to live, and it also takes less time. Some also have so many participants they simply feel too frenetic for me. My favorite one is the #isedchat on Thursday evenings at 9:00 Eastern time. It’s contained, controlled, relevant, and full of smart folks. @cybrayman1 also has a list ofall the chats.

·         Favorites

Some people mark many Tweets as favorites, but I don’t. It’s sort of like bookmarking websites for later reference. Because so much can flow through your feed, you need some way to mark the ones that really stand out to you. I’ve developed a bit of sense for what to mark. Several times I’ve ended up coming back to something for a presentation or piece of writing.

·         Speed Reading

When I review my feeds, I simply skim along the surface, so fast that I can get through over a hundred tweets in a few minutes, unless something really grabs me. In that case I’ll explore it then if, for example, it contains an interesting link; or I’ll mark it for a later time. It requires a very different ways of accessing and assessing information.

                I’d hope that these suggestions prompt more educators to try Twitter, give it some time, and fall in love with it as I have. However, I don’t believe every educator needs to be on Twitter. Simply put, it’s not for everyone. With all the tools available, people need to find what works for them.

                At the same time, Twitter and the way it works symbolizes the professional outlook we should expect from quality educators. Done well, Twitter use captures that growth mindset, mainly in the constant give-and-take between people committed to their craft and constantly looking for ways to do it better. It’s about both teaching and learning.

Potential of Student Blogs

     As many have written, insight often occurs when two points come together in an unexpected fashion. For me this recently happened regarding blogging, particularly student blogging.
     Last Saturday I received a nice surprise in an email. I am honored to have been included as an example in a wonderful new book by Stephen Valentine and Reshan Richards titled Leading Online: Leading by Learning, Learning by Leading. In fact, this blog is the subject of a sub-chapter, "Crotty's Wrestling." (The website.) Valentine writes about a time he was struggling with the idea of failure and grit and turned to my blog because "Crotty has always been a blogger willing to both embrace and challenge educational trends. That he does some of his thinking out loud is a great service to other educators." The affirmation is, of course, powerful, particularly since he captures how I hope people read my work. It's part of an ongoing search rather than a conclusion.
     Shortly after reading this, in my Twitter stream I saw a question raised about how to assess student blogs. This followed all the usual comments about how a blog can give students their own voices, connection with a larger audience, et cetera. The question perhaps was meant to be open-ended. But I know that many were going to read it as "How do you assign a grade?" Even if not a grade, then likely rubrics and standards and some other formulaic guidelines. Because that's what the sort of academic writing that dominates schools demands. And I think we really miss an amazing opportunity with students and blogging.
      I like all the hyperbole about giant audiences, but I also know that it doesn't really happen that often. At the same time, I love the aspiration implied--that it's possible! It's also only likely to happen if we don't see blogs as simply a cool place because they are on-line but then demand the same sort of writing to occur. Be honest: Would you choose to read a bunch of typical student papers?
     But consider what could happen if each student's blog became truly personal, a place for musing and exploring and poking. A place not for trying to build a strong case, but a place for refining a big question while considering various options. A place for students to share with each other in a collaborative "big dig" that spills over into the classroom. A place where the teacher doesn't go looking to see if students have the right answer but a place to be surprised by what they know and are figuring out.
     I hope the assessment would focus on that. Of course, I want more of that to be happening everywhere, not just in blogs. In this case, a powerful blog becomes a multi-faceted symbol of a more modern education. It captures a new dynamic of individual and collective learning. It highlights a more necessary set of skills and attitudes. It marks a shift in the dominant voices of a class. It suggests a way in which each student can play a leading role in his or her own fashion.
     That last point brings me back to Valentine and Richards' book. Most schools see fostering leadership as either a stated or an implicit facet of their mission. As do the authors, I'd argue that the skills involved in blogging effectively translate to leadership.They write, "Indeed, networked individuals bring great potential value to their leadership teams...If your school faces a problem the likes of which it has never seen, the most networked individual on your leadership team will know where to turn to begin to address the problem. The most networked individual will have a shortlist of people who have demonstrated consistent thoughtfulness, consistent insight, and consistent knowledge acquisition over time and outside of your school. Though your best solution may come from within your school, why wouldn't you want to increase your odds of solving a problem by having access to a group of educators and non-educators spanning the globe?"
     When Valentine let me know about his including me in the book, I let him know I feel the same way about his Refreshing Wednesday blog. Each of us had played each part in the leadership vision he and Richards so powerfully lay out.If teachers allow it, the same thing can happen among their students in meaningful, unforeseen ways.

Value in the Numbers?

     Numbers are funny things. On one level they are fairly easy to define as discrete units, usually used to measure something or to indicate an amount. However, like words, they are simply a human invention, albeit an amazing one, that is part of our ongoing quest to capture and somehow make concrete and tangible oft-elusive concepts. A number is simply a symbol. They're inherently limited and limiting. Intellectually, I grasp this notion rather easily, and it's why I thoroughly enjoyed courses I've taught on linguistics and semiotics.As any regular readers know, I've used this understanding and epistemological stance in making my arguments against relying too heavily on standardized testing, school rankings, and most other educational metrics.
     But lately I've been experiencing first-hand the power of numbers. In particular, I've been reminded of how a number can stir feelings of affirmation or rejection. On some level this is rather obvious. We take comfort in acceptance to a college with high rankings; we decide where to eat or what movie to see based on number of stars. Lately--despite my knowing better--I've become a bit of a victim of numbers on social media.
     As my number of Twitter followers grows or my blog reaches a certain milestone of views, I find myself growing excited, particularly as both have gained some momentum.* And it builds: reach 40,000 views on the blog, and begin wondering when you might hit 50,000. After gaining the first 100 followers, I dared to dream of 200. Similarly, I experience a slight twinge when I lose a follower or a post doesn't gain many views. All this happens even though, when I did some Twitter workshops for employees, I tell them not to get caught up on numbers, that quality matters much more than quantity.
     Besides pointing out to me that I'm just as vulnerable to such experiences as anyone else and I need to jump off the high horse I sometimes mount, this experience has reminded me of one point and added depth to another, both related to learning.
     Three paragraphs back I wrote that "despite my knowing better" I fall into this trap. The key word is knowing. Emotions so easily can override the logical process of anything. It's why the best schools have to truly safe spaces. I don't mean that in the context of the tragic shootings of the past fifteen years. I mean psycho-social safety. Kids have to feel safe to be respected as they are, to take risks of all sorts, to feel confident in the growth process and all the messiness that implies.
     The numbers can harm that. I'm talking about grades. In what I described above, the number of followers and views becomes somewhat analogous to a grade. Someone stopped following me? What did I do wrong? I must have failed Tweeting! Teachers tell kids not to focus on the grade but on the feedback. There may be a degree of futility in such exhortations. The number, in its finality and in its symbolism, may simply have too much power. (A letter grade is essentially the same thing in different form.) To compare it to language, connotation can have more impact than denotation. When it comes to grading, a number really does capture a level of affirmation or rejection. And while it's directed at the work being evaluated, naturally it becomes highly personal. Meanwhile, some teachers use the grades as the carrot-and-stick. Then someone understandably can become reluctant to take risks, at least the sort which spur the greatest growth.
     I imagine that eliminating grades solves some, maybe even much, of the problem. Yet I think we're dealing with something intrinsically human--the deep need each of us has to feel valued...and perhaps to feel we are adding value. I hope we never try to reduce either of those to mere numbers.
   
*Humorous reality check: when I shared my excitement and some number with my teen daughter, she said, "That's it? Dad, I thought you were talking about a million."

Not a Connected Educator?

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

Why wouldn't you be a connected educator?

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

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

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

Help Students Pop The Filter Bubble

     Recently I've begun reading what I have come to consider one of the most important books I've encountered for quite a while: Eli Pariser's The Filter Bubble: What the Internet is Hiding From You. I'm about a third of the way through, and I see enormous implications for society and some clear directives for us to consider in education.

     I'll summarize the gist of the argument. So much of what the Internet has become, not surprisingly, is about monetization. More specifically, how much money can be made by using the incredible amounts of data that can be gathered by tracking one's clicks. As companies gather that data, they analyze it and deliver a more personalized on-line experience for each user. Think of it as Amazon's recommendations run amok. Pariser explains, "More and more, your computer monitor is a kind of one-way mirror, reflecting your own interests while algorithmic observers watch what you click" (2). At first glance, this seems harmless enough, perhaps even desirable in some ways.

     But think again. What Pariser calls "the filter bubble" is "a unique universe of information for each of us...which fundamentally alters the way we encounter ideas and information" (9). The danger is that we are subject to "a kind of invisible autopropaganda, indoctrinating us with our own ideas, amplifying our desire for things that are familiar and leaving us obvious to the dangers lurking in the dark territory of the unknown" (14). Since humans love confirmation of our own schemata, we welcome such a world, sort of like listening to media which only confirms our political beliefs. And, Pariser points out, "By definition, a world constructed from the familiar is a world in which there's nothing to learn" (14). 

     Furthermore, such a world essentially removes some of the basic elements that drive learning. In many ways learning is driven by our need to make sense of a degree of dissonance. It forces us to adapt, which necessitates learning. Piaget talks about our need to achieve balance in a constant process of assimilation and accommodation. In assimilation we fit everything into our sense of the world; in accommodation, we adjust our world view because of new information. Pariser cites psychologist George Lowenstein, who says "curiosity is aroused when we're presented with an 'information gap.' It's a sensation of deprivation" (90), comparable to the desire to tear open a present. Taking that idea a step further, Arthur Koestler "describes creativity as 'bisociation'--the intersection of two 'matrices' of thought" (93) in ways that "re-shuffles" already existing constructs.As we know from the work of Steven Johnson,  heavily cited in the book, creativity also depends heavily on serendipity (see http://tokeepthingswhole.blogspot.com/2010/12/lessons-from-break.html). How does that happen when "the filter bubble invisibly transforms the world we experience by controlling what we see and don't see" (82) and "dramatically amplif[ies] confirmation bias" (87)?

     This has large-scale consequences. Pariser writes, "Democracy requires citizens to see things from one another's point of view, but instead we're more and more enclosed in our own bubbles. Democracy requires a reliance on shared facts; instead we're offered parallel but separate universes" (4). Innovation and creativity lie at the heart of economic development, yet we're removing much of what can fuel them. Our diverse world is becoming more and more interconnected and inter-reliant; yet we dwell in a world that can foster narrow-mindedness.

     With our students growing up in such a world, schools have an even greater obligation to reconsider their large-picture mission. It's about how to live a meaningful life in such a world. That means awareness and critical thinking, not mere fact accumulation. That means helping students make connections, not keeping disciplines separate. That means learning to ask the right questions, not mere bubble coloring. That means grappling with relevant problems, not made-up examples. That means collaborating with diverse groups, not working in isolation. That means learning to use powerful technology, not letting it use us. That means helping them pop the filter bubble.

Blogging Famine

I know that I have neglected my blog recently, to the point at which I feel as if I owe it letter of apology. Indeed, I thought of structuring this post that way...but it felt entirely too cutesy. Still, I am surprised that my last new post appeared almost a month ago. It's not been lack of desire or even a shortage of ideas or even laziness. In fact, I have been thinking about blogging a great deal, and this unintentional hiatus has reaffirmed--aye, strengthened--my belief in the value of the medium.

First, I should explain the absence. For a while there I was working on some major projects, none of which were particularly conducive to blogging. They were massive presentations, with numerous moving parts. One was our iPadPalooza, which involved dozens of teachers and students along with key remarks. It was spectacular, and the preparation just about consumed me for a while. That and the normalcy of school life. Plus some things were happening about which I simply never would blog. While social media expert Dana Boyd points out that young people live public lives by default, for a head of school to do that with some of what I experience would be simply wrong. Then, a week ago I had some extensive nose and throat surgery done. The recovery has been awful, and I am just starting to feel myself again.

So no blogging recently, which makes me think about blogging, and now I wish I could have been blogging about some of what I was trying to figure out. It really has felt like a blogging famine. Sure, I could have still written through my ideas, and I have really intricate mind maps full of notes and designs and rainbows. (The one for my thesis back in the 80s completely covered the walls of my apartment bedroom, but I digress.) Yet it simply isn't the same, and I think I have figured out why. It's the vulnerability in revealing the struggle, in showing that sometimes the room looks wonderful but, please, don't open that closet! Plus I believe that holds a certain attraction for many readers. Yes, we marvel at the shiny gadget or scrumptious-looking meal, but we also ponder the creative process. Selfishly, while I know I can put together an elegant essay or killer presentation, I also want people to sense what goes into it, the mental and, yes, physical sweat. So I'm honored and grateful when someone like Peter Gow, one of the most important voices in independent school educations, includes my work in his Education Week column on bloggers to follow (http://blogs.edweek.org/edweek/independent_schools/2013/05/more_independent_school_voices_a.html). Not only that, but comments:

"Deeply reflective and often refreshingly personal, this is a school head's blog about life, learning, and just keeping things, well, whole. Mark isn't afraid to tell us how he is learning; a recent post on experiencing his first Twitter chat (the #isedchat) was refreshingly honest and very relatable."

It's not just the validation, though I admit my ego continues to do a grand jig when I read that. It's that Peter gets what I am trying to explain throughout my work and in this piece about blogging. It's about never forgetting that learning ultimately is about process.

So while I reflect on my own blogging, the question becomes quite obvious, borderline rhetorical. Why wouldn't any teacher have students blog? It's one of the best chances we have to gain any sense of how learning proceeds for them, to raft those intellectual rapids through their ever-changing synapses. If all we assess if how well someone has learned to meet the oft-dictatorial guidelines of a rubric to produce the sort of paper no one ever writes once out of school, we haven't served kids as well as we might. In some ways we've done them a disservice. We would have denied them some key nutrients.

Then we certainly won't have kept things whole. And while I trust Peter--and most of you kind enough to read--know what that means, soon I'll explain the blog's title and thus pull back the curtain a tiny bit more.

 

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Reflection after My First #isedchat Session

This past Thursday evening I took part in my first Twitter chat. Well, second actually; but the technically first one was very contained. The more recent one had more people--I remain unclear on just how many--and a few simultaneous threads. I enjoyed the experience, but I'm still figuring out what I think of it.

Overall, the experience reminded me of a great late night bull session in a dorm. It was a #isedchat, which means the participants were independent school people from around the country. So everyone was quite smart, passionate about education, and generally positive and optimistic, holding onto that youthful belief we can change the world for the better. They are committed enough to have been in this chat on a Thursday evening. Ideas and insights streamed into my feed, and I have found myself pondering many of the since then.

And I think that is where my frustration, albeit limited, may come from. Our topic was drive; several people had read an article on how being driven can lead to being disliked. The subject is a fascinating one, with myriad facets and layers. I kept wanting to dig more deeply into certain points, to explore them in ways that the medium simply doesn't allow for. So many comments were popping up in different threads related to the topic that I simply couldn't keep up, and some people seemed more able than I to move between them. (A bit of an aside: full marks to our moderators Bill Ivey, @bivey, and Kim Sivick, @ksivick, for their work in weaving those threads.)

That last notion raises a key point. I am not writing this as an anti-Twitter or anti-chat rant. In fact, I have become quite a fan of Twitter in general, particularly as I have learned how to use it better. Right now, though, I haven't figured out the whole chat deal. For example, in trying so hard to keep up, I often forgot to add the hashtag to my comments so they would appear in the right place. It may also be that a Twitter chat is simply not the best venue for me while being great for others. I also have to become more accepting of the limitations while stressing the benefits.

The experience has rekindled another one of my concerns about online life. Too often people can confuse quantity with quality. I'm not talking about the folks in this chat; I have no doubt they will reflect quite deeply on the topic. But I still find that so much of what I see in random browsing is superficial. I don't care that someone has hundreds of followers if his/her tweets don't provide quality. I try to make sure most of mine do. (And I have to admit I am proud when I gain a follower, disappointed when I lose one.) Similarly, I just don't understand how someone can follow hundreds and filter all the good stuff. I know people manage to do just that.

This raises a unique challenge for educators, one that is part of the shift taking place. We have to help young people--who, as Dana Boyd reminded us at annual convention, live public lives by default--to operate meaningfully in that realm when so many of us are just figuring it out ourselves. In many ways it necessitates that we be the adults, the ones with the aligned moral compasses, while maintaining the exploratory nature of youth. Personally, I find that a wonderful way to live.

That's why I am sure I will return for more Twitter chats, particularly those for #isedchat. Even if I never quite get it, I know I will learn other things from those folks. They prompt me to think, and that's the ultimate benefit.

 

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On Blogging during Break

The first day of Thanksgiving break, and I woke up with an idea for a blog post racing through my head. As usual, it didn't crystallize completely at that time; instead, as I was running around through the day, I found myself mentally drafting as bits developed. At several points I wanted to begin writing, but either I was doing something else or I resisted the temptation. But now early evening has arrived, and I can begin composing. However, I am not expounding on that initial idea. Instead, I am reflecting on the anecdote.

You may be reaching some conclusions about what this scenario says about my work habits, mainly that I don't know how to turn it off. Perhaps. My wife says I don't know how to simply be. Again, perhaps. As usual, the truth lies somewhere in between. She is right in that, unless I am watching a soccer game, I tend to keep busy, often with tasks. But, while my mind seldom shuts down, I do not put in ridiculously long hours that often.

The real point of the post has to do with my relationship with blogging. Even before I came to St. John's, I had toyed with the idea of starting a blog. But I was sort of like the shy boy who gazes longingly at the beautiful girl, fantasizing about their relationship but never gathering the courage to ask her out. Basically, I couldn't imagine an audience. Then when I came to St. John's, the Director of Communications encouraged me to start one as a way parents could begin to know me better. I don't know how well the blog achieved that goal, but two years later the audience has grown. Now I feel as if I wooed the girl and convinced her to marry me. As in any marriage, effort is required to keep it going, full of both pain and reward. The pain comes from difficulty of the writing itself--each facet of the process, the self-doubt, the public nature of it. It's very different than turning in a paper for a class or submitting a manuscript for possible publication. The blog is all you, all the time, responsible for every aspect of it.

I find it incredibly disappointing when a blog dies, abandoned by its creator, no longer lovingly nourished through regular cerebral feelings. You can see it coming. The posts become less frequent, the content less stimulating, as if the author has begun to bore him- or herself. Though the author owes me nothing--and, I hate to admit, I did not encourage through comments or Tweets--I still feel somehow betrayed. When reading a book or article, you know it will end, even wonder how it will, appreciate the fabulous wrap up. But a blog seems to carry an inherent pledge of infinite development.

Therein lies another motivation. I see that infinite development as indicative of the blogger's own growth. I will use first person, but I suspect this point is axiomatic. For this blog to flourish, I must provide stimulation not only for readers, but also myself. In fact, I doubt I could do the former without the latter. So the blog becomes another motivation, another impetus to keep discovering more and to figure out how it fits into this incredibly complex pursuit of education.

Thus, the rewards. Yes, a larger audience and burgeoning view count is nice. The reflection is wonderful. But perhaps more than anything, blogging puts me in the position of student, with the pressure of having to deliver something that passes muster. As a head of school, I don't have as much contact with students as I used to, and it's critical that I keep in mind their experience.

Yes, it's Thanksgiving break. No one expects a post. I don't have to publish one. I just want to.

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Social Media as It Should Be

The first link in the chain was a phone call. It's the old way we used to hear news from afar, and still the best when the news is bad. The inflections of the human voice affirm the shared emotions and provide support. I felt truly grateful.

The next link came when I decided to write a blog post titled "RIP Coach." I did so partly because it was cathartic, but also to honor the person because his life embodied so many of the points I've made throughout this blog. His life taught. So it felt very natural.

The third link came when I emailed someone at his school to let her know about the post. It helped me to write the piece, so I thought someone might want to read it. Not a phone call, but perhaps still helpful.

Then the links started joining fast. She responded gratefully to the email and told me she had posted about it on the school's Facebook sites for the community and alumni. Suddenly the post was getting hundreds more views than any of my others. It turns out that people had then put the link on their Facebook pages and Tweeted it. Meanwhile, people were sharing thoughts on a page set up on the school's site. I was seeing names from many years before. Some commented on the blog; I received several emails; and a few began to follow me on Twitter. I quickly sensed that these young folks i had worked with over twenty years ago had grown up quite nicely. At a much-needed time, it was powerful and affirming.

I mean that not just in a personal sense but also about social media. No, this wasn't an Arab Spring revolution spurred by thousands of Tweets or even a viral video. But it did connect people, however briefly, in a fashion and time that matter. It's all been very healthy and positive. A few years ago it wasn't possible, and now it feels quite natural. For that we should be quite grateful.

It also should remind us about some huge responsibilities about social media. We live in a reality blended of off- and on-line activity, and that has implications for the development of a whole and unified self. This goes beyond harnessing the power of these tools for their amazing educational potential, although tons of work remains to be done in this area. I still see and hear of too much behavior on-line that I suspect (hope?) that people would not do in person. Sometimes we breach common civilities because the tools can make doing so easier and more comfortable. Those are the times we must call on our better selves.

And when we do, as this recent chain of events show, social media is a gift we all can open and enjoy. The story also reminds us that sometimes the old-fashioned way is best. A phone call. Maybe even a real face-to-face conversation.

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