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.

Trending? Or Timeless?

            In the section on journalism in his World Without Mind,Franklin Foer argues the primary force now is “trending.” Even more than clicks and views and likes and reposts, journalists worry about what’s trending and react accordingly. It almost seems the reverse of the time-honored notion of the scoop. This, in turn, drastically affects one’s perceptions and even larger understandings. I’ve been wondering if the same focus isn’t part of what’s been haunting independent education.

            If you know me, whether personally or through this blog and my Twitter stream, you know I believe strongly in progressive, innovative movement in education. For years I’ve preached, “Evolve or die.” While rather dramatic, it also strikes me as too patient. Somewhere is that sweet spot at which we move forward with due haste…and with due thoughtfulness.

            Many schools are doing some extraordinary work, keeping their DNA while still significantly adapting programs and practices to meet student’s needs right now and in the future. For example, many schools have “academic excellence” as part of their mission statements. Just what does that mean, especially in 2018? What are the implications of our conclusions? What should change? How far are we willing to go? How honestly are we answering these questions?

            It often seems that school are, like those journalists, reacting to trends. In some ways it’s a form of silver bullet, latest and greatest thinking born of a desire to improve. That’s been a long-term practice in education. (Should I have said trend?) Recall when television and filmstrips were the greatest? Individualized reading packets with leveled comprehension tests? More current examples are makerspaces and mindfulness. So many schools have rushed to create specific makerspaces and to incorporate mindfulness. Both have value, but we need to think very deeply about these ideas big picture. For example, if a school believes in the principles of a maker space—and they are exciting—they should not be limited to a space if the rest of the program remains much the same. Instead, it should flow throughout the school. (I’ve written more extensively about this idea here.) As for mindfulness, given the increased rates of anxiety among our students, I’m glad we’re doing something. But there is a very pressing, further reaching question: what is our role in creating the need for mindfulness programs and what do we do to change that?

I wonder, just as media grabs onto what’s trending to gain an audience, whether schools sometime do the same because of legitimate fears of financial sustainability. It certainly explains some other current, perhaps unhealthy, things occurring in many schools. They are primarily part of how we operate as businesses. For example, I hear more references to our customers. I see it in some of the ways we brand and market ourselves. I’m not opposed to these things; and while hopelessly romantic idealist in some ways, I fully accept that independent schools are businesses. The question lies in how we do that business. How have we, as one head wrote, moved to such a contractual relationship in our communities? Meanwhile, are we plumbing our souls? Baring them? Or selling them?

I don’t think it’s the latter. At least not very much. Quality educators remain committed to mission and ideals and kids. But I’m not sure we have enough of the first two. After all, we scream, there isn’t time for all that reflection. Perhaps that is because we’re so busy grabbing on to the next best thing, whatever is trending at the time. Ironically, and this is where I draw the significant hope, at this point in time, so much of what’s trending harkens to the timeless, most precious elements of human learning.

My Election Day 2018 Message

The following is the note I shared with employees at St. John's Episcopal School today. People's responses prompt me to post it here.

                Yesterday at the ISAS Heads of School meeting, I was talking with a friend about the state of our nation right now. We shared a fear: that no matter the results of today’s election, no one wins. We see the potential for (perhaps the likelihood of) wider division, increased vitriol, and more aggressive lashing out.
                I think, individually and collectively, our nation is tired. Bone tired. Our souls are pleading for rest and healing. Psychic and spiritual health suffers when we are battered with negative energy jolts that drive us to fear and fret rather than aspire and hope. We thrive on love, yet the air feels filled with hate.
                Hatred comes out in humans in a unique fashion. In other species hatred arises out of a survival instinct. In humans, while there is some of that, hatred often spews out of a desire to express supremacy. In current times both notions seem applicable. Whatever the cause, hatred in any form directly contradicts one of the main tenets we preach at St. John’s, which beseeches us to be a community where we respect the dignity of every human being. One of the things I most appreciate about our school is that we strive to do this.
                Always keep that ideal in mind. Do so especially on days like today and tomorrow, when people will be feeling the gamut of emotions. Some may feel nothing. You may, as I do feel particularly vulnerable at such times, when it feels as if any encounter could spin out of control. Whatever you may feel, such times challenge us to suppress our primal instincts and to invoke our higher angels.
                When you find that difficult, think of this. We are among the lucky ones. Our calling as educators empowers us to positively influence the next generation, helping them grow into the type of leaders we need, mainly by demanding and modeling the right behavior. Speaking to the heads this morning, Brene Brown pointed out that education is the most important inflection point for meaningful change on a large scale. It’s where leadership matters most. That’s truly awesome—as in great and as in awe inspiring.