I was given the opportunity to present a session at a conference out of state last week in beautiful Moorhead, Minnesota. I’ve spent months going rounds in my head over the logistics of it, my reasons for wanting to go at all and whether or not they were the right ones, who would be adversely impacted by my leaving and how everything about this adventure would be perceived by others. In the mind of a gifted adult, these things matter greatly.

I use the word “adventures” with intention. I’m the type who has been quite afraid to do anything different the majority of her life. I was taught early on that the purpose for travel was to get to a new place to live where a job existed. There was no room for adventure or travel beyond the type that led to gainful employment. Exploration of a new place had a purpose–to locate the grocery store, doctor’s office, mechanic’s shop, bank, and going beyond a five mile radius was just silly because everything you needed was right there–that’s how cities are set up. I grew up walking to the grocery store because we didn’t have a car, not because it was nearby and it made more sense. When you went outside, it was to get somewhere specific and rarely for fun. You parked near to where you were going and didn’t “wander.” You got in and got out. Hiking or traipsing through the woods was silly–it accomplished nothing and was a waste of time. Even going to Denver, which is 45 minutes away, is seen as silly to my family–why go there for anything? So I have had an anti-adventure story in my head for a long time.

I felt ridiculous asking questions like “What the hell do you mean I have to fit my hair and beauty products in a quart sized bag and how on EARTH do they think any woman on this planet can do that with only ONE and what is the rationale behind it? Why does TSA get to decide how I pack?” I felt silly asking what going through TSA was like–the last time I was in an airport, TSA didn’t exist and your people walked you to the gate and waved from inside as you took off. (This was back when peanuts were still provided to all passengers and you hoped you got the dry roasted ones and not the honey roasted ones and kids got wings from the airline.) I felt stupid when I did finally buy my tickets and realized a $173 fare is actually $307 because you need to bring a bag with you and now you get to pay for the privilege of having luggage. I am pretty low maintenance, but I am not capable of living out of my tote-size purse for two days no matter how intentional and minimalist I am with packing.

The drama in my head over the GETTING to Minnesota expended more energy than actually going.

People gripe about air travel fairly often. Long lines, rude TSA people, being stuffed much like sardines into winged tubes capable of flight because science. Horror stories are shared on social media like sixth-grade girl gossip. I found parking in the cheap lot at DIA. I rode the shuttle without much drama, connecting with a woman who travels often for work and was headed to St. Paul for a wedding on the way in and a sweet man who was on his way home from a two week business trip in Atlanta only to be unable to find his keys and a family with two very unamused littles who still had a four hour drive to Wyoming to undertake once they found their car. TSA out of Denver was business-like, but not rude, and out of Fargo was kind and funny.

“You’re just a girl, standing in front of a TSA agent, wanting to go home, aren’t you?”

Clearly, I am an easy read.

My flights were uneventful beyond sitting with someone who knows the man I love more than anything and his shop. We talked fishing in Elevenmile and Catholicism (and recovery) and kids and hot dish. Two hours went by quickly. The captain warned of turbulence both ways, but I didn’t notice any–at least not the kind I remember from when I was young. Planes were landed like warm butter on toast–clearly all those “How to Land a Plane” YouTube videos paid off.

Leaving the airport to meet the lovely woman who would drive me to campus and dinner, I noticed how absolutely breathtaking somewhere different can be. Fargo isn’t a traditionally beautiful place, but the difference between what I’m used to and what it looks like to an outsider makes it lovely. It’s like the morning pictures a friend posts from out east every day–we are looking at the same sunrise, but her view is quite different from the prairie than mine is from inside the city. The green in Minnesota is different. It’s just more vibrant and their trees are fuller and more varied in size and type. I’m sitting on my deck and I have some fairly decent sized pine trees and some thinned aspen (snow destroyed many of the branches in May…) and a few cottonwood. That’s kinda it for my five mile radius. And it’s familiar.

The conference was held on the campus of Concordia College, which is kind of in the middle of Moorhead from what I could tell. You have to remember that I didn’t attend a “real” college so this was very different with lush trees, a pond, old buildings with a history that didn’t involve tuberculosis, benches and chairs outside surrounded by sculptures, and updated buildings complete with local art celebrating the area and purposeful seating. UCCS was four buildings big with no dorms and I lived in my parents’ basement. I went to work and class and sometimes out with friends, but I didn’t hang out there much unless I was between classes. I’ve often felt like I missed out on what college should have been…and yes, as I walked back in the rain from the building the conference was held in, I let tears fall and meet the raindrops on my cheeks.

The conference itself was wonderful. The keynote speaker, a local education celebrity, was incredibly inspiring and brought us all to tears more than once. She gets it. She understands why we choose to do this “Big Work” and to keep coming back year after year to serve kids. I’ll write more about her soon–still so much to process.

The people attending and presenting at the conference were mostly alumni of Concordia, which I found fascinating. Most of them lived in or around Moorhead, serving kids in schools within a few hours of there and had grown up nearby. One teaches in Kuwait at a private school, but comes home every summer and is getting married next month, and then she and her husband will decide if they want to keep teaching overseas or come back to the US and settle in. Their philosophy of education wasn’t too different overall from our teachers here in CO, but the resources they used and how they used them were different. We talked about strikes and reasonable pay and teacher shortages and snow days (or lack thereof) and where we get ideas and how we implement them in the classroom.

I was, again, the only speaker advocating for gifted kids and their needs. In my session, I had about 20 people, and though few identified as teaching gifted kids in their classrooms, as I described the variety of gifted profiles, I saw heads begin to nod, and pens furiously jotting notes. As we talked about the short piece that I’d brought to share and discussed how to go from “What’s the setting and who are the characters” type of questions to “What current events might the author be alluding to in this piece” and “What does this writer intentionally do in this piece to help you identify with it?” and “Why would she bother to write such a piece? What message might she be sharing?” I saw lightbulbs… They got it.

Gifted kids need different questioning and discussion and opportunity to explore a piece of literature in a way that is inherently more complex than the typical kids you are serving…but all of them benefit from being a part of this work.

I had a few stick around after my session was over and ask questions and request copies of my presentation. I found emails in my inbox later from others asking for support in getting their administrators to allow for a class for THESE kids…something that addresses their need to explore literature and write at a more complex level. A member of the faculty asked for my presentation as well–that meant so much. Clearly, there’s a need beyond Colorado’s colleges and universities for gifted education in teacher prep programs.

I spent most of the day after the conference in deep reflection. I walked to a coffee shop about 15 minutes away, explored parks on the way there and back, admired flowers and beautiful homes, and wandered a bit, just to see what was there. This wasn’t a traditional adventure with lots of sightseeing, but for me, it was a chance to reflect on what I want my life to be and how I can fulfill my “Why.”

To engage in work that impacts the world around me positively so that others can grow, learn, and honor one another.

This adventure fulfilled my “Why.” I wonder what the next one will hold.

As a staff, we’ve been doing a book study on Onward by Elena Aguilera. This month’s chapter has to do with change and how we handle it…from the things we can completely control (how we plan, how neat (or not) our classrooms or offices are, how we react to situations that arise throughout the day) to the things we don’t have any say in at all (choices made by others, both those on our behalf and those that have nothing to do with us directly).

I binged a little on Brené Brown’s Netflix special yesterday (fine, I watched it three times in a row) and it tied really well to this month’s chapter. She talks a lot about being vulnerable, putting ourselves out there and taking risks both personally and professionally. Accepting and handling change is a big piece of “Daring Greatly.” As I listened to her, I realized that so much of what I’ve chosen to do in my job, and in my life beyond it, has been daring greatly. I got into the arena. I got bloody and hurt. I felt humiliation created by my own mistakes and by the criticism of others…especially those who just don’t understand. They seem to have the most to say. She said a couple of things that really hit home:

“If you are not in the arena getting your ass kicked daily, I am not interested in your feedback about my work.”

“You cannot take criticism and feedback from people who are not being brave in their lives.”

Both of these resonated with me so much as I was reading April’s Onward chapter too. So often I’ve encountered the “backfire effect” Aguilera speaks of, and having to determine which fight is the good fight. I’ve rode the wave of change all year, and at times, I’ve wondered if I’m resilient or confident enough for this work at all.

As educators, we’ve all had to think of change as opportunity at some point in our careers. For some it was a question of what else is out there. For others, it was escaping somewhere that simply wasn’t a good fit. I knew in my gut my first year of teaching that where I was wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I desperately wanted it to be. I adored my kids, and loved that I was seen as a leader in our building. I still had a lot to learn about teaching and the district I was in offered fabulous professional development opportunities. But I knew in my gut once things got rolling that it wasn’t where I was meant to be forever. I told myself I’d stick it out three years, and then if I still felt the same, I’d at least have three years of experience under my belt. And the second year, I still knew…and the third, the Universe screamed at me that I needed to listen now… And my current school was just in the beginning stages of being “born.” And between the people and the ideas, I knew I found my home.

I think back to when my current role became an opportunity for me. I loved being a teacher. I loved my kids and the community we created and I was unsure about how it would go…whether I’d earned the right to be in this role at all. I’d already gone to half-time in the classroom, teaching language arts and math, spending afternoons trying to find quiet space in our building for gifted testing and paperwork, developing presentations on NWEA MAP testing and how to use it with gifted students and a few other beginning level presentations, and going to district level GT meetings. I’d ended up also being another available body when kids needed breaks outside of the classroom or somewhere else to work, or parents needed to talk, or teachers needed a break or coverage when they couldn’t come in or had to leave early. But I was still very much a part of my classroom. Going from full-time teacher to half-teacher-half-GT hadn’t been too hard. I’d asked how I could impact things on a larger scale and this was a need that was available to fill.

It wasn’t a big change for the kids, since I was still in the classroom a lot of the time when I wasn’t testing someone or in a meeting. They could ask questions of me and I was still a resource for them even if I wasn’t teaching the lesson. I tried to stay out of lessons though–there was a perfectly capable teacher in the room that wasn’t me.

I remember being excited about the possibilities it held. I’d get to create my job description because the wonderful, brilliant woman who held the position before I would had only held it a short time before going back into the classroom–it hadn’t gotten fleshed out completely yet. I remember making lists of things that this role COULD entail… And I remember thinking about how I’d tell the kids I was moving into this role, how to word it so they understood that I wouldn’t be in our classroom next year–but still in the building down the hall a bit. And I remember how most responded “Eh…ok.” and how one in particular went to the back of the room, sobbing, refusing to come out. I remember texting her mother “I think I broke your daughter…” And I remember how all the happiness and excitement I felt about the change drained away when I realized that I would lose that part of my identity.

This time of year I wrestle with how my role should change. I’m confronted with others who tell me what they think I ought to have been doing all year, comments from parents and others outside about what they wish my role involved, as well as my own hopes and dreams for it. I was talking with one of our kids and noted that I got to create my own job description pretty much–he thought that was pretty cool. So do I. I still have so much to learn, both about gifted education and administration, and so many ways this role can grow and change. I keep seeking out information as I find I need it, clarification so that I can make decisions that will impact others, and support as I continue to grow. Even the lobster looks to the rocks for support after outgrowing one shell while the next develops.

“If we find a way to coast through tumultuous moments, if we cultivate trust in others and in uncertainty, and if we stay calm and focused, we might experience grace and joy while we’re riding the waves of change. We might even find that we are drawn to change when we feel confident in our ability to navigate its waters, and that we are happier and more resilient when we return to dry land. ” – Aguilar, Elena. Onward: Cultivating Emotional Resilience in Educators (Kindle Locations 6292-6295). Wiley. Kindle Edition.

A teacher in a group I participate in sent along a Facebook post that her local university was hosting a literacy conference and she noted that people in the group had valuable knowledge and expertise to share–would they consider submitting a proposal to present a session? It’s a smallish school, but the conference has been well-received in the past and thought members of the group might be a good fit.

I submitted on a whim one night thinking surely they’d reject my proposal. It would address giftedness, which most education conferences aren’t interested in–their participants want remediation strategies, curriculum and cross-curricular ideas, and tips and tricks for typical or kids with special needs. In all the conferences I have gone to that were not a gifted focus to begin with, there were perhaps 2 or three gifted sessions out of several hundred others. It’s important that teachers get the opportunity to learn about these kids, and many won’t be provided much in the way of professional development otherwise.

I was thrilled to get an email from a sweet woman at the university inviting me to present a few weeks ago. I started looking into the cost, and she offered a number of options that will save me a little money. I still have to figure out the flight, but other logistics fell into place well and her kindness will be remembered. I hope I can pay it forward someday for another teacher.

There’s research to suggest that attending conferences, particularly education conferences, is the least effective way for teachers to get professional development. I understand and have overheard lots of conversations among teachers about how they feel about conferences. Teachers are overwhelmed by the number of sessions, unsure as to which they should attend. They go in with little to no forethought as to what would be useful and end up choosing sessions based on other’s suggestions or they simply guess that something might be interesting. Others fixate on what their administrator told them to attend, but don’t understand why they’re there, so they furiously take notes in the hopes that it’ll be what their admin wanted. Some bail completely and use the time away to catch up on grading, emails, and other projects while sitting in the common areas of the hotels. Others spend it in their rooms, watching the cable they can’t afford at home and taking some well-deserved time for self-care. While these last two are definitely not the norm, overall, conference attendance provides a few takeaways, but nothing that is able to be implemented in their buildings beyond their classroom or within their team.

Presenting at conferences isn’t a moneymaker. Generally you not only pay your own registration to the conference, but you also pay for the hotel and other related expenses. They’re not cheap, often charging $200-$400 plus the cost of the hotel, which is in the neighborhood of $200 itself. Some are kind enough to offer a small discount on conference registration and/or the hotel. Even staying off-site is difficult, because surrounding hotels raise their rates knowing the group rate at the sponsoring location. You aren’t paid, but you do get to meet some lovely people and make networking connections, which often matters quite a bit–education is all about knowing the right people, and sometimes you can find them in a presenter or attendee.

In my last post, I worked my way through finding my “why.” I’ve been thinking long and hard as to whether what I choose to participate in fits with that statement:

To engage in work that impacts the world around me positively so that others can grow, learn, and honor one another.

I brought up this opportunity to a friend in context with my why and she had some good questions. She came at this from a very different perspective, having a role other than teacher in a school. After we chatted, I tried to hide my hurt for a few days and wasn’t really successful–it hurt a lot to have someone say essentially that the thing I enjoy most in my role isn’t worthy of doing because it takes away from what others feel I should be focusing on. She noted that I ought to rethink about my purpose in presenting at conferences or even attending them at all since they do cost so much and research shows they aren’t worthwhile anyway. She questioned: am I doing it for the good of the school and our kids or for me personally? The latter is incredibly selfish, and in either case, why should a school pay for it if I benefit from the professional development? How do any of the conferences I plan to attend or have attended in the past align with the priorities of our building, our initiatives, our work? What benefit does the staff get if I go? Why would we bother to send me, who is no longer in the classroom, over other staff who is? Why should a school pay for any professional development for teachers as a whole if they, personally, are the only ones who are benefitting from having gone, and even that’s a stretch because no one ever knows what they learned from being their or how it will be implemented? No other industry pays for professional development–why should a school when those funds could be used for something more worthwhile?

I gave all of this a lot of thought. I wrote out my thinking, sharing it with a few who could help. My friend’s comments were hurtful in the moment, I won’t lie, but they did get me thinking, so were ultimately helpful. Why do we offer professional development to teachers and how can we make it more “for the good of all”? How can we make it affordable for teachers to go, while at the same time providing relevant and useful information that teachers can use and share with others in a format that is worthwhile?

Thinking beyond, if this is my why, “To engage in work that impacts the world around me positively so that others can grow, learn, and honor one another” how does my work as a presenter, a teacher, fit in to that? I find I keep going back and forth about it, from backing up altogether (“I won’t bother presenting anymore since too many are adversely impacted when I do”) to doubling down (“No, I ought to continue presenting and create a more diverse offering of topics as well to both meet my own need to learn and that of others.”) What other pieces of my world do I need to change or remove myself from in order to continue to honor my Why? Which organizations and obligations grow my Why and which am I participating in out of obligation?

I hope you’ve been thinking about your Why… And now that our school year is drawing to a close, what opportunities can you change in your world to better suit your why or your school’s why as a whole?

I had lunch with a good friend last week. She’s the type of friend who is able to read me like a book, before I’ve ever said a word–I suspect you have friends like this too. Outwardly, she’s the type who looks like she really has her shit together, but in real life, she’s just as anxious as the rest of us, trying to make sense of everything and find her way. But she knows things, and provides clarity when I can’t see the forest much less the trees.

As we chatted, this constant search of mine for my “Why” came up–why I do what I do, why I chose this profession and this population of kids, why I have a sense of duty to people, to organizations, to order, why it pisses me off so much when people are dishonest, not demonstrating integrity, or otherwise being unkind. It’s been something I’ve been playing around with for a while. I’ve read up a fair bit on the subject, and one of the things that’s key to it is that your why statement should be “evergreen,” meaning that it should encompass both one’s personal and professional lives. I’ve tried in vain for months to figure out how to separate the two, but it seems they are stuck together with each impacting the other.

The template for one’s why looks like this:

To _______________________ so that _____________________.

The first blank is your contribution. The second is the impact of that contribution. Neither blank should be product based, which is incredibly difficult because so much of our lives ARE based in products–what we can give or do for someone else, something tangible. It seems really simple to just write it, but it’s not. The perfectionism within myself won’t let it be a one-draft kind of thing.

Part of the purpose for our lunch, beyond catching up and spending some time together, was to work through the steps in Simon Sinek’s book Find Your Why. He has a great talk that goes along with it too–it’s geared very much toward business, but resonates with me anyway.

It’s hard for me to see myself as a leader in any capacity. I need to put that out there in the name of honesty. My job requires me to be a leader, but there is a constant undercurrent of imposter syndrome with everything I do, every action I take–personally or professionally.

We talked about what makes me most happy. I love preparing a presentation and essentially “lesson planning” how that time might go. I enjoy thinking about what I want the participants to leave me thinking about. I love how I feel after a presentation session that’s gone well. I’m almost high, honestly. And I float for hours. When I was in the classroom, I loved creating units of instruction and testing them to see how they’d go. I never saw unit planning as “work.” It was my chance to be creative and innovate. I enjoy working with teachers to give them ideas to try, resources to incorporate, and information that might make their world a little easier. And I enjoy following up to see how those gifts worked out–did they work? were they tweaked? did they bomb? And then investigating why something didn’t go well is just as rewarding for me–problem solving is fascinating.

Something that came up several times during our conversation is the idea of risk–those situations that present themselves as an offer of growth but come with “unknown” attached. My friend noted that she’s noticed there’s a piece of me that likes the idea of taking a risk and doing something new, but at the same time, I’m very apprehensive, wanting to be sure that I do it “right.” She noted that I’m quick to back up when I get feedback that isn’t given with a sense of support behind it, that kind of feedback that is masked criticism. I almost immediately back off, offering to abandon the work altogether or hand it off to someone else others would feel more comfortable with. I’ve gotten better with this only because my current position requires that I grow in this area and get to the point that I’m able to justify choices I make that impact others. Risk is scary, and in some ways, almost terrifying. All the “what ifs” in my anxiety-ridden head come to the party, which creates more drama than is really needed. So far the risks I’ve taken have been productive and I’ve grown, both of which matter very much.

I spent the majority of Spring Break mulling over these conversations and how they apply to my “Why.” The following screenshot popped into my social media feed on Friday, and it spoke to me:

I have no idea who wrote it or what app it came off of so I can’t give credit to the author, but I thought to myself that those words are essentially my Why in a nutshell.

So here’s a draft (because there will be others) of my Why Statement.

To engage in work that impacts the world around me positively so that others can grow, learn, and honor one another.

What does the draft of your “Why” look like?

There’s a particular time of year in which some teachers, definitely administrators, and others who work in a school begin thinking about next year, essentially having feet in two worlds for several months as one school year is coming to a close and another is beginning.

I gave up trying to use a typical planner long ago because my world doesn’t exist January to December. It exists July to July with some overlap during that month. I can’t set quarterly goals typical of an entrepreneur because there is so much ebb and flow to my year that I have distinct periods of time when goal-reaching can occur…

March through June, for me, is the most exhausting, rivaled only by October and February. I find myself having to be reactive to situations I swore were addressed in September more than once and that is upsetting. Questions run through my head quite often as I have to reflect on why something once again went south or simply didn’t run as smoothly as it should have or what I missed altogether. I find myself making plans for next school year, events and speakers, running on the assumption that a random date next March will magically draw a crowd this time instead of just the 20 people who show up to everything. I look through my ever growing to do list, having given up in November adding due dates because I learned two years ago that my priorities aren’t always seen as priorities for others (and sometimes others just don’t know they exist at all which is no one’s fault) and since there are a finite number of hours in the day, things I think are important often get pushed aside to be considered another day in favor of what others need or want to see happen in the “right now.”

I’m thinking of all the things that went well and all the things that are still needed. I’m thinking about things I’ll do differently, and how to get people to understand the thinking behind some of the decisions we make and the long term impact beyond just today. What do we need to purchase? What do we need to change? What do we arrange for that’s missing? What do we use? Why do we use it? How are we using the resources we have already? Or are we at all?

I’m thinking of how to address the constant requests for “more time” when there’s only 24 hours in the day and it’s not looking like there will be any hours added and I have nowhere to move the things that exist on plates…and no additional plates.

I’m thinking about leadership and boundaries and honoring people’s time and my own as well. I’m thinking about ways to empower teachers to take ownership when it feels like everything should be someone else’s task because there’s already so much to do.

I’m thinking about how to support families who are new and wanting to see a school that THEY envision in their heads…which doesn’t always match the actuality of what we do or who we serve. I’m thinking about the feedback I’ve gotten all year, the criticism and the praise and how they essentially cancel one another out–for every comment about what is wrong, there’s one mentioning something done right.

I’m thinking about how to support people and yet hold them accountable for information, tasks, and basic professional adulting. I’m thinking about what “professionalism” looks like in this business, because there is both an art and science to this work and there has to be room for both… There’s an element of professionalism in education that looks very different from other industries…and it should, but there’s also pieces that overlap and need to.

I’m thinking about how to get others on the same page and be able to share messages about the work we do and why we do what we do for the population we serve…it goes beyond “I wanted to be a teacher since I was four.” Why are we in this specific place working with this specific population of kids? We all had choices about where to land…why did we choose here?

I’m thinking about what I want for myself as I grow professionally. What organizations do I want to be involved with beyond my job? How do I want my service to others to be–or do I want to leave it open ended according to need, spreading myself among many? How do I put boundaries around my time when it comes to working in other capacities to ensure that my time is honored instead of assigned? What parts of my work do I want to grow? Delegate? Eliminate altogether?

And always back to that question…What’s my Why?

This is the time of year that the Why looms over every conversation, decision, and action I take. This is the time of year in which second-guessing is an everyday occurrence.

I’ve come to the realization that I can’t make everyone happy though. Someone will *always* be unhappy with something I’ve said or done or the impact a decision made had on them. What gets missed is that for most of us in an organization, we each exist in a tunnel of sorts, with all of us heading toward the same destination for the most part but each traveling in our own tunnel. Each tunnel is of different widths, and encompasses more information or less depending on the role we play and connects to others at variety of points, much like exits on a highway. Some are narrow with only a few exits, and those traveling within them can see a limited end, perhaps a particular project or result. Other tunnels are vast and those traveling within them see not only immediate needs but those in the long term as well as the impact that the organization can have beyond the confines of its walls. It’s these that often branch beyond the smaller exits, creating new tunnels that connect to others and who can still see the big picture, but also the greater impact. It’s these that understand the Why and have their feet in two worlds…sometimes more.

A school leader I’ve met a few times says that if you learn, it’s your own fault. He’s a pretty amazing guy, very charismatic, but also incredibly practical. He said once during a training that it’s the job of school leaders to train up people so that they grow out of their jobs. It’s not because he doesn’t believe in keeping good teachers, but the best educators are the ones who keep growing, and for some, that means growing into other positions, either within the school or beyond it.

I had the opportunity to go to another school in my district today and observe. It’s very different from the one I serve in, with a very different population and focus, having lots of very cool things going on, from a STEAM-focused class that integrated science and art and writing and discussion toward a large-scale project to practice for a musical performance using a variety of instruments to tell a story. I had some particular things to be on the lookout for, but I found myself looking at general practice in the building more than anything else.

I saw a school that takes great pride in the work they’re doing with kids. I saw teachers who are trying to do right by the kids they serve, providing them instruction that makes sense for where they are. I saw teachers and support staff who have followed a calling. None of the work they did with kids came off as being a chore–they were doing it because they love the kids and want to see them grow. Everyone I spoke with were respectful of the kids they serve, excited to be doing this work, and though they acknowledged the challenges they face, they were generally happy to be there.

I’ve felt incredibly critical of everything lately but I haven’t known quite what to do about those feelings. I’ve been critical of myself, wondering if I’m doing right by the people I serve, by our mission and vision, in any and all aspects of the role I play in our school, and imposter syndrome has won more days than I have. I’ve been critical of others, trying desperately to reframe frustration into curiosity, remembering that change takes time and that all of this is a marathon, not a sprint. I’ve been critical of the world we live in, with all the public shaming of teachers and the work we’re trying to do going on. When I try to talk about things, it comes off as complaining, which isn’t my intent. When I hold it all in, I just get angry.

But today, I got to observe somewhere else entirely and see what was going on in another school, with teachers who have challenges, who are tired, who teach differently than I would, who help kids create music and art and words and connections. I couldn’t be critical…what they do is valuable and they’re serving the kids they have, not the ones they wish they had. It’s very different from my own school just looking into classrooms and seeing the instructional practices in action. I’d be curious to talk to teachers in more depth about their practice…what they’re content with and what they wish for.

It was different…but it was very good. Sometimes professional development goes beyond the conference or the webinar. Sometimes it comes from watching other people do your job with the kids they serve differently than you would with the kids you serve. Sometimes it comes from talking to someone with challenges that are very different from yours, not to commiserate, but to see things a bit differently. Sometimes professional development is simply suspending judgment long enough to just notice things…what’s on the wall, in the bookcase, how kids are responding to text, how teachers are responding to kids, and how kids are responding to each other.

It was a good day. I learned some things and it’s all my fault. And I think I grew a bit.