Upon Further Reflection…
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
― Søren Kierkegaard
Unlike other jobs, the job of teaching is divided neatly into year-long increments and punctuated by lengthy, well-timed breaks that we call summer vacations. The year may happen in dribs and drabs over days and weeks and months, but it lends itself nicely to be considered in the tidy little package of a single school year, with just the right amount of time after one ends and the next begins. Summer, then, becomes the perfect space to reflect and try to understand backwards as Kierkegaard suggests, what really happened.
The 20/21 school year was extraordinary for so many reasons, It was both slow and uncertain and frenetic and overwhelming. Schools re-imagined education in obvious and not-so-obvious ways. Probably more than any other time in history, teachers learned as much as they taught. Yes, we learned the technology—the how-to of engaging our students from afar—but just as importantly, we learned to engage our own humanity. We learned the precarious juggling act of holding fast to something vital, like our passion for English or Science or History, while at the same time letting go of something vital, like traditional lesson planning, rigid unit goals and objective assessments. We learned that as important as our subjects are, the human beings in front of us are even more important.
There were large and small victories and equally compelling annoyances and setbacks. There was heartbreak. And, more heartbreak. And hope and kindness and generosity and growth. And, yes, there was education—maybe not the kind we were used to—but teaching and learning, nonetheless, that took place in ways that we can see clearly now and in others that we probably won’t for years.
And so now I find myself reflecting—not only on what happened during the last school year and how it affected me and my students—but also on the act of reflecting. I believe in the writerly idea that when we formally reflect on something and write it down, it helps us to understand it more fully and in some ways, to still it in time. This is what I tell my high school seniors, anyway, as I ask them to engage in the final assignment of the year—a reflection.
My prompt to them will be something like this: Reflect on what happened. What were some of the most challenging aspects of school this year? How did you cope? What did you learn? What did this year take from you that you probably won’t get back? Were there any unexpected benefits—or silver linings? What will you tell your grandchildren about your senior year of high school?
As I begin to do the very thing that I am asking them to do, a couple of big truths start to emerge:
Flexibility is more than just the ability to adjust to change. It’s the ability to recognize and understand the inherent problems and possibilities in any new situation and use every ounce of your skill set to solve those problems and embrace those possibilities.
I became a teacher because I loved my subject, but 34 years later, it is apparent that I am still a teacher because I love my students. You can never really understand the small magic that happens between teachers and students until you do this job for a while. Although I’ve certainly had my share of negative experiences over the years, mostly I have been lucky to experience this job in a way that brings me much more joy and satisfaction than anything else.
It’s okay for me to use the word L-word when talking about my students. Maybe because I’m a middle-aged woman or maybe because of the pain of this last year, letting my students know that I care deeply about them—love them—as people, has become just as important as teaching them.
Smiling is important. Human connections are full of non-verbal communication and I realized pretty early on during this year of mask wearing, that I really missed the ability to convey so effortlessly my delight at something a student said, or my pride at a well-done essay or my simple happiness to see my students walk into my classroom.
Collegial relationships are everything. Never before have I been so connected or so grateful for the relationships I have with my colleagues. Maybe because our connection with school—our students, our classrooms, our administration—seemed, at times, so tenuous, the relationships I have built with the colleagues I work most closely with grew incredibly strong and important. We shared ideas and resources, problems, disappointments, triumphs, comfort and encouragement with each other. We planned, problem solved and laughed together. In so many online teacher forums, I read about teachers feeling isolated and disconnected during this difficult chapter and I realize how lucky I am to feel the exact opposite.
Some kids just didn’t show up and I won’t have the chance to know them. This is the thing that I lost and won’t get back. Thankfully, in my classes and in my school, this number is very small. Still, though, there are a couple of kids who decided not to be on camera and not to come back to in-person school, who did the work and passed, but did not really engage with school the way they might have if they were in school.
There were many silver linings for me, but the one that stands out most is the way this year helped to put everything in perspective. Yes, it was unsettling flipping between remote instruction and in-person school and time-consuming to document every little thing and plan every little communication, but oddly enough, this year provided me with more time to myself. In my home/office/classroom, I found myself with more space to think, to read, to look at myself and the world around me with a new perspective and, yes—to write. Which is exactly what I did. I started writing the articles that I had been meaning to write. I worked on my poetry. I created this blog, which has helped me to feel like I’ve made the most of this moment in time.
Finally, I am really really looking forward to September, when I’ve been told it will be business as usual. I anticipate that I will never take for granted the simple pleasure of talking to my students casually in my classroom, or of being able to hug my colleagues or of just being able to smile at those young bright faces in front of me each morning.
Before that, though, there’s this thing we call summer vacation. And, truth be told, I’m really really looking forward to that too.
