[Music]
So this last August, I set a goal for myself and I thought it
was totally realistic. I thought it was something I could
accomplish. But it turned out to be something I
just didn't do. I wanted to meet individually via video chat with every
single one of my students. This would be an important chance to
check in and to see how they were doing
academically; to see how they were doing with pre-service teaching
and in their practicum. But more importantly, just to see how they were
doing in life. I knew that the quarantine was tough;
that students were facing trauma; that they were probably hitting pandemic
fatigue; and that they were feeling lonely amid the sense of social
isolation that they had been experiencing. So I
thought, "you know, I'm going to make sure that I have that one-on-one
connection with every single student." For a
while it worked. I met with every student in six different classes. I
felt like things were going well. Then I just couldn't do that for the
final two classes. I had other things that came up -- some
trainings I did at the K-12 level. I had some university things that came
up; the tenure review process and everything. I don't know what all
happened but I just couldn't accomplish this goal.
On Monday as I sat down and I was grading papers,
I was reflecting on the semester and I felt like
I had failed. I felt like I wasn't good enough
as a professor. I began to think about all of those
moments when I could have squeezed in another video
conference -- like that time last week in the middle
of the afternoon when I could have met with a student but instead
I sat down with my son and we worked on a Lego set.
We're creating the Millennium Falcon; which by the way, I think we should call
the Millennial Falcon, and we should have avocado
toast and a record player and just go all out millennial.
or I thought about those nights when I
chose to go w-a-l-k the dogs
instead of having a video chat or the times when I played catch with my son
or binge-watched a tv show like Schitt's Creek or
Kim's Convenience with my daughter. I thought about those moments when I
chose to go running or lift weights. Maybe I could have actually done this if
I had just pushed other things aside. So I began
to think, "well maybe I still have time maybe in
the next two weeks. I can meet with all of my remaining
students who I didn't have a one-on-one conference with."
I began to scratch out a schedule on a sheet of paper and plan things out
and the whole process was sort of hopeful but also
overwhelming. Then as I talked to other educators
I noticed that this trend is something that many of us
are experiencing -- the feeling like we didn't do
enough this semester; the nagging sense that we just weren't good enough.
For some teachers, it's the sense of getting on a video chat with students
and seeing the black screens all around and looking at that and feeling like, "why
am I not connecting?" For other teachers it's just the lessons
that completely tanked and didn't go anywhere.
For others, it's "maybe I should have checked in with students more often or
sent out more emails or tracked down missing work or communicated with
parents more often." It's easy to get stuck in the
feelings that we just didn't do enough this semester. But it has me thinking
about a moment in my first year of teaching. It was
toward the end of the semester and I was having coffee with my mentor Brad and I
told him that I wasn't sure I could make it as a
teacher. I just had too many lessons that didn't
go anywhere and didn't work. I had times when kids were talking when
I was talking. I had moments that were cringeworthy;
when I yelled at my class (although at the time I called it
“raising my voice” but it was yelling)
I felt like I was completely failing as a teacher.
[Music] I remember he looked at me and he
Said, “John, you need to show yourself the same grace that you show your
students.” I said, “Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean?
by that?” and he said, “What would you think if a student always
turned in perfect work?” I said “I would think
that my class is too easy and that they
probably need a challenge because you've got to make mistakes if
you're going to learn.” He looked at me and he said, “Show
yourself that same kind of grace. You are on a
big learning curve and eventually you'll be great at the craft of teaching but it
takes a long time to get there.” And then he said,
“The most dangerous place you can be as a teacher is
in that place where you no longer make mistakes because
that's a sign that you've grown stagnant in your craft. there will always be
mistakes as long as you're taking risks.” I
thought about that conversation as I looked at
the notes that I had for the upcoming two weeks where I was going to schedule
all of these different conferences. Show yourself the same kind of grace
that you showed your students The truth is I have allowed for a lot of
late work and I've allowed for some missing work
and I've excused students who just couldn't make it to
class, because the pandemic is hard for
everyone. So I took those sheets of paper and
I crumpled them up and I tossed them in the
recycle bin and I gave myself the permission
to do less. I gave myself the permission to be
Imperfect. The truth of the matter is this year has been
unlike anything ever before. Some people call it distance learning. Some people
call it hybrid. Some people call it virtual. I think it's
pandemic pedagogy. And there is no Blueprint. There is no
instruction manual. There is no guide. We're all trying to figure this out
together and there will be big mistakes and scraped knees and
difficult moments. Right now, the air is getting colder.
The days are getting shorter. The nights are getting longer.
And it is simply okay to do less. Now that's not always easy and sometimes
we have administrators that don't understand that and sometimes you
feel the pressure from parents but the reality is regardless of the system
you are enough. You are doing Enough. The reality is
this year has been hard. The truth is we've all
experienced some level of trauma this year.
Some people have lost loved ones to this pandemic.
Others are facing economic hardships and they're not sure
how they're going to pay their bills. But even for those who seem to have it
less severe there's still trauma: graduations that
got cancelled, weddings that got postponed,
date nights that didn't happen, live sporting events that you can't go to,
concerts, (man I miss going to live music). I was thinking about that the other day
as I was grading my papers. I just got into a funk
and I thought, “What is my deal? What's going on?” And I realized
I'm sad because I won't get to go back to phoenix for Christmas. I know
it's the right thing to do (to not travel) but I was sad that I'm not going to get
to give my mom a hug this year and I'm not going to
get to watch sports with my dad as he tries to insist that the Arizona
Cardinals will make the playoffs (and they won't)
or hang out with my brother and have a pint
and enjoy the craft beer scene or hang out with my sister and
nerd out over novels. None of that's going to happen this year.
We're all experiencing pandemic fatigue. We're all experiencing trauma. And it is
okay to do less. It is okay to be less than perfect.
Teachers have been amazingly faithful this year.
They've been strong. They've been there for students.
And if you feel like you haven't done enough the truth is you have. I
guarantee you have done enough this year. This year has been a marathon. And you
know what I love about marathons? Everybody gets a medal. It doesn't matter
if you crawled through part of it. It doesn't
matter if you walked through a good portion of it. It doesn't matter
if you stumbled in mile 20 and two of your friends had to carry you
during part of it as you hobbled through. If you made it to
the finish line (and you have made it to this finish line)
then you deserve a medal. I know, I know, I get it.
I'm from the generation where everyone gets a participation trophy.
I understand. But I truly believe that this year
everyone deserves a trophy. because of showing up and being faithful.
My hope is that at the end of this semester teachers can look back and they
can define success as being faithful rather than having
huge results or having perfect data. Now I realize that
this might sound like I'm saying teachers should have lower standards
and they should be okay with mediocrity but it's not what I actually believe.
See, when you define success as being faithful rather
than having big results you actually become a better teacher.
You're willing to take creative risks. You're willing to experiment because if
it doesn't work perfectly that's okay. You were still successful
simply because you showed up and did your job. When we
give ourselves the permission to be imperfect
we're able to be humble and to grow and to learn.
We're able to be there relationally for our students.
We're able to find joy in the work that we do.
A few weeks ago I made this video as a thank you to teachers
for the amazing work that they've done. Dear teachers
last spring you made the shift from face-to-face teaching
to pandemic pedagogy. In a matter of days, you found innovative solutions to huge
challenges. You designed virtual lessons with
limited time and limited resources. There was no road map or blueprint.
Now, it wasn't perfect. There were some mistakes
along the way but you were there for your students
every single day. You've proven that social distance doesn't have to mean
relational distance. Despite the roadblocks you've built a
classroom community on empathy and kindness where students
engage in meaningful collaboration.
You've done check-ins and partnered with Families.
You've helped find resources for students who are struggling.
You've experimented with new approaches and you've taken creative risks. You've
continued to learn. You're reading books, watching videos,
listening to podcasts, and reading articles.
And you're curating content and engaging in
professional discussions. You're crafting meaningful lessons that empower students
with voice and choice; like that awesome scavenger hunt or the maker
project or that blogging project or the choice menu or the
game-based learning activity you did. Now 2020 has
been hard. We've seen wildfires and natural
disasters and an economic downturn, oh and
apparently murder hornets. Seriously? Murder hornets.
Meanwhile teaching is especially challenging right now.
It can feel draining when you have a barrage of emails to answer
or when you do a video conference and face a wall of black screens.
Some of the social media comments about teachers have been downright
Toxic. But know this, you are impacting lives right now.
There's a student who feels known and heard because of you.
There's a student who is passionate about learning
because of you. There are students who will remember you forever
as someone who was there for them in these dark
times. You are changing the world even when you can't see it.
So thank you
Now here's the thing. I spent hours on that video and I watched it and I
re-watched it and I double checked everything and yet
somehow even with all of the precautions I took,
there's a mistake. I misspelled “innovative.”
Now a lot of people didn't catch it but I did have four
different people send me a direct message telling me that it was
Incorrect. Three of those people were incredibly kind and gracious
and I'm glad that they gave me that feedback.
But one person blasted me. She said, “How are we supposed to
ever respect teachers if they have those kinds of typos?
What message does that send to the rest of the world?”
And at first I thought well maybe I’ll just tell her that
I was finding an innovative way to spell innovative -- that I was going to be
Different. Then I realized, “no that's not true
at all. I'm just going to be honest.” And I told
her “I think the message it sends to people
is that teachers are not perfect and the imperfection is okay.”
Initially, I thought that I would delete that video. I would redo it. I would
repost it. Then I decided, “No, I'm going to keep
that video up and allow the mistake to be there
as a reminder to me that even when I try my best
there's still going to be mistakes.” There are a lot of memes out there that
compare teachers to Superheroes. But for what it's worth, I
would rather be Clark Kent than Superman. I'd rather be humble,
normal, and imperfect because in the end I think that's what my
students actually need. Someone who is deeply human. It's easy
at the end of the semester to try to think of that one big final
project but I would argue that the end of the
semester might just be the opportunity to reflect.
It's a chance to think about the learning that actually did happen
amid this pandemic. It's an opportunity to think about what you believe
and what you've done and what you value and who you love.
In the end, I actually don't think that the big
things are where the epic life is found. I think the epic life is found in the
little things. When I was a kid I thought the epic life
was a big life. You know hit the game-winning home run,
slay a dragon, conquer distant land. When I got older I still believe that
the epic life meant doing big things. Make more money. Travel the world. Make a
name for yourself. Be recognized for your excellence. Do
something memorable. Make something big. I viewed the epic life as a battle to
be fought or a game to be won. What if the epic life really isn't like
this? What if it's all about tiny, humbler,
experiences that ultimately build a better life. When I think of my dad
I remember the hours spent tossing the baseball back and forth or playing video
games in the living room or the times that we went to the lake.
When I think about my mom I remember the long talks and the art
projects and the trips to the bookstore and the
hours spent playing Uno on a rainy day or that time we used tennis rackets to
form a family air guitar band. Sometimes I forget this. I think life is
found in doing big projects that get tons of attention or in
delivering more keynotes or having a successful book or gaining the
reputation as an expert in education. That’s not where life is found. Life is a
journey with tiny destinations. It's found in building a pillow fort or
a Lego set or gathering together for a meal. It's
found in writing a story or painting a picture without worrying
about the numbers and the metrics. It's found in serving others and making
a difference even when you go unnoticed. It's found in
exploring ideas, in geeking out on things just for the fun of it. It's found in
staring out in wonder at the canvas of the stars
and being overwhelmed with the universe and its beauty and then watching the
same amazement on the eyes of my kids.
It's found in spending a lifetime with the woman I fell in love with
over a decade ago who never ceases to amaze me. Last week I was
feeling like I was failing because I didn't meet with every single student.
But you know what I did do? I worked on a Lego set.
I played catch with my son. I worked out. I had the
longest conversation with the love of my life.
I had a really cool final night of class. I graded papers. None of these are big
things but all together they add up to the epic life. So my hope for you as
you enter into the winter break is that you
remember that you are enough and that you've done enough
and that those little things that you do that don't seem like a big deal
are actually pretty epic.
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