Not long after starting my new job, the Deputy Superintendent asked me into his office and shut the door.  His first question – “do you know why you are here?”  My mind immediately started trying to interpret the intent of the question.  “Why am I sitting in your office?”  “Why did I get the job?” I stammered in response something about innovation and changing organizational culture.  I could tell I had answered incorrectly.  “It was your resume.”

He was quick to clarify.  Of course my resume was not the only reason I was hired. There were rounds of interviews and letters of recommendation and all of the normal sort of protocol.  “I think I looked at your resume for an hour, I just couldn’t figure it out.  I’d never seen anything like it.”  I had caught his attention, and after all, isn’t that what a resume is supposed to do?

Back in January, as I prepared for my job search, I decided I needed to update my resume.  It seemed like a logical place to start.  Despite the fact that I find my own experience and education pretty interesting, the common boilerplate format I was using was altogether uninspiring.  Hoping for something more substantial, I turned to the Internet and used “cool resume” as my search term.  Google displayed resumes that ranged from spruced-up traditional resumes to those that used visual displays to radically change how information was presented.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, my favorites were created by graphic designers and multimedia artists.

As I started experimenting with my own redesign, I found myself facing down internal doubts.  “You’re not a graphic designer!” Well, perhaps not by formal training, but I’ve learned some things.  “Future employers will think you are crazy!” Probably true, but the purpose of a resume is to draw enough attention to land an interview.  Ultimately, I wanted to strengthen my own professional identity as a designer and innovative thinker, and wanted to work with a team that saw those skills as an asset.  In some ways, I could turn the tables and use my resume to screen potential employers.

Fast forward to last Thursday, when I was formally introduced to all the classified and certificated managers in the district.  The intro was short, and to my surprise, it included an invitation for everyone to check out my resume.   So, I’m posting the resume that got me my present job.  Presumptuous, I know, but the e-mail requests have been coming in.  I guess when you try to defy convention you should be prepared for unintended outcomes.

Teachers get hit over the head with a lot of reform initiatives.  Whether in the name of innovation or student learning, administrators tend to believe all requests for change in programs and practice will lead to improvement.  It can be exhausting.  Administrators, myself included, are notorious for assuming our own effectiveness, and we are often rewarded for aggressive rollouts and quick implementation.

The churn of reform in schools, a historical constant in education that Tyack and Cuban call “tinkering,” has only intensified.  In a world where woodshops are rebranded “maker spaces” and tinkering is a virtue, the introduction of new initiatives is only likely to intensify.  This rising tide of innovation signals danger for educators who struggle to “go with the flow.”  There is a very real threat when the reform flavor of the month is being offered by the person who evaluates your performance.

My advice?  First, keep asking the difficult questions.  What is the connection between this reform and what we know about how students learn?  What is our evidence of success?  We should not confuse innovation evangelism with concrete progress.  Leadership that is serious about pushing learning outcomes should embrace critical inquiry into what really works.  You are justified in your assumption that most bandwagons never reach the station.

Second, don’t squander your opportunity to learn.  Yes, it is easy to interpret a call to innovate and change as a repudiation of your current skills and strengths. It certainly can be hard to entertain the possibility of strengthening your practice when you sense that your hard work and effort are not valued.  Resist your defensive instinct.  Don’t retreat so quickly to your intellectual and emotional places of safety.    Your students need you to be a learner, and the reform du jour will likely bring with it additional – albeit temporary – access to learning resources.

Third and finally, have fun.  While insecurity nips at all of our heels, a little novelty does not have to shatter your sense of professional competence.  To the contrary, trying something new will likely enrich and enliven your daily experience.  Think of it as a blind date.  Admittedly, you know it probably won’t work out (especially if it’s arranged by your principal), but the sense of anticipation and surprise can make it worth the effort.   If the date is a disaster, you will have a great story to tell your friends.  Who knows, you might even form a new long-term relationship.

I’m not sure if two semesters of college as a chemistry major qualify me as a scientist. Probably not.  The fact that I carried around a business card sized copy of the periodic table of elements in my wallet should count for something.  For many of us, the allure and prestige of what we often term the “hard sciences” conjures up images of heavy physics textbooks, late nights of study, and that unfortunately intimidating label of “advanced math.”  Indeed, math and science often serve as proxies for academic rigor and as a benchmark for intellectual vitality.

Science aside, I spent my evening last night attending a high school production of the musical Beauty and the Beast with my two oldest children.  The production was the culmination of a summer enrichment program through Santa Ana Unified (my new employer) that allows teams of teachers and administrators to submit proposals for summer enrichment activities for students.  One of those programs brings students from Santa Ana’s eight high schools together for a summer musical production.

The musical was thoroughly entertaining.  I certainly consider keeping my 5 and 6 year old happy for over two hours as strong evidence for success.   As I sat watching, I could not help but reflect on all of the disciplines that must come together to pull off a show of high production value.  Of course we pay close attention to the quality of the vocal performances and choreography.  We cannot help but scrutinize the visible elements of stagecraft.  While our focus is drawn to the stage, we hardly notice the orchestra below, itself the harmonious integration of dozens of disparate players and instruments.   Nor do we pay much attention to the team of lighting and sound crew whose presence is typically only detected when something does happen to go wrong with a microphone or light cue.

Yes, many of us may fear a Calculus classroom, but is that really more rigorous than a public exhibition of our vocal or dance talents?  How does following the algorithmic steps of a math problem compare to the precision required for the execution of a six-minute choreographed dance number with 30 teenagers on a stage?  While we wrangle with questions of academic proficiency and mastery, the arts have faithfully and relentlessly asked students to demonstrate  both their technical and emotional intelligence in terribly high stakes venues.  Seriously, what could possibly be more difficult for a 16 year old adolescent than to dance to “Be Our Guest” dressed up like a giant glittery spoon in front of his friends.

Last night’s performance was a spectacular demonstration of mastery-based learning at its finest.  It had only been a few days earlier when I stopped by to watch a rehearsal.  It took me a moment to understand what I was seeing.  A dance instructor was working with the majority of the cast on a dance number while the drama teacher nearby was staring down the on-stage character Lumiere while modeling a hand flare.  All the while, the lights were flashing on and off, apparently running through a set of cues that was out of sync with what everyone else in the room was doing.  I walked past a parent volunteer working at an impromptu sewing station on my way back to the room where the band and orchestra teachers were huddled together with the orchestra in a practice session. The visible, cacophonous cycle of student performance and expert feedback masked an even deeper web of professional collaboration and commitment.

Obviously we cannot shirk our responsibility as educators for preparing the next generation of scientific thinkers and computational problem-solvers.  Yet we should also not allow ourselves to fall into the trap of believing that math and science have a monopoly on rigor.  I suspect most serious artists would agree.

I just started a new job.  My official title is “Executive Director of School Renewal.”  As you might imagine, nobody really knows what that means.  It’s kind of a conversation killer.  When I introduce myself to a teacher or colleague in the district with “I’m the new executive director of school renewal,” I usually get a smile and a twinkle of confusion.  I assume the person is probably thinking, “great, just what we needed…”

I had other offers.  Offers for roles whose work is clearly outlined and neatly packaged in a straight-forward job-description.  Minimal ambiguity.  Yet I couldn’t shake the sense that I might be passing up the opportunity of a lifetime.  Seriously, educational bureaucracies are not usually in the business of acknowledging their own inertia, and here I was being offered the opportunity to join one of the largest school districts in California with an invitation to push innovation and reconsider what it means to provide a meaningful education in the 21st century.

Webster’s dictionary defines renewal as “the state of being made new, fresh, or strong again.”  What a beautiful word.  It serves as an antidote for what has become commonplace and mundane.  In education, renewal comes as a reminder of the energy and enthusiasm that must be injected into our classrooms and schools every day if our students are going to be inspired to creativity and lifted to consider questions of their own potential and purpose.  Renewal acknowledges that each student already possesses latent greatness, and that our role as educators is to awaken and celebrate that greatness.

Yes, sign me up for that work.  Sign me up for the opportunity to reinvigorate the professional lives of teachers and administrators through meaningful experimentation, reflection, and learning.  Sign me up for the opportunity to discover ways to harness technology to empower both students and teachers to focus on rigorous content and application of knowledge.  Sign me up to join a team that sees each student in our community as an asset whose intellectual and emotional development is our top priority and whose right to access and opportunity is non-negotiable.

It is true that I have a lot of work to do in order to define my role and chart my course in a way that actually matters to the students and teachers of Santa Ana. I have not been given any easy answers in terms of how to accomplish that work. To me, that sounds like a recipe for powerful and rigorous learning.  Indeed, it is reminiscent of AVID’s definition of rigor as learning that is “complex, ambiguous, provocative, and personally or emotionally challenging.”  Now, to think we might engage ourselves as educators in the same type of rigorous learning that we desire for our students.  That’s refreshing.