Yesterday, for the first time since beginning my job as General Director of the Lincoln School, I found myself in a large room with all the members of our leadership team.  This day was one of the first things I planned in my mind when I joined the school, but was a long time coming due to the restrictions of the pandemic.  Beyond the joy of finally connecting in person, the primary purpose of our time together was for each leader to deliver their vision speech – the leadership summit.  

The Leadership Summit is an annual vision speech that normally would happen before the launch of the school year.  Of course this year was a bit different, so we had to make necessary adjustments.  Yet, I believe having clarity about your vision is so critical to your leadership success that I insisted that we move forward with the summit presentation, even if it already November. The view from the Summit captures your vision for your school or department, and lays out your strategic improvement plan to address focus areas and realize your goes.  It is your opportunity to practice and refine how you talk about your school and your focused efforts to improve.  The summit is a high level overview – what you working on, why you are working on it, and what you are planning to do?  It is your opportunity to get your team excited about what lies in store for the coming school year.  

While it may be tempting to believe that we put too much faith in the content and delivery of a vision speech, we know that a clear and compelling vision is a guiding factor for realizing measurable improvements within your organization.  Of course, we know that the success of an organization depends on many factors and variables that go deeper and further than speeches and storytelling, but there are compelling reasons that explain why the summit is so essential.   My first assignment as a brand new student in the School Leadership Program at the Harvard Graduate School of Education was to interview two education leaders about their experiences and perspectives on organizational leadership in the field of education.  I interviewed Dr. Michael Cowan, then superintendent of Mesa Public Schools, the largest K-12 school district in Arizona, as well as Dr. Lattie Coor, who had just retired as president of Arizona State University and had launched a policy think tank called the Center for the Future of Arizona where I had worked as an intern.  When I asked about the most important element leadership, both of them quickly and unequivocally answered “vision.”  The Leadership Summit is the premier opportunity to communicate and share that vision.  

In other industries, vision speeches might come during the annual shareholders meeting, or an annual leadership retreat.  Similarly, a rousing call to purpose and action can be heard from the coach of an athletic team on the eve of a new season or from a general on the brink of conflict.  These are moments of drama that are often portrayed on the movie screen and the history books, and as such, can perhaps take on a hint of cliché.  Yet make no mistake, these moments when all eyes are on you and the people are hungry for shared purpose and inspiration matter tremendously.  Underestimate the importance of the vision speech at your own peril.  

We cannot forget that education is a deeply human endeavor.  After all, learning brings with it a range of new relationships, conflicts, experiences, and struggles.  It is deeply social in nature. From academic discourse to high expectations, our learning trajectory is plotted amongst the relationships and interactions we have with other human beings.  Not surprisingly, education is deeply emotional work.  We wade through triumphs and tragedies because the outcomes we seek are not physical products.  We seek learning, transformation, and strengthening of the human lives around us.  If there ever were a time for a heavy dose of symbolic leadership, this is it.  Yes, leading an organization requires the creation of purposeful structures, strategic management of human capital, and insightful political maneuvering.  But the vision speech gets at human emotions and motivation – this is the time to inspire.  As Bolman and Deal describe it, symbolic leadership is the acknowledgment that organizations are messy and often ambiguous, and that creating shared meaning and purpose are essential to the practice of leadership.

Above all,  remind us why we do the work we do.  Tell us what is at stake.  Convince us we’re the right people for the task.  Paint the image of new possibilities and show us the way we are going to get there.

At Lincoln School, one of our strategic priorities over the past several years has been the integration of Entrepreneurial Thinking into the academic and co-curricular programs of the school.  Our mission statement talks about things like being the leading innovator of 21^st Century education, and having graduates who make a positive impact on society.  In other words, at the Lincoln School we hold ourselves accountable for more than just GPAs and college acceptances.  We aspire to make a positive impact on the world, and a major component of that work is equipping our students with the skillsets and mindsets necessary to take risks in the service of social innovation and economic development.  

That’s why I am excited to dig into the book “Teaching Entrepreneurship: A Practice-Based Approach.”  The book was shared as a recommendation from our partners at Babson College and the Lewis Institute – organizations who are well known for their pioneering works developing a practice-based curriculum for teaching entrepreneurship. 

In the very first chapter, the authors address the question about how students learn entrepreneurship.  The authors’ position is clear, “in order to learn entrepreneurship, one must do entrepreneurship.”  Due to the highly dynamic nature of society and economic markets, we have to instill in students both the practices and the mindsets necessary to push for innovative solutions.  Again, the authors point out that “entrepreneurial environments are unpredictable, uncertain, and ambigious, and require a specific mindset, which is in stark contrast to the envrionments we teach in.”  In other words, classrooms are about the most unsimilar of learning environments for teaching entrepreneurship.  

To address this, our learning environments have to change.  I’m excited to learn more about what those changes need to look like, but what seems clear is that if we expect our teachers to successfully teach entrepreneurship, they will have to practice entrepreneurship themselves.  That is precisely what our teachers are doing.  Over 30 of our staff members just completed the Entrepreneurship Program for Innovators and Changemakers (EPIC) curriculum in partnership with the Lewis Institute.  Watching our teacher and administrator teams develop venture ideas, develop feasibility studies and business plans, and then pitch those ideas, was transformative – not to mention a lot of fun.  

 Just like we hold ourselves accountable for preparing our graduates to be successful in the most rigorous academic environments in the world, we want to systematically instill in our graduates the skillsets and mindsets necessary to venture and positively impact their communities.  We’re early in our journey, but excited about the transformations we are already experiencing.  

I clearly remember sitting in the board room in Mesa Public Schools, the summer before what would be my first full year as a high school Spanish teacher.  All of the world language teachers from around the district were gathered together for some professional development before the official start to the school year.  The district language coordinator had russled up enough money to pay us all for an extra day (as most teachers new to the profession, I would have worked for free and was desperate for whatever training and support I could get my hands on).  As the morning began, we did the customary things – filled out sign-in sheets, enjoyed some light snacks, had a brief hello and welcome from the district superintendent, and then a round of introductions.  Then, the dancing m&ms high-stepped into the room, a la the Rockettes.  

The “m’s” emblazoned on all of the dancers’ shirts stood for “memorable” and “meaningful,” what would soon be revealed to us as the theme for that school year.  The message was clear – nothing you do will really matter if your don’t do it with the goal of making it both memorable and meaningful for your students.  Otherwise, yours will just be another brief stop on the ever-moving train of high school – a class that might be rarely remembered or thought about.  Now, 16 years later, I still remember the message and how it was delivered with clarity.  It met the memorable and meaningful standard of practice.

To be memorable, we must create moments that are out of the ordinary, that break the normal routine.  Yes, education can be something of a slog at times, for teachers and students alike.  Learning new skills and knowledge can take a lot of practice over time.  During a year of distance learning, it can be similarly easy to fall into the trap of being satisfied with the routine, day in and day out.  To be memorable, we have to deliberately shake things up and do something a little unexpected.  Dancing m&m’s was a bit zany and a little bit nuts, but it definitely hit the mark. 

To be meaningful, we have to invest in strong relationships of trust with our students and professional colleagues.  We have to understand what is important to our students, and then we have to show how what we have to offer can be applicable in their lives, both in the classroom and outside of school.  We have to deliberately make connections between students’ academic identities and the broader world around them.  Students have to see that you are personally invested in their success.  Sitting in that board room, surrounded by dancing curriculum specialists, I had a clear impression that here was a curriculum coordinator who would do whatever if took to support me in my efforts to be effective in the classroom.  

Now in distance learning, we have to be especially creative to make things memorable and meaningful.  I’ve seen it happen in many ways, from cultural exchanges with student presentations in traditional costume, to student moderated debates, to teachers who volunteered to  pass out student materials so they could personally meet each one of their students.  Sometimes the efforts are big – like a Halloween caravan this coming Saturday, to those that are very small – like a personal phone call to a student who seems to be struggling to connect.  Whether big or small, our efforts to make the student experience as memorable and meaningful as possible have a positive impact.  And sometimes, perhaps not always but sometimes, those efforts stay with a student for the rest of their lives.  

As with any good read, there are statements in the Distance Learning Playbook that stopped me in my tracks and forced me to reflect and think a little harder.  When you engage concepts that challenge your thinking, it opens a space ripe for new learning.  A few quotes and concepts caught my attention as I read and reflected, and I thought I would share some of those interactions:

“Teachers should not hold an instructional strategy in higher esteem than their students’ learning.”  

This quote caught my attention as it clearly challenges teachers to pay attention to the impact of their preferred instructional strategies.  It is an invitation to ongoing inquiry – how do you know that your go-to instructional strategies are the ones that lead to the most powerful student learning?  What is your evidence?  It reminded me of my experience in preparing for National Board Certification.  Our teacher, who happened to be one of the first National Board Certified teachers in the state of Arizona, constantly challenged us to state our evidence in the form of a statement of cause and effect: “I do (strategy) which causes students to (student action) which impacts learning by (rationale and evidence of learning).”  It forces the teacher to reveal their theory of student learning connected to any given instructional strategy.  Prior to that class, I had never been challenged to articulate the connection between my instructional strategies and evidence of student learning, at least not by a fellow teacher.  

“It is the feedback from the assessment, not the assessment itself, that matters.”

This is a basic statement of the purpose of assessment.  It is to inform future learning.  It is a tool designed for the benefit of student development.  Unfortunately, whether formative or summative in nature, assessment is sometimes seen by students and teachers alike as a static measure of intelligence or performance.  It’s simply an entry for the gradebook.  I love how the authors challenge such perspectives and ask classroom teachers to think deeply about how they are using assessment in the classroom.  Specifically, how are you providing ongoing, quality feedback to students.  In this sense, the instructional practices that surround our assessment practices make all of the difference in whether feedback is both accessible and useful to learners.  

“Dynamism…is really about your ability to communicate enthusiasm for your subject and your students.  And it’s about developiing spirited lessons that capture students’ interest.”

I loved that the authors dedicated an entire chapter outlining the need for teachers to establish credibility with their students.  Students care little about professional titles and certification, and grant credibility and authority to teachers who demonstrate enthusiasm and love for both the subject and students being taught.  The authors refer to that personal engagement and energy as teacher “dynamism.”  

“Agreements serve to convey high expectations, mutual respect, and an acknowledgement of the learning community’s needs.  A set of rules that are strictly compliance based tell the students that you’re the one with all the power, and they better listen or else.”  

This statement turns common perceptions about classroom rules on their head.  It is an assertion that high expectations are much more than the simple enforcement of rules.  Rather, we reinforce high expectations when we engage our students in conversations about what it means to be a community of learners.   “Agreements,” by the very meaning of the word, suggest that students have the capacity to share responsibility for the quality of the learning environment.  They are not passive recipients of learning, but rather are active participants.  We embrace students as co-contributors and co-designers of the learning environment. 

One of the most notable elements of Fisher, Frey, and Hattie’s recently released Distance Learning Playbook is that they start things off in the very first chapter focusing on strategies teachers can use for taking care of themselves during Distance Learning.  As the authors point out, and many of us in the profession who experienced the sudden physical closure of schools in spring 2020 can attest, the initial shift was not really to distance learning.  Rather, we all found ourselves in crisis teaching mode, not to mention living in the midst of a true global crisis.  Teachers around the world frantically worked to create their virtual learning environments, learn and master new software platforms, develop new instructional strategies, and model for students what it looks like to navigate uncertainty on every side.  

That type of work, while certainly heroic, is not necessarily sustainable in the long term , and the entire first chapter of the Distance Learning Playbook is designed to provide teachers with tools and strategies to take care of themselves while in Distance Learning mode.  Amongst these practical strategies, was the strong suggestion that teachers establish protected spaces, both physically and around their daily schedule.  In addition to creating a dedicated workspace, teachers engaged in distance learning are encouraged to create routines that help them transition in and out of their work routines.  Of course when we go to school, there are natural routines and breaks built into the day to signal our transitions into work and then again away from work.  When your home is your office, those lines become increasingly blurred, making it necessary to create deliberate routines to make the transition.  Whether it is moving into a different room and taking a few moments to read or enjoy a snack, your mind and body sometimes need permission to turn off work.  The authors encourage using routines in the morning, during scheduled breaks, and in the afternoon to help us manage our energy and health – both physical and mental.  

I know that in those early days of crisis teaching, I struggled tremendously to create those routines.  I often worked through the entire day without any regular breaks or time for lunch.  Within just a couple of weeks, it was clear that I wouldn’t be able to sustain the pace and constant connection to my computer screen.  I prioritized a lunch hour, as well as an afternoon break.  While it was difficult at first to resist responding to calls, texts, and emails during my break times, eventually I was able to train myself to leave my phone in my work area (which at the time was a corner of my bedroom at my nightstand, since we are a family of 8 living in a small 3-bedroom house at the time).  These small changes helped tremendously, and with time I found that I was able to establish an even better balance in terms of my work day than I had experienced when school was regularly in session.

The authors go on to discuss the concept of “compassion fatigue” and how teachers – amongst many service-oriented professionals – can in times of crisis experience a type of secondary trauma as they support and serve those who are experiencing trauma and difficulty firsthand.  They recommend that teachers create spaces for socialization and group support, whether it be with fellow teachers, or other family and friends who can provide much needed interaction and conversation.  At Lincoln School, our human resources department has worked with staff to provide a series of virtual social events.  Whether staff is practicing yoga together, learning to play guitar, or learning how to cook different cuisines from around the world, these digital meet-ups provide a space to laugh and learn together.  Just last week our IT team invited me for a socially distanced coffee chat.  Those 20 minutes of sitting and talking about family and life away from work were some of the most regenerative I’ve experienced with work colleagues since the pandemic hit.  I was surprised at how much I enjoyed myself, and how much I could tell I needed that time.  

Before the pandemic, it seems that these transitions and moments of informal connection were naturally built into our days.  Now we have to deliberately design and implement them.  Whatever the strategies we choose, being thoughtful to care for ourselves becomes the foundation for meaningful, engaged, and sustainable distance learning for our students.  

On Friday, I found myself sitting (socially distanced) with a few members of our IT team, drinking a hot chocolate and taking a few moments to connect about things that weren’t work related.  It was incredibly refreshing.  It’s crazy to think that I have been working with members of this team for over 3 months, and it was the first time we had sat in a room and talked face to face.  We shared stories about family life and navigating a pandemic.  We laughed and, for a moment, felt human at work.  

This morning, I was back on campus, this time for a team meeting organized by our finance and operations division.  The team has been doing some visioning and team building during the past few months, and today they were able to share that work with the broader team.  We started the morning out in the courtyard, engaged in a simple team-building activity.  We had to collaboratively determine what we would take with us if we were heading out for a weekend of survival in the Costa Rican mountains.  Mostly, we laughed.  Then we filed into the cafeteria, a big space that could accommodate participants safely while we enjoyed a traditional Costa Rican breakfast.  It was one of those informal, “water cooler” types of moments that we have all been living without for the past 6 months.  

I try to have a consistently stoic, optimistic view on life.  During the pandemic, that has sometimes meant that I push certain frustrations or disappointments into the back of my mind, and choose to focus instead on the blessings and opportunities that have presented themselves.  Generally speaking, it’s an outlook on life that serves me well.  But I realized during these two activities just how much I have missed socializing with colleagues and friends.  These were simple, relatively short moments – but they felt significant.  

Now I’ve retreated back into isolation for the rest of the work day.  While there is some ironic solace in that  I can take off my mask, it certainly doesn’t feel as good as being with the team.  

Last week, we received permission from the Costa Rican Ministry of Education to host SAT tests on campus this past Saturday.  I was both surprised and grateful that the Ministry allowed us to move forward, obviously with strict social distancing protocols.  It was the first time we had students on campus in classrooms since March.  

In some ways, a Saturday morning SAT test is a rather unremarkable thing.  In fact, I’m not a big fan of the SAT – it’s something of a necessary evil that I’ve been secretly hoping would loosen its grip on college admissions thanks to the pandemic.  While that has been happening (especially with the University of California system announcing they were suspending the need for the tests), there are still plenty of schools requiring it.  Some of our students at Lincoln were planning a 5 hour drive across the country to sit for the test in a region where such in-person testing had been authorized.  We aggressively pursued the possibility of hosting the test ourselves, and just a few days before the test itself, received the necessary permissions.

As I stood at the curb Saturday morning, we probably welcomed no more than 25 students onto the campus.  One by one, they came into the school – washing hands, wiping feet, keeping their distance.  Yet, I couldn’t believe how refreshing it was just to have students there in person to welcome to campus.  I told Ms. Lampinen, our high school Vice Principal who was supervising the event, that it was the first time since March closures that I felt like a true school administrator.  Of course we continue to offer school virtually (and, arguably, with a high degree of quality), but it still felt good to be there and to interact, even if for only a few moments and for an event as mundane as an SAT test.

The moment was fleeting.  We just approved distance learning through the end of 2020, in accordance with national health and education requirements.  It is likely the prudent thing to do after all, we can offer a high quality program virtually.  It is a privilege to be able to connect 100% of our students, and so we move forward, choosing to focus on the positives.  But still, at least for a morning, it was wonderful to see our students, give them a word of encouragement, and remember what it is that energizes us in our work as educators.  It reminded me that while difficult, the pandemic will not be here forever.  We’ll be back on campus before we know it, and I imagine we’ll be a little more appreciative of opportunity.  

I’ve been trying to learn more about different approaches to collaborative instructional planning and classroom observations, so this month, I’ve been reading the book Lesson Study: A Japanese Approach To Improvement Mathematics Teaching and Learning.   In this widely read case study narrative of math teachers at Tsuta and Ajinadai Nishi elementary schools, Clea Fernandez and Makoto Yoshida introduce us to the details of lesson study as a philosophy and approach to teaching and learning.  They immediately immerse us in teacher conversations as teams work together to plan lessons they believe will best lead students to understanding and application of key mathematical principles.  As the authors point out, for these Japanese teachers, lesson study is not a program but an embedded approach to their day to day work as classroom teachers.  

The basic structure of lesson study begins with the teachers coming together to plan the lesson collaboratively.  In other words, participating teachers design and teach the same lesson in their respective classrooms.  This detail-oriented process carefully outlines the model lesson, drawing on the collective expertise and insight of members of the team.  Then, one of the teachers gives the lesson in his or her classroom, while the other participants observe the lesson that they helped design.  Following the lesson, the group comes back together to discuss what happened in the classroom, with reactions and suggestions for revision.  Then, a second teacher will teach the revised lesson, with other members of the team coming to observe.  Again, the lesson is followed by a group discussion and reflection about how the lesson went.  

Like the shared problem of practice of Instructional Rounds, the focal point of any given lesson study is connected to a broader goal area being pursued by teachers across the school organization.  This broad area of focus, known in Japenese as the konaikenshu (“in-school training” focus), helps create coherence across the school.  Interestingly, the konaikenshu is usually developed collaboratively by the teachers, focuses less on specific skills and more on broad student dispositions towards learning, and often remains the same over more than one year.  As Fernandez and Yoshida point out, “the konaikenshu goal chosen by a school is explored through the conduct of lesson study.  This provides lesson study with an umbrella goal that is well motivated and carefully selected, and of concern to teachers.  Conversely, this combination of konaikenshu and lesson study provides a concete process for thinking about how to bring a school’s selected konaikenshu goal to life.”    

This detail cannot be overstated.  The power of both Instructional Rounds and Lesson Study, in my estimation, is derived from the momentum that is built as teachers make the connection between broader school goals and the specifics of instructional planning and practice.  Another interesting resemblance between lesson study and Instructional Rounds is what is known in Japan as the lesson study open house, where teachers at nearby schools and other educators come visit the school to come observe and discuss a set of study lessons that the host school has been working on in connection with their konaikenshu.  As is the case with rounds, both the host school and visiting educators benefit from the opportunity to observe and discuss instruction together.  With lesson study, teacher teams often go one step further by producing a written report at the end of the year that highlights the lesson study work for the year.  These “research bulletins” will typically include the lesson plans that were developed at the school, along with key insights and ideas associated with their development and delivery.  

At its core, lesson study is another example of the improvement power that results when teachers themselves take ownership of the observation and feedback process, instead of each step being tightly orchestrated by administrators.  This is a difficult balance to achieve in practice, as administrators can and do play an important supportive role in aligning resources to make such collaborative practices possible, not to mention helping out with logistical details that must be addressed if teachers are to have the time and space necessary to plan and conduct lesson study sessions.  

I saw an article over the weekend about a school district that was placing 50+ students into every distance learning classroom.  Of course this is a temptation that is to be largely expected.  At a time when budgets are stretched thin and schools are scrambling to find ways to save money, it is hardly surprising to find schools that are stuffing digital classrooms with more students.  

In my opinion, the logic behind increased student to teacher ratios in digital learning spaces can  be connected to the broader effort on the part of ed tech companies to create student adaptive technologies that can function without the need for teacher involvement or intervention.  In this perspective, personalization is not about a teacher to student relationship, but is about tailoring work to the individual learning needs of the student.  In essence, it is the automation of the learning process.  When the classroom is automated, a bot or algorithm is all you need to personalize learning for each student.  Class sizes become somewhat irrelevant when learning is automated, and the economic benefits and profits of going quickly to scale become achievable.  Perhaps the underlying belief is that such a learning experience is superior as it cuts out the need for teachers, who are not only expensive but produce widely different outputs.  So goes the thinking.  

I am certainly not antagonistic to high quality, student-adaptive learning technologies.  In fact,  I think they represent one of the most exciting frontiers in school reform happening right now.  Used in moderation and strategically, such technologies can certainly help develop and strengthen targeted academic skills.  What I take issue with is the notion that such automated learning experiences and technologies can or should take the place of the teacher/student relationship.  In other words, I strongly believe that student-adaptive technology does not rise to the level of personalized learning.  I have written previously about how the heart of personalization are the relationships between learners and teachers.  Personalization is not just academic tasks tailored to individual students, but encompasses the emotions of inclusion, the excitement of authentic social interaction and engagement, and attention to the developmental needs of each and every child.  Personalization is about a learning environment where a student knows that they are both known and loved on a personal level.    

Perhaps the best comparison I can make is parenting.  Parents can certainly benefit from utilizing technology that makes them more effective in their parenting.  But parenting itself – instilling values, supporting pro-social development, building attachments and healthy relationships – these are functions that cannot be outsourced or automated.  In fact, our entire society is wrestling with the impact that modern technologies are having on the mental health and development of our children.  The data that drive individually adaptive technologies are also increasingly viewed with suspicion and concern.  When I hear someone advocating for the de-emphasis on access to caring adults in the classroom, I grow wary.  

Which brings us back to the topic of class sizes.  I have been an education administrator for over a decade, and there is hardly a year or a negotiation cycle where the conversation doesn’t turn at some point to topic of class size.  Often, the defense for heightened class sizes is that the academic research is clear that larger class sizes do not have a negative impact on student learning.  My purpose here is not to hash out the academic literature on class size (which I should add, is mixed and mostly emphasizes the positive benefit of highly skilled teachers regardless of class size).  Typically, the dependent variable being tested with variations in class size are academic outcomes and not other desirable outcomes such as student social-emotional development or teacher morale and well-being.  In any case, I certainly understand that increased class sizes sometimes are necessary.  Resources are not infinite, and we are constrained by funding models in both public and private settings that have implications for what is possible in the design and delivery of instruction.  I’ve personally had to make the decision to increase class size in the schools and systems I have led.  But let’s call it what it is – an economically driven decision.  My favorite litmus test for this type of decision is one suggested by Geoffrey Canada, who applies the simple test of asking what do students from wealthy families get.  They get lower class sizes.  

So, let’s not be too eager to find efficiencies in schools that negatively impact students’ access to caring, meaningful relationships with adults.  

I was out early this morning for a jog, listening to a recording from Gordon B. Hinckley, all the way back from 1974.  Then a leader of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, Hinckley’s topic was about choosing to be optimistic, despite the overwhelming political and social challenges of the day.  I wasn’t alive in 1974, so I can’t make a direct comparison, but I smiled to think what he would have been saying about 2020.  It’s certainly been a tough year.

I was feeling that toughness a bit this past week.  After a month of school, some of our teachers were already finding it difficult to sustain the 6+ straight hours of rotating small groups every day.  I found myself discussing structural adjustments and possible solutions with members of the leadership team.  In our own house, one of our children had a bit of a breakdown on Friday night after we discovered that the work being turned in for the day had not met expectations.  While siblings enjoyed our Friday movie night tradition, I sat with my child who worked through revisions and some tears.  Of course, a long weekend helps in these moments.  Labor Day in the US this weekend, and here in Costa Rica we have an extra day off this coming weekend in celebration of Costa Rican independence.  It’s a good time to recharge batteries. 

Yet, despite the challenges, I couldn’t help but think about the need to find space for gratitude and optimism.  Certainly in our family, we have been tremendously blessed.  I have had the opportunity to join the Lincoln community and family.  While starting a new job in distance mode and building initial relationships through a computer screen has been challenging, I can’t imagine a more supportive school community.  Lincoln School, with 75 years of history, has found ways to perservere and thrive in the midst of the pandemic.  The teaching and support staff have continually sought out innovative ways to connect with our students and families, from 8 nights of Back to School Night, to Virtual Recess, to weekly Mindful Meetups.  Kids across the school, including my own children, have been engaged by upbeat and enthusiastic teachers.  Certainly I know that behind the scenes, it hasn’t been easy, but everyone gives their best for the benefit of our students.

Distance learning has also had some personal benefits for a me as a full-time educator and administrator.  For starters, I’ve been able to eat dinner with my family almost every single night for nearly 6 months.  Of course my kids might be growing weary of my face, but I know how precious and fleeting these years are when our kids are small and at home.  Many of my colleagues have expressed similar sentiments, from an unexpected college student returning home for a few months, to a return to daily time for reflection in nature or reading.  In a much broader sense, it seems that the working world may even be developing a greater appreciation and understanding of the essential role that educators play in our day to day lives.  Those outside of the professional are being reminded that ensuring our kids can read, write, do math, and think critically is much more than child care (not to mention the economic impact when parents don’t have a place to send their children during the working day).   

Of course the point of being optimistic is not to assume everything is wonderful.  Gordon B. Hinckley reminds his listeners back in 1974 that it wasn’t time for rose-colored glasses.  Those were sobering times, and we don’t have to pretend that our current circumstances are any less challenging.  It’s okay to wish for a return to in-person classes, or struggle with the day to day energy and motivation necessary to continue engaging students through Zoom calls.  I certainly am looking forward to the time when my work day doesn’t require me conducting work meetings while simultaneously trying to keep my 10 year old off of YouTube.  But until then, we persevere, with gratitude for our privilege to connect in isolation, and appreciation for those who continue to put themselves at risk for the benefit of our collective health and prosperity.  We optimistically push for broader connectivity and access, recognizing that while we are still far from our goal of universal access, there is evidence that the pandemic is forcing us further in the right direction.