When I think back to my first year of teaching, I remember visiting forums like Proteacher and Teachers.net. I had a tiny classroom website that was full of animated gifs, way before gifs were cool and probably, admittedly, long after gifs were no longer cool. I even bought a fancy domain, BeeYourBest.com. Geeze, this makes me sound old. The site was built with Geocities which was part of Yahoo. I was also ALL about my quiet line and collected homework that year, but that’s a whole different post for another time.
I remember falling in love with the way technology allowed me to connect with others who shared my interests. I remember feeling *alone* in various schools, because typically, the person trying to do something different isn’t always welcome. It’s not popular to talk about, but it’s reality. Get a compliment from a principal in some schools and you’ll never want to walk the halls again, without getting “a look.” I was once even told I was “putting on a dog and pony show” in my classroom. If you teach creatively, you will take your share of heat. But, I could connect with others teaching creatively online and they were just as likely to help me as I was to help them. It was a beautiful thing. There were Nings. There were forums. There were chats. There were even blogs that started and the websites eventually evolved into interactive places where posts were shared, discussions were held. People’s attention span to a discussion stayed the course through disagreement, through questions, and through thinking. Through the hard parts.
Along came social media. The blog, shortened in format, became 140 characters. Instagram and Facebook became quick photo shares. It became easy to grow a huge network of other educators. Clicking ‘like’ and leaving comments. It was glorious really. Empowering to feel like you were leading others as they were leading you. You were never alone and the learning never slept. Neither did I. I remember when Twitter first started. I remember one of the first times I really connected with other classrooms. I immediately was drawn in by the power… asking questions and getting answers. Reading the tweets of others who pushed my thinking. There was this reciprocal of open sharing. The truth is, the friends I met during those early days of Twitter are deep, deep friends today. People I see in person, people I treasure as friends. The relationships built in the early sharing of Twitter were strong, real, and awesome. The power of the PLN was a real thing. “Personal Learning Network”
But the surface overshadowed it all. Personal has become more promotional. Get a like. Share it out. Retweet it. Collect followers. Recreate it and sell it (It’s happening, you know it.) Discussions aren’t as common. Companies and Kickstarters have come after MakerEd with a club, relentlessly beating the great fiber of the message out of the work done by greats like Seymour Papert. And it drains the authenticity from the pool that once was so refreshing to swim in. When you want to discuss what prototyping looks like for second graders, and someone tweets at you to buy their “new kit,” it takes the depth right out of fixing the problem. The truth is, we can’t reflect truly in just 140 characters at a time. Real growth is a slow process that will take time. So. Much. Time.
Along came edcamps and reminded me of the value of in person discussion and reminding each other of the passion and joy. But 15 or so Edcamps later, I’m left wondering… what can this model do for us in education as we continue to grow? Where does selling fit in with sharing? For sure, there are still many, many people who need to be exposed to the unconference model of edcamp. But, what’s beyond that? Could there be more?
Yes. For Sure.
So what is next? Things have continued to change. The monetization of the internet has made connecting’s purpose change for many. I’m not saying that if that’s your choice of work, it’s a bad thing. I’m just saying it’s no longer what I am looking for. My job is teaching. My heart is in a classroom, working directly with kids and teachers. I know, for a fact, unless I get an offer to go to the Moon for NASA, it is exactly where my heart will *always* be. The things that keep me awake in the middle of the night are questions I have about making learning better, making school more, improving the student experience, making sure creativity really does reign supreme in a learning environment, and taking kids and teachers to the next level… whatever that looks like, becomes, or is. The nitty-gritty of real, raw learning IS the sweet spot to me. And there is nothing that can replace it. I’m continually on a mission to rescue the eight-year-old-me that was bored in a classroom as a kid. THAT is my purpose. When I support a teacher in encouraging her kids to take risks or support kids in building a cardboard mountain, those are my “likes.”
This is probably the end of this blog. I don’t even know if anyone will read this, but the truth is, I’ve always written this for me anyway. Things I need to think about. Ideas in my head. Sharing I need to get out. But, this too has run it’s course. If I cut out all of the stuff… the Twitter chats that churn around the same ideas, the blog posts I spend time writing, the amount of time I spend reading about new ideas well before I take time to fully iterate the old ideas? The truth is, I can’t do it alone. I mean, granted, I am NOT alone in my own school and work with some great people. But there is something special about connecting with others in your specific field from OUTSIDE the perspectives and views of your own school that is a beautiful thing. It allows us to churn on the ideas we want to refresh, reform, and reinvigorate. And I still want to connect the way I have always enjoyed.
So the thought is there. A small group of teachers, in the nitty-gritty day to day of working with kids and creativity. A Slack group? Private so we can share openly, but small so we can personally get to know each other. A Google Hangout once of a month to inspire, laugh, openly share, and connect our classrooms in some projects throughout the year. At the end of the year? We find a great beach house or ranch on AirBnB for us to split the cost, fly there, and just hang out for a weekend. The last three times I’ve attended ISTE, it was the in person chatting with friends that I loved the most. Why not just cut out the trillion dollar conference expense and split a house. A Retreat to celebrate growth. It would be like an Edcamp that lasts a whole weekend. At a beach or a ranch with a great pool.
I have many questions…
- What size should a group like this be?
- How can we keep the focus on our needs? (Creativity. Kids. Learning)
- Do I go old school with a paper journal?
- How can we insure growth and push our thinking?
- Do we need a book study of the original greats in learning? Monthly themes?
I don’t have the answers. None of these ideas are new, but rather a re-prioritizing of time, tools, technology, and building relationships. This idea is still in the incubator. I’m throwing this out there to see what happens. Like a seed tossed in the wind. Maybe it will grow and something will happen. Maybe there will be blooms. As I look at what lies ahead for the school year, I hope there are blooms. I also hope there are others willing to take this journey through the weeds with me. Because the truth is, by connecting deeply, we can make ourselves, our classrooms, and each other… better together.
Or maybe I just drank too much coffee this morning.
A dose of ultimate creativity…. I visited with my family was Meow Wolf in Santa Fe, NM. A bowling alley converted to an immersive art experience. It reminded me of everything that is important to me. When you visit, you enter the House of Eternal Return, a literal house inside the building.
Once inside the house, you see a seemingly “normal” home. But moments later, you realize, this house is anything but ordinary. A fireplace leads to a mammoth skeleton. A fridge portal leads to a long hall. A sparkly blue tube inside the washing machine leads out to the treehouse. Every corner is filled with creativity, wonder, and imagination. You don’t ask why, you just enjoy it.
If you look closely, you can see my daughter climbing out of the dryer, the fireplace we all crawled into, and the chandelier that caught my eye, a bit Chihuly gone awry.
Inside the fireplace was a magical mammoth skeleton with musical bones. The colors changed and the bones could be played with a mallet. My daughter is over my shoulder, tap, tap, tapping away.
Through the fireplace portal, past the mammoth, you find the same layout as in the fish tank in the living room. Below, left, is the fishtank, and right? A lifesize walkthrough. The colorful branches were definitely one of my favorite parts.
The treehouse. Parts of it reminded me of St. Louis’s City Museum. Some of the mushrooms were musical and the leaves were laser cut paper. The lighting was magical. I can’t even really explain it. That’s how I know it was so awesome.
I never once asked “Why?” walking through the house. It was like being sucked into another world, one where imagination is the most important thing and you just accept it, are delighted by it, and moved internally in a way that you can’t describe in words. We need more of this in our world and in our schools. For sure.
More Photos from MeowWolf.
Sharing has a dark side that is rarely discussed. It comes in like Darth Vader. Breathing heavy, all gruff, and it says, “I took your work and am profiting off it it.” Then there’s Yoda, he’s all, “Share you must. Inspire others you will.” I like to live my life like Yoda. But, Vader shows up sometimes. And he’s awful.
I’ve created hundreds of graphics. On my laptop, on my phone, on paper. I share them, freely. I always felt like, when I made something, if it makes even one other teacher’s day, mission accomplished. My name or website has ALWAYS been on them. Super small, because hey, if my goal is to create things for teachers to inspire themselves on their classroom wall, the last thing I want it my gigantic name shining on their classroom wall. Pompous much? Teaching is a hard profession. It’s rewarding, and joy filled, and fantastic. But, also… hard. Society doesn’t always value teachers. School days can be rough. Our hearts can be tugged by kids we see struggling personally. The list could go on. But for anyone who has ever been a part of this tribe we call education, you get it.
Somehow, I’ve always felt that if I create something positive to share, I might be somehow making someone else’s day a little brighter. From the very start, I’ve been clear. You can print and hang anything I create in your classroom– but it must never, ever be for sale. My posters, licensed Creative Commons, Non-Derivative, Non commercial from the beginning and falling under the automatic copyright for things created after 1978.
These norms? They were written with a special class of kiddos many years ago and I turned them into poster form one summer, so the kids could see their words on the wall. They’ve been copied countless times. Not just copied like, a general idea, but copied. Word. for Word. It wasn’t the copying that really got me. It was the selling. Selling. And sold. On teacher sale sites. And when I report? It’s always the same, “Oh, I didn’t know.” or worse, “I got them somewhere else.” I’ve seen too many companies try to look the other way. I suspect because business is good and it’s easier to claim not knowing than take products down.
People will “borrow” graphics on social media, cropping out that watermark and re-sharing, and boom. The graphic seemingly belongs to the world. But the 2012 date on Flickr, with “All Rights Reserved.” Still there.
And most recently and possibly what set off this plea of epic proportions? I was in one of my favorite store’s dollar spot and they they were, the exact words. Word for word. On pencils. On posters. On sentence strips. The words I had written with my students years ago. Now for sale.
Then there’s “I Teach: What’s Your Superpower?” I’ve seen it… everywhere. At first, I thought, great, it’s inspiring others. Empowering us as teachers. But then I noticed, people are making money off it it. A lot of money. Often times when it’s copied, even the layout is kept very similar. Edutopia. Etsy. Or just Google the image… yikes. And now? A graphic that I meant to be free for teachers is being used up. Over and over.
Over the years, I’ve answered hundreds of emails from people wanting to use my graphics for tshirts, for inspirational displays in their schools. I have never said no. I’m not saying this to earn a halo or stroke my ego- my point is, the people were polite enough to ask, and doing the right thing. There are so many out there doing the RIGHT THING. My question was always simple, is this for profit?
But for all the good, Vader still comes along. Sorry About the Mess was even found for sale in my previous all time favorite craft supply store last summer. In This Classroom We Don’t Do Easy has been on teacher-made product sale sites, handmade art sites, various shops at Amazon, and was also found in that same store for sale.
People will claim that I just need to hire a lawyer, send letters. I just need to notify someone. Truth is, I’m too busy teaching to make protecting my work a full time job. And maybe that’s why it’s so out of hand. It makes me feel so petty. So taken advantage of. So disheartened about the entire online community. At some point we’ve crossed a line between sharing and profiting, and started marketing ourselves as products rather than people. It is a slippery slope down a gross trail of greed. It’s gross to me anyway. People are clammoring to market their ideas and their work and sell. sell. sell. It’s all getting worse and it’s bothering me on a bigger level than before. I want to believe the good in people. I want to keep sharing openly because I love this profession. I love learning. I love celebrating all that is good in the world. But, everyone is selling something, or worse, themselves. Even if that means borrowing others work and stamping their own watermark on it to make a buck or level up into some higher echelon of social media status.
I’ve never denied that teachers deserve the chance to share their work, even be compensated for it. Of course they do. But I ask, who is making the money off most of these stolen graphics? Big companies. Corporations. Websites. Not teachers really. Not at all. Maybe they are earning a portion, but I guarantee the companies in question are the ones raking in money off graphic searches and recreations.
If this reads like a vent. It is. If it reads as a wake up call for people to stop stealing. It is. If it reads like a plea for people to just stop being greedy, it is. Create your own things to sell, or don’t sell them. You are what the world needs anyway. Not a copy of someone else’s ideas or words.
If you’ve printed and hung a poster that I made, I hope you know this post is not about you. YOU are the reason I value creativity. It empowers us to take a message or thought from inside us and turn it into a tangible form. In Yoda speak, “Continue to create, I will.” But I’m rethinking what it means to be a connected educator and what it means to share openly. It’s a highly personal thing, releasing that message to the world. And maybe that’s exactly why it feels so awful when it’s stumbled upon, used up and tossed on a sale site or store shelf. And that’s exactly what the darkside of sharing is like. Personal.
It is often said that we need to get out of our comfort zones as teachers and learners. It’s true. The struggle, the messiness, the uncomfortableness is where we truly learn. When we step back and reflect on what went right and what went wrong, we dig in and we figure things out. We cannot do this alone. I’m convinced it’s impossible.
Through my years, I’ve been in different places. I’ve been in situations where I was the one of the only people in my school working on something. It’s awful. To be the only person passionate about “a thing” that you believe in can be lonely, maddening, and downright disheartening. It can make you feel like you are alone. Like your passion doesn’t matter. It’s what drew me to Twitter so many years ago and my PLN became the family of support I needed to keep pushing me forward. Connection for growth. Through conversations and learning, I’ve realized there are tons of people in education that feel this way. People who feel far less than empowered to make change. People buried in data and negativity.
Right now, I’m in a different place. A place where I’m part of a team. And it’s changed everything. People to share ideas with, notice joy with, and people who will brainstorm with me when something doesn’t work out. People who feed me ideas. People I laugh with on a daily basis. People that I trust enough to share my own ridiculousness with. People that share their mistakes with me. People to ask me questions that I hadn’t considered myself and people who expect me to grow. People who are working hard everyday to make the world better through making school the best it can be. People who do everything for each other that we expect our kids to do in a learning community.
Then, I look around at all of the products flying around education. Programs to subscribe to. Certifications to earn. It’s noise. So. much. noise. It’s the promise of making education better through a quick buy. And I can’t help but think about what truly needs to happen. We have to change ourselves and how we do things to truly empower our kids and our future. We have to be willing to fail. We have to lean into the messiness that lies outside of our comfort zones. We have to be willing to be seen, authentically, and we need to be living breathing examples of growth mindset.
It’s like the difference between fast food and eating raw. We think we want fast food because it’s good, and it will change things on the surface, right now. Feed us. But it’s not going to lead to long term satisfaction. Guides and packets are not the way to the future. Doing activities and buying STEM in a box isn’t the answer. They might change your day, but they won’t change the course of learning that’s needed.
We need a revolution. We are the revolution. Creativity for all. Deep learning and thinking. Human Connection. Community. The right kind of school for every single learner, big or small. The kind where each and every teacher is valued as a learner and a human being, just as we must value and honor the needs of each and every student.
And my brain hurts when I think about it. Maybe because I’m afraid it won’t fully happen. Maybe because I don’t want to be the person who doesn’t have all the answers. Maybe because fear is louder too many times. But, there’s hope. Knowing, in the deepest part of your heart, that the thing that matters to you most is a thing that some kid, somewhere, needs. That? It’s a flicker of hope.
And I think back about this team I’m part of. I think about a moment where they all just showed up. With a Sharpie Bouquet (literally) and support during one of the darkest days of my life. The day I returned to work a few days after my dad passed away, a day that also happened to be my 40th birthday. It didn’t feel like a day to celebrate. And yet, there they were, at my door, reminding me that I was not alone in that moment, nor any day, no matter how terribly dark something might be. Like little rays of sunshine picking me up when I didn’t even want to admit I needed to be.
And then I realized in order for us to really change school and learning environments, we have to be willing to change ourselves first. Human nature will always gravitate toward the thing that is easy. In reality, that’s so dangerous. That is not what our kids need experience with in school, and it’s not what is going to get us to be the kind of education system we need. Creativity can’t be the afterthought because for some kids, it’s the air they breathe. It’s inside each and every single one of us, and only real change will release it. One flicker of hope away from being uncomfortable and making change happen.
It’s been two months since I’ve wanted to blog. It’s also been just over two months since I lost my Dad. The irony of it all is that one day before he passed away, I wrote “Hands up,” in honor of turning 40. And I thought I had life all figured out. Then, just about 24 hours later, I sat in a hospital waiting room, staring down at my yellow converse, and feeling like the smallest person in the universe. Helpless. He was gone and there was a hole in my heart bigger than anything I’d ever known.
If I look back in my life I see my dad painting a larger than life giant Smurfette on my wall when I was six. I see him building me a tv stand out of a metal trash can when I decided to make my bedroom look “industrial” at 13. I can also hear the sound of his tools hitting the ground as relentless disease hammered away his ability to hold them in his hands and do what he loved. But in that sound, I never heard frustration. Only optimism. He somehow always worked through whatever it was, picked the tool back up, or figured out another way. His outlook is something that I will forever look up to like I’m still nine years old.
So for two months, I haven’t written. Not trying to forget, but trying not to think about how final it all was. That night was so final. Final. It was and still is like hearing the tool drop on the garage floor. Knowing the ding means something bigger than you can comprehend. In the same way that he taught me lessons when he probably didn’t even realize I was paying attention, I thought about how he always handled everything with a sense of laughter and persistence, a sense of creative optimism that I can’t even explain. But I know it, because it feels like an old familiar warm blanket. Wrapped in love. And that is the very thing that I will continue to try to be good at in my life, because in that small way, he will never truly be gone.
In about ten days, I’m turning 40. I’m not sharing this so that you’ll send me birthday cards or ginormous bouquets of flowers. I’m sharing this because it’s liberating. Like, how did I get here? I’ve always wondered what “Over the Hill” means or is – I surely never imagined I’d actually be here. I get it now. I’m here, in it. I can see the hill and the coaster is about to crest. It’s the moments we wait for, the part where we put our hands up and scream, “Let go.”
The reality is, as the track has been clicking toward the top, I’ve been gripping the bar and bracing myself to prepare. And probably missed some good moments along the way. I won’t make that mistake any longer.
I spent years polishing presentations with messages that didn’t truly matter to me. Sharing about learning tools that I knew how to use and enjoyed, but not that WERE my joy. I’ve always loved learning, but I also love sharing and sharing is more fun when you know the message is one others want to hear.
I poured time into jumping through hoops, collecting achievements like there was going to be some sort of gold star behavior chart on my headstone. *For the record, though morbid, I’m totally okay if my headstone glitters, but not for achievement stars.
I adjusted myself, over and over, to fit. To fit the testing culture. To water down my teaching to fill some niche that was needed by someone somewhere. So that I could feel needed and full. But it only makes you feel more empty in the long run.
I longed to be with people who got me, on a personal and professional level, and understood that my heart and my passion were about making the world better and in the process making myself better… not better than the competition, just better for the dream. Those people? I have and I love them all.
I took some chances, some that didn’t work out. At all. But then they did. They always worked out in the end.
Every click of the track. Polishing my message. Only sharing what I was pleased with. Only creating things I was comfortable with. Throwing away the art I hated – when I should have been hanging those pieces up. Hiding 90 percent of the things I felt like only I would understand. I was shining my ideas with varnish when I should have been scraping and sanding away the things that just don’t matter.
It doesn’t matter if anyone else understands, not everyone ever will.
There are people, around you, that care. Always. Don’t just be ready to support them, but also be ready to let them support you.
I’d rather have 3 seconds of genuine conversation than 8 hours of pre-packaged promotional blah.
When I say a “makerspace in a box” that I see for sale, “kills a part of my soul,” people chuckle. But I’m not joking. It literally makes a little part of my heart whimper with “ick.” An ick that takes me RIGHT back to elementary school when I felt the same way. And I’m 95% sure that as I crest the top of the hill and put my hands up, I’ll continue to understand that listening to those little inside voices is what it’s all about.
The lightheartedness in which I write this seriousness? It’s me. I miss my grandparents, all of whom I just lost within the past 4 years. I hate seeing the vice of incurable and devastating chronic illness squeeze on my parents, but at the same time, they continue to smile and live life, because in that respect, there is no choice. These things are all daily, second by second reminders that the clock ticks regularly and that we don’t get second chances. Sobering, but liberating to remember.
And I guess, that’s what happens at the top of the hill. You throw your hands up and let go. Well, there are also wrinkles, old age pain conversations with my husband, and raising a teenager… but for this moment, today, I’m just going to enjoy this ride.
Learning. Creating. Connecting.
And the occasional scream.