If you purchase something that is new to you, do you ever start noticing it everywhere? You know, like if you buy a blue jeep, suddenly it seems like everywhere you look there are blue jeeps on the road? I’ve often said, what we look for, we find. This has certainly been my experience.
Sometimes, I find myself wondering about this more deeply. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s not simply because we have been looking but because we are also supposed to learn something too and perhaps we look until we find what we are looking to learn subconsciously.
As David Brooks explains in his book, How to Know a Person, “We live our childhoods at least twice. First we live through them with eyes of wonderment. And later in life we have to revisit them to understand what it all meant…Toni Morrison put it this way, ‘All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.”‘
I was talking to someone a couple of weeks ago who runs a nonprofit focused on creating belonging for teenagers. This nonprofit has a beautiful mission, and I felt grateful to spend a day with people who have such big hearts. The CEO was explaining how too often when people go into the work of coaching or instructing children, they go into it with an intention of “fixing kids” when in reality, kids don’t need fixing, they need many of things we all need. Hope, belonging, connection, community. And that too often, this intention of fixing is actually not about kids at all but in fact about fixing something within themselves. When in reality, what we really need are coaches and educators focused on doing their inner work. People who are focused on being whole themselves, first, so they can truly accompany others in their journey and see them clearly versus seeing others as they see painful parts of themselves.
That conversation led me to another conversation with a good friend who is also an educational leader. After sharing what I just mentioned above with him, he began pondering the root causes of some of the instructional moves we often see in schools. For example, let’s say we encounter a teacher who prefers to talk in the front of the classroom for long stretches of time everyday. And let’s say that individual is hesitant to reflect upon how that practice is working for students. How might we ask questions to dig deeper into the root causes of that hesitation? Often, somewhere in the reluctance to reflect upon teaching practices, we can find fear. Fear of whether we will be successful using a different instructional approach. Fear of how we will feel about ourselves if it doesn’t go well.
During this conversation, we both started to wonder if there may be a deeper need that is being met (for some not all) by clinging to this practice. If we are someone who was not seen or seen clearly as a child, are we unconsciously holding onto this practice because it is an opportunity for us to be seen by others – those others being the students seated in our classroom?
This may or may not be true for some people. We may never know the answer when it comes to many people. We can only meet people at the level of which they’ve met themselves. But it’s worth considering.
As Adam Grant states in his book, Hidden Potential, “It’s easy for people to be critics or cheerleaders. It’s harder to get them to be coaches. A critic sees your weaknesses and attacks your worst self. A cheerleader sees your strengths and celebrates your best elf. A coach sees your potential and helps you become your best self.”
We spend a lot of time in schools going into classrooms to look at instructional practices. This is often the main focus of our evaluation and walk through conversations. It’s the content we focus on during our instructional rounds. But what is often missed in this work is the deeply human part. The part where we walk alongside others without criticizing or cheerleading the moves they are making but instead make space for them as human beings to take a step back. Space for people to understand themselves more deeply and how they are doing more deeply, so they can also understand how that information might be influencing their work.
David Brooks made another statement that struck me in his book, “You can’t know who you are unless you know how to tell your story.” And yet, how much space do we provide for people and their people-ness and their stories in our schools? Often, new teachers join us, and it’s welcome to the team, here is your new teacher orientation, enjoy some pizza with the principal where you can ask questions about our school, and off we go. In the day-to-day, some of us find deeper connections with colleagues and administrators. Some of us seek it out. Some of us don’t. Some of us think we need it. Some of us think we don’t.
So, this week before our instructional rounds, I simply asked us to pause and think of a teacher who we can see is really doing their self-work. Perhaps they are responding to difficult feedback or situations differently or going out of their way to bring good energy into the spaces they enter. I simply wanted us to make sure we honored the people who were working really hard on the growing as a human being of the work because sometimes that work is the hardest work of all and may or may not be celebrated in team meetings, evaluations, or on post it notes during instructional rounds.
As I say in Legacy of Learning, “The most important work is the work we do on ourselves. Everything else is secondary.” And what matters most is often more difficult to measure.
Shew. It’s a lot to think about, but it feels important. So, I’m simply asking us what it would look like to spend a little less time focused on what we are doing and what other people are doing and more time genuinely interested in being. Being together. Being present with others. Being interested in people and their stories and their childhoods. Being interested in our stories and childhoods too.
Somewhere in the being together part of the work and in the walking alongside each other part of the work is a deeper understanding of ourselves and others. We can accompany each other and coach each other more kindly and effectively when we see ourselves and each other more clearly.
Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just been looking for this because I personally need it. Maybe I am water, and I’m simply trying to get back to a place where I once was.
Maybe this is just my blue jeep.
But it can’t hurt to try.
MEGHAN LAWSON 
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