“To admit uncertainty is to admit to weakness, to powerlessness, and to
believe in yourself despite both. It is a frailty, but in this frailty
there is a strength: the conviction to live in your own mind, and not in
someone else’s.”
― Educated: A Memoir
Recently, I read Educated by Tara Westover. I highly recommend it, if you haven't yet had a chance to read it. She writes about being raised in Idaho by her conservative Mormon parents, and then going on to attend college and study abroad at Cambridge. She didn't attend school until she was accepted to BYU. She didn't know about the Holocaust until her first year of college, and had no context for much of what she encountered when she embarked on her fellowship at Cambridge. Tara Westover is about two months older than I am. Her life was unimaginably different from mine. Where I grew up in the suburbs of Denver, raised by a family that valued education and access to a variety of cultural experiences, she grew up isolated from the world at large, not knowing about all the things she didn't know. I mean, I suppose I did, too. The difference, perhaps, is that I knew something was out there -- a whole host of things about the world that I had yet to discover.
I was incredibly fortunate to get to travel the world during my teen years; my grandma took my sister, my mom, and me traveling every summer from the time I was 10 or 11 until I was in college. We went all over Europe, to China, to South Africa, to Egypt... and through those travels, I learned that my world was so small compared to the wider world. It gave me a frame of reference to understand how what I knew fit into the larger scheme of things. I learned about history, art, and culture -- but also about the nitty-gritty of international travel, how to find what you need at a pharmacy when you don't speak the language, and what happens when you accidentally leave your passport on the airplane when you arrive in Hong Kong. I learned about what I like and don't like, what I value and what I can live without. Those experiences helped me understand that what I know is limited, and that only by experiencing what is foreign to me can I appreciate and refine my own values, preferences, interests, and beliefs.
All of this to say: you'd think I'd have learned this lesson several times over. I have traveled all over. I went to college and realized how little I knew; I graduated and realized how little I knew; I became a teacher and realized how much there is to learn; I went back to graduate school and realized there was still so much to know... and yet here I am, in a new environment, reeling from the sheer amount of unknown that I've contended with since August. On the surface, this transition seemed minimal. I was going from teaching at one EL school to instructional coaching at another. What I didn't realize, though, was that my understanding of education, like Tara Westover's learning, like my own perception before I traveled, was limited.
“I had come to believe that the ability to evaluate many ideas, many histories, many points of view, was at the heart of what it means to self-create.”
― Educated: A Memoir
I have been a teacher for the past eight years. I interned at a magnet school in the 2010-2011 school year, and taught at an EL elementary school from 2011 until 2017. Last year, I was a founding teacher at an EL secondary school. After that stretch, I was ready for something different. I taught 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, and 8th grades. I coached for Girls on the Run. I attended the EL National Conference, the Colorado Association for Gifted Children conference, the National Association for Gifted Children conference, the International Society for Technology in Education conference. I went to graduate school. I read books. I got additional endorsements on my license. I led professional development, was on the leadership team, and tried all kinds of new things with my students each year. I never truly felt like I had my feet under me (which, honestly, I thrived on), but I always felt like I knew what I believed -- at least in the last few years. And I took for granted that what I believed was also what EL believed, and what other educators who taught at schools like mine believed. My beautiful, wonderful schools became a kind of echo chamber, unbeknownst to me.
So when I showed up for this new job, it all felt familiar. Expeditions, case studies, inquiry, student-centered learning -- all the lingo I knew and grew to love over the past eight years. I jumped in with both feet, eager to take on this new role and use everything I've learned through teaching and learning over the course of my career. What I forgot is that this isn't where I spent the past eight years. This place is its own place, with its own values and history. Here, there is no drumming. Voyages are called crew trips. Homework is valued. Expeditions look different. None of this is good or bad -- it's just different. And suddenly, I'm off my feet again. I wonder what I believe and why I believe what I believe. Just as one does when one ventures into the wider world again.
Both of my previous principals also encouraged us to think of Renaissance as home. Leaving home is just what this feels like. Those people I left behind knew me and watched me grow into myself as a teacher. We had already built mutual trust. I knew what they believed, because my own beliefs were shaped, guided, and molded by the educators who surrounded me and nurtured me into becoming the teacher I am now. We grappled with the same questions, wrote the mission statement together, and wondered what to do in the face of the changing world together. I watched the pendulum swing from one side to the other as new ideas, new research, and new questions emerged -- and I was along for that ride.
Now I've stepped out into a new place that I am navigating with the compass calibrated by Renaissance. I am newly uncertain of my role, my beliefs and their alignment with this new milieu, and I am still finding my voice. I think I know what I believe; the question now is how to act on those beliefs in this new context. It is my job to decide what to keep and what to discard, what to act on and what to let go, and how to honor my experiences alongside others' experiences. It is, of course, uncomfortable. Growth always is. Realizing that your point of view isn't the only one, and certainly isn't the only defensible one, is challenging.
And in reality? It is my job to show up, have these kinds of conversations with teachers, and further both of our thinking. Just the same as I did with my students before. It is my job to refine my point of view, decide what I care about, and move forward. And I will. It is both scary and invigorating to rediscover and refine yourself; of course, that is why it is essential.
“Whomever you become, whatever you make yourself into, that is who you always were.”
― Educated: A Memoir
― Educated: A Memoir
Recently, I read Educated by Tara Westover. I highly recommend it, if you haven't yet had a chance to read it. She writes about being raised in Idaho by her conservative Mormon parents, and then going on to attend college and study abroad at Cambridge. She didn't attend school until she was accepted to BYU. She didn't know about the Holocaust until her first year of college, and had no context for much of what she encountered when she embarked on her fellowship at Cambridge. Tara Westover is about two months older than I am. Her life was unimaginably different from mine. Where I grew up in the suburbs of Denver, raised by a family that valued education and access to a variety of cultural experiences, she grew up isolated from the world at large, not knowing about all the things she didn't know. I mean, I suppose I did, too. The difference, perhaps, is that I knew something was out there -- a whole host of things about the world that I had yet to discover.
I was incredibly fortunate to get to travel the world during my teen years; my grandma took my sister, my mom, and me traveling every summer from the time I was 10 or 11 until I was in college. We went all over Europe, to China, to South Africa, to Egypt... and through those travels, I learned that my world was so small compared to the wider world. It gave me a frame of reference to understand how what I knew fit into the larger scheme of things. I learned about history, art, and culture -- but also about the nitty-gritty of international travel, how to find what you need at a pharmacy when you don't speak the language, and what happens when you accidentally leave your passport on the airplane when you arrive in Hong Kong. I learned about what I like and don't like, what I value and what I can live without. Those experiences helped me understand that what I know is limited, and that only by experiencing what is foreign to me can I appreciate and refine my own values, preferences, interests, and beliefs.
All of this to say: you'd think I'd have learned this lesson several times over. I have traveled all over. I went to college and realized how little I knew; I graduated and realized how little I knew; I became a teacher and realized how much there is to learn; I went back to graduate school and realized there was still so much to know... and yet here I am, in a new environment, reeling from the sheer amount of unknown that I've contended with since August. On the surface, this transition seemed minimal. I was going from teaching at one EL school to instructional coaching at another. What I didn't realize, though, was that my understanding of education, like Tara Westover's learning, like my own perception before I traveled, was limited.
“I had come to believe that the ability to evaluate many ideas, many histories, many points of view, was at the heart of what it means to self-create.”
― Educated: A Memoir
I have been a teacher for the past eight years. I interned at a magnet school in the 2010-2011 school year, and taught at an EL elementary school from 2011 until 2017. Last year, I was a founding teacher at an EL secondary school. After that stretch, I was ready for something different. I taught 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, and 8th grades. I coached for Girls on the Run. I attended the EL National Conference, the Colorado Association for Gifted Children conference, the National Association for Gifted Children conference, the International Society for Technology in Education conference. I went to graduate school. I read books. I got additional endorsements on my license. I led professional development, was on the leadership team, and tried all kinds of new things with my students each year. I never truly felt like I had my feet under me (which, honestly, I thrived on), but I always felt like I knew what I believed -- at least in the last few years. And I took for granted that what I believed was also what EL believed, and what other educators who taught at schools like mine believed. My beautiful, wonderful schools became a kind of echo chamber, unbeknownst to me.
So when I showed up for this new job, it all felt familiar. Expeditions, case studies, inquiry, student-centered learning -- all the lingo I knew and grew to love over the past eight years. I jumped in with both feet, eager to take on this new role and use everything I've learned through teaching and learning over the course of my career. What I forgot is that this isn't where I spent the past eight years. This place is its own place, with its own values and history. Here, there is no drumming. Voyages are called crew trips. Homework is valued. Expeditions look different. None of this is good or bad -- it's just different. And suddenly, I'm off my feet again. I wonder what I believe and why I believe what I believe. Just as one does when one ventures into the wider world again.
Both of my previous principals also encouraged us to think of Renaissance as home. Leaving home is just what this feels like. Those people I left behind knew me and watched me grow into myself as a teacher. We had already built mutual trust. I knew what they believed, because my own beliefs were shaped, guided, and molded by the educators who surrounded me and nurtured me into becoming the teacher I am now. We grappled with the same questions, wrote the mission statement together, and wondered what to do in the face of the changing world together. I watched the pendulum swing from one side to the other as new ideas, new research, and new questions emerged -- and I was along for that ride.
Now I've stepped out into a new place that I am navigating with the compass calibrated by Renaissance. I am newly uncertain of my role, my beliefs and their alignment with this new milieu, and I am still finding my voice. I think I know what I believe; the question now is how to act on those beliefs in this new context. It is my job to decide what to keep and what to discard, what to act on and what to let go, and how to honor my experiences alongside others' experiences. It is, of course, uncomfortable. Growth always is. Realizing that your point of view isn't the only one, and certainly isn't the only defensible one, is challenging.
And in reality? It is my job to show up, have these kinds of conversations with teachers, and further both of our thinking. Just the same as I did with my students before. It is my job to refine my point of view, decide what I care about, and move forward. And I will. It is both scary and invigorating to rediscover and refine yourself; of course, that is why it is essential.
“Whomever you become, whatever you make yourself into, that is who you always were.”
― Educated: A Memoir
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