When most of us hear the word failure we assume a negative connotation. And yet failure is often a path to learning and ultimately to future success.

Take my writing career. (Dare I call it that?) I publish my blog posts without consulting anyone; I choose my own topics and edit my own work. Recently though, I had an editor send me some feedback for an article I’m writing. Though I expected feedback, I was surprised at how much. I reminded myself that this was an opportunity to learn.

Even more telling are the multiple rejections from book publishers. I know that J.K. Rowling had a dozen rejections and Stephen King several dozen for their first novels. We hear similar stories for Judy Blume, William Faulkner, Dr. Seuss, Rudyard Kipling and George Orwell. In fact, Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time received a whopping 26 rejections before going on to win The Newberry Medal. And one publisher said this of the now classic Lord of the Flies: “an absurd and uninteresting fantasy which was rubbish and dull.”

So, what does each rejection, each so-called-failure, teach me? After the initial sting, I gain a new perspective and a strengthened resolve to pursue a project I believe in. I strive to improve my writing and remind myself that failure is simply an opportunity to learn.

A good friend recently sent this short video (very short, in fact) summing it all up: Keep Moving Forward. So whether with writing or with life, I celebrate the opportunities that failure presents. I keep moving forward, gaining momentum each step of the way.

 

As the mercury dropped outside this week, I raised the thermostat, made a cup of tea and snuggled under a blanket on the couch. At one point I drove to the Bissell Centre to drop off some donations. The entrance was riddled with shopping carts and sleeping bags; the people inside finding relief from the frigid temperatures. When I walked in, an odd sense came over me. Sadness, guilt, gratefulness: all wrapped into one.

Before each recess we check the temperature: at – 20 degrees or colder, we stay inside. My trip to the Bissell Centre reminded me that not everyone has that choice, that luxury. I can’t help but wonder what brings people to a point in life where they have no home to go to. I wonder about their individual stories. At some point, they were all children in elementary school, exuberant about life. And now they leave their shopping carts at the door to find refuge from the cold in downtown Edmonton.

When I drove away, the bag of clothing I dropped off seemed so insignificant. My thoughts jolted back to our students. It is devastating to think that any of them might potentially be forced to live on the streets, without a home to call their own.

We certainly cannot predict the path our students will take in life. We can however create a supportive school environment for each and every student. We can help build a foundation of skills: literacy, numeracy, problem solving and critical thinking. We can model empathy and compassion. We can inspire our students to find purpose and passion in life. We can give those deemed ‘at risk’ a little bit of normalcy and acceptance.

I will continue to donate clothing and money for a warm meal here and there; and perhaps to those without, that gesture is not so insignificant. Yet I will also strive to empower each student I encounter. I may not see the results but our students are certainly worth the effort.

I work with a little one each day who continues to be a puzzle. Even after this first term of grade one, when those around him are learning to read, he struggles to learn the letters of the alphabet. The only letter he could identify a few weeks ago was the letter x. Until recently he didn’t even know the first letter of his name. This after much repetition, multiple modes of teaching and learning, games, activities and more repetition.

I continue to be hopeful to see some progress. Yet daily, my heart breaks when I realize how confusing these letters and words and this business of reading all seem to be for him. I don’t think he could formulate these questions, but this is what his face suggests: What? Letters have names? And sounds too? I don’t know what that squiggle is, why do you keep asking me?

Though he is not diagnosed with any specific disorder, it is evident that learning is going to be a challenge for him. Some students catch on to this idea of literacy with ease. Yet my daily work with this boy reminds me that the ability to read is truly complex. In some ways it is miraculous that any of us can make sense of these letters on the page. The students I work with tend to be the ones whose experiences with literacy have not been especially positive and who haven’t yet figured out how all the pieces of the puzzle come together.

I can tell you though, when it happens, when those pieces do begin to fit together, the rewards are priceless.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once said, “Music is the universal language of mankind.”

Imagine a gym full of children, heads bowed, as quiet as the falling snow, The Last Post penetrating the silence. Imagine those students new to Canada, those with limited English skills, looking curiously around at this solemn silence. Though confused at the circumstance, the emotion was clear.

On Saturday I saw 2 Pianos 4 Hands at the Citadel. The range of emotion involved in learning to play an instrument was highlighted by the music itself: intense, uplifting, demanding, hopeful, jubilant.

It is difficult to imagine the world without music. Music can transport us to another time or place. It is used to calm, inspire and motivate. Music is entertainment. It is reverence and prayer. Music is used in celebration and as therapy. It is used to establish mood. It is a form of art and expression. Music transcends the boundaries of language.

Though I myself have limited musical talent, I am grateful for those who dedicate their lives to its creation, those whose aptitude is matched by their persistence.

“If music be the food of love, play on…” William Shakespeare.

 

An interesting thing happened the other night: a parent inquired about her child’s standardized test scores moments before an evening presentation about 21st century learning. It may not seem interesting at first glance; however, had you heard the presentation, it was an ironic inquiry.

Recently, there has been some recognition that standardized testing may not be serving its purpose. In fact, Provincial Achievement Tests in Alberta are slowly being phased out.

Our current curriculum is primarily knowledge based. Therefore, standardized tests supposedly tell us who has acquired the knowledge. Though I know the intent, I have never been convinced that they serve the intended purpose. Robert John Meehan said, “Standardized Testing tells us as much about learning as Reality TV tells us about reality.” How true.

I have been reading, talking and writing a lot about the curriculum redesign our province is undertaking. From what I can tell, it’s a step in the right direction. As educators, we recognize that our students are different than they were five, ten and fifteen years ago. We also recognize that the skills students need when they graduate have dramatically changed. Therefore a curriculum redesign, an overhaul really, is required.

I want our children to be educated. I want them to learn to create, collaborate and think critically. I want them to find their passion and purpose in life. I want them to become contributing members of the global community.

Can this happen within our current curriculum? With innovation and hard work on the part of the teacher, yes. My hope however, is that within the new curriculum, students have room to create, collaborate and think critically using an area of passion as a springboard. Ultimately, my hope is that teachers are freed from the common lament of content overload and students become more engaged in their learning.

As far as I’m concerned both standardized testing and reality TV have passed their expiration date!

Our school was abuzz with energy last week: from WE Day, a student versus staff dodgeball game, a bake sale for the Stollery, hot lunch, crazy hair day, Josh Classen from CTV, in-school field trips. You name it, it seemed to be happening.

For days I heard talk of the dodgeball game, students bubbling over with stories about WE Day and students of all grades excited to watch the grade 5 classes on the news. The energy and excitement was palpable. These events could not and would not take place without dedicated staff members: leaders who care enough about our students to devote time to these so-called extras. Often it is these extras that create the buzz.

In his autobiography, Nelson Mandela relays a story from one of his childhood caregivers: “A leader, he said, is like a shepherd. He stays behind the flock, letting the most nimble go out ahead, whereupon the others follow, not realizing that all along they are being directed from behind.”

Whose idea was the bake sale for the Stollery? The students. Where was the teacher? Leading from behind, empowering those in her charge to create a buzz all their own.

Imagine for a moment that you are six years old. Now imagine boarding an airplane, flying across the globe and entering a country where everyone and everything is new: the dress, the food, the cultural norms and perhaps most significantly, the language.

I am currently working with a little boy who recently moved from Africa. His experience is very much like the one described. Each day he comes to school where no one speaks his language, where he is continually engaged in a game of guess and point, where he struggles to communicate his needs and wants. I am amazed by his tenacity as he faces each day trying to decipher the words of his teacher and his peers, trying to fit into this foreign world.

As I teach this young boy the alphabet and how to speak and read English, he teaches me about courage and overcoming obstacles. Christopher Reeve has said, “A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.”

I think I’ve found a hero.

 

 

I recently finished reading Amanda Lindhout’s memoir, A House in the Sky. Since I turned the last page, the images and details from Amanda’s ordeal in Somalia, kidnapped and held hostage for 460 days, stay with me.

Those who held her captive were really just kids. Kids who did horrible, unspeakable things. What amazes me most about her story is that she is able to forgive them. She has come to realize that they are victims of circumstance.

Through this ordeal, Amanda has also come to value the power of education. “I’d spent so much time in captivity wondering about the boys who guarded me, specifically, whether they’d have been different – less entrenched in religious extremism and war – if they’d had more opportunities to go to school, and maybe more meaningfully, if they’d been raised in homes where their mothers and sisters had been able to attend school.”

On this Thanksgiving weekend, I am especially thankful that we have schools to go to, that our schools are not places of indoctrination and that education is valued and accessible in Canada. I am thankful for my freedom, for the ability to see the sky each day, for living in a country where I am not afraid to be alone on the street or in my home. I am thankful to be surrounded by loved ones.

Perhaps Meister Eckhart says it best, “If the only prayer you said was thank you, that would be enough.”

This week our grade one classes engaged in an activity called “circle painting.” The students stood around a large sheet of paper, paint brushes in hand, and then added their own contributions to create a giant masterpiece. Throughout the process, they moved from place to place: “let’s trade spots.” They were considerate and complementary to those around them: “I like what you did there, Olivia.” They made suggestions to each other: “we need some yellow on this side of the paper.”  And though the final project is beautiful, the process itself was more important. The idea was to add to what someone else had already created: to create something that couldn’t be done on one’s own.

Our grade one teachers used the word collaboration to describe the process to those six year olds who were quick to announce, “that’s like synergy!”

It’s exactly like synergy.

I feel blessed to be on a staff where staff meetings are not the drudgery of tedious agenda items. Our Thursday staff meetings echo the concept of circle painting: one person begins by sharing an idea and from there wonderful things emerge. An original idea becomes more effective and exciting when the entire team contributes. What emerges wouldn’t have the same depth or scope if it came from one mind.

Ultimately, we are better together.

Each morning I begin my day by reading Robin Sharma. A few days ago, this was his entry: “Most people live as if they have all the time in the world. They wish they had more time in their days and yet they waste the time they have. They put off living until some event in the future occurs. In order to awaken to your best life, every day should be lived as if it were your last day on the planet.”

Tomorrow I am leaving on vacation. Yes, I realize it is September. Yes, I know it is the busiest month of the school year. And yes, I have struggled with going away for a week knowing the realities of school life. Yet when I read that passage by Sharma, I gave myself permission to go and enjoy.

My father was diagnosed with MS at about my age. Those grand plans he saved for retirement, never came to fruition. He was forced to stop working, forced to abandon his future dreams, forced to live life without the luxury of movement. We watched as his health declined and he became quadriplegic. He never did get to Europe or Mexico or Asia, though I know he wanted to.

So, I am boarding that plane tomorrow morning without regret. I will enjoy my days as if they were my last. Because really, we just don’t know what the future holds. I will live my life today.