Competition: A Time and Place

Throughout my life, I've always enjoyed competition. In a past life (Read: before kids) I was a sponsored mountain bike racer. While I was never the fastest of my friends, I could hold my own against most of the competition.

The best advice my friend and mentor taught me was to remember that everyone gets tired on the climbs, so that is the time to crush the competition. When they see you dropping a gear and hammering away, it destroys their psyche. You win.

I now apply that mentality in all competition. Whether riding my bike or playing another sport, I look for the time when the competition is the hardest and my competitors are most tired. That's when I take it up a notch. Yes, I get tired. Yes, I need to find the will to not quit (or puke). But, I usually win. And, if I don't, I know I gave it my all.

The thing is, as much as I absolutely LOVE the feeling of dominating in competition (There's something energizing and fulfilling about hearing a worthy opponent's wheezing fade to silence.) there is a time to prove one's self, and there is a time to set aside your own genetic drive to win for the greater good and other people.

Being an educator is that time. As educators, it is our responsibility to strive, solely, for the growth of students. All students. If you have a great idea that was successful in your room, share it. If you have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for your kids, invite someone else's kids to join. If you see another educator struggling, connect with them and offer a hand. If you see another educator doing amazing things, connect with them and take notes.

Sure, it feels nice to be recognized for the countless hours we put in before the kids come in and after they leave, and receiving an award that says your work is noticed gives you validation. However, that stuff should not be the drive behind an educator. That's only the result of our hard work and noble intentions. When you stop working for those goals, you'll have actually earned them.

There is nothing more repulsive than an educator unwilling to connect and share, as though ideas are non-renewable resources and their students lose out because the idea was used by another teacher; the only thing lost tends to be the singular recognition the teacher receives. Don't be that teacher. If you know that teacher, no matter how good it would feel to hammer it and watch them fall away as you blow by them, swallow your pride and continue sharing. After all, it's the students we're in this for, and they're the ones losing when teachers look to compete.

Feeling Lost and Figuring it Out

Almost a year ago, I posted "Should I Stay or Should I Go?". While I stated reasons why educators need to stay in the classroom, I did leave it at the beginning of this school year. This past week, while attending FETC, I had some experiences that led me to reflect on my decision more deeply than I normally do, so I decided to share.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss working with MY kids. I miss making those connections that feel so natural to me. I miss celebrating their successes, learning from (and laughing at) our mistakes, pushing them when they don't believe in themselves, and having them push me when I don't believe in myself. I miss having an idea that I think is brilliant, watching it fall apart, having the students being completely understanding when that happens, and being willing to continue playing and exploring and trusting me. I miss knowing that I've made someone happier in their own existence. (I really miss that!) What it really comes down to is that I miss the safety I feel when working with them.

And, that is exactly why I felt I needed to leave. I always told my kids that progression only happens when there's discomfort. This does not mean I didn't strive to be a better teacher every single day. It means that pushing myself to allow my kids to have the most powerful learning opportunities they would ever have IS my comfort zone. Taking risks in MY room, with MY kids, is exactly what I feel most safe doing. If failure is eminent, I trust in my ability (and my kids' willingness) to adjust on the fly. If success is certain, I will know what the next steps will be and how to challenge the  individual child to reach for it. And, when a child is having a difficult time in any aspect of life, I guarantee I have built the relationships that allow me to be able to help the child through it. I have very little of that confidence working with adults in my new position.

At this point you're probably asking the same thing I was as I finished writing that paragraph: Why, exactly, did I move out of the classroom? I didn't leave for more money, because I felt my talents were being wasted, or because I gave up on the system. To be completely honest, I left because I saw a position that was open and I felt someone in our building needed to fill it.

Now that I'm in this position, I want to be great at it. I want to make those connections that are vital for teachers to feel safe in taking the greatest risks for their students' education. I want to celebrate their successes, learn from (and laugh at) our mistakes, push them when they don't believe in themselves, and have them push me when I don't believe in myself. I want to have an idea that I think is brilliant, watch it fall apart, have the adults be completely understanding when that happens, and be willing to continue playing and exploring and trusting me. I want to make someone happier in their own existence. (I really want that!) It comes down to that I want to support the teachers so they can give OUR kids the most powerful, valuable, and exciting educational opportunities they could ever experience.

As I reread this post to come up with a magical conclusion that would blow your mind, I realized something. The school is my new classroom, the teachers my new students. I need to be willing to take risks for my teachers, as I did for my students, to build the relationships we all need in order to do the hard work together. I'm a very different person when I'm working with kids. I'm relaxed, confident, goofy, caring, and honest. But, most importantly, I'm focused 100% on their success. I've never wanted to be the focus of the things my students were doing. I wanted the success to be theirs, the work to be ours, and the failure to be mine. That's all I need to do for my teachers.

Thanks for listening as I worked through this one...