I have recently endured a season of my life that I now categorize as ‘grief and loss’. I experienced a loss that shook my core, rocked my world, and rattled me so hard that I ended up in a place where I didn’t recognize myself. A place that does not match the description of what I called ‘life’. I spent days and weeks like a wayward sailor. I didn’t know what boat I was supposed to be sailing on, let alone the course that I was supposed to take. It was hard. Excruciating.
My family and sweet friends anchored me, patched up my brokenness and helped me charter a new path. Long walks, hard cries, and many vacations were my antidotes back to sanity. On a trip to Martha’s Vineyard with my oldest and dearest girlfriend, I stumbled upon a quote that stopped me dead in my tracks:
“You can’t go on to the next chapter of your life, if you keep rereading the last one.”
I ran out of the shop we were browsing in, tear stained, breathless, but…thankful. Eighteen words. That was the turning point. Eighteen words, spoken directly to me. It was like I made the conscious choice to snap out of my fog right at that moment. Because, you know what? It was true. I was rereading, replaying, redreaming…what I thought my life should have been, would have been, could have been. Instead I should have been focusing on what it was.
I spent weeks pondering that quote, conjuring up an image of myself standing in the middle of a body of water. My left foot in a familiar boat riddled with holes, my right foot in a new but unfamiliar boat. My arms stretched out for balance. At first, the boats were next to each other. The act of balancing between them was manageable (not ideal, a little crazy…but manageable). As the tide swelled and the waves grew, the boats began to drift apart and the left one began taking on water. A manageable situation soon turned into an unmanageable one. I needed to make a decision. Jump into the familiar left boat that would surely end up sinking, or jump into the right boat. The unfamiliar boat. The boat that would bring a period of discomfort and uneasiness. The boat that would remain afloat. Before reading that quote, I think I was left-boat bound.
A Literacy Connection
So, what does this have to do with literacy? Well, a lot, actually! Since the start of the school year, I’ve seen many parallels between my personal life and my professional life. As educators, we are in the midst of significant change as a result of the Common Core State Standard initiative. Curriculum materials, teaching strategies, and grade level expectations are shifting in order to meet the requirements outlined in the new standards. In addition, a new teacher evaluation system and new student assessment systems are being developed and implemented. As teachers, we might be looking at this situation and thinking, “This is not what I signed up for. This is not comfortable. This is not what teaching looked like ten years ago. This is not what it’s ‘supposed’ to be like.”
I hear many of my colleagues sharing stories of what it ‘could be’, ‘should be’ or ‘would be’ when we should really be focusing on what it is. While it may be true that literacy teaching and learning doesn’t look the same as it did twenty years ago, ten years ago, or even five years ago, we have to accept that things change. Change is hard, but change is good and the best way to manage change is to be part of it.
Today’s educators face the same challenge that I faced this summer. There are two boats. One is familiar but is riddled with holes and is no longer sturdy enough to meet the needs of today’s learners. The other boat is unfamiliar but holds the promise of setting a new course and is sturdy enough to get the job done. Which boat are you on? You can’t be part of the next phase of education, if you keep referring back to past practice. Stop rereading, replaying and redreaming. Join the change and start fresh with a new chapter. Let’s hop in the new boat together. Both feet in…
Post image: http://createyourownquotes.quora.com/Feet-in-Two-Boats