A Second Week of #Edjoy: Mindfulness

Last year, while reading an article in FastCompany, I came across these photographs by Andrew White:

I love this. Not only are they fun, but White's playful project points to something really serious: the need to be aware. According to White, "the whole series thrived on spontaneity." There was no forethought regarding specific scenes or objects that White intended to capture. Instead, "It was just a case of shooting whatever presented itself." Looking at the range of photographs, this becomes readily apparent.

So, what does this have to do with my two-week old #Edjoy experiment? Mindfulness.

This idea has been floating around in the back of my mind over the last 14 days; however, a brief exchange with Reagan Weeks (@Reagan31) in today's #sunchat clarified it. We were discussing the importance of gratitude, and I tweeted how easy it is to get caught up in what is not working. To get stuck in cycles of negativity. Resisting these ruts requires mindfulness: being aware of the moments that make teaching meaningful and exciting, especially those that are mundane and easily-overlooked.

As I look again at White's Legographer, I realize what an ingenious exercise in awareness he has established for himself. By changing perspective in this novel way, everyday locations become areas for potential discovery.

So it is with #Edjoy.

My colleagues certainly have posted about the dramatic, even epic moments from the last two weeks. However, most of the #Edjoy posts concern the easily overlooked instances. Seeing what people have shared makes me more mindful of my own day, confident that powerful testaments to the beauty of learning are all around me. I just need to open my eyes. And keep them open.

“You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life”  -Walt Whitman

A Week of #EdJoy

At last week's #sunchat about having fun, I floated the idea of tweeting around the hashtag #edjoy. For the two weeks prior to the chat, I had discussed the need for and meaning of the hashtag with some very insightful people in my PLN. You can read an older blogpost about that here. While there seemed to be unanimous support for getting the hashtag circulating, I still wasn't sure if people would be drawn to it.

Fortunately, my uncertainty proved to be unfounded.

By mid-week, a number of people were using #edjoy to share the classroom experiences that make teaching so incredible and rewarding. Some tweets identified big collaborative moments between students, while others highlighted the smaller, quieter one-to-one experiences.









Regardless of the specific situation referred to in the tweet, one thing was clear: Learning can not happen without a genuine sense of trust and caring. While these feelings get established in a number of ways, foremost among them is the belief that learning becomes meaningful when it becomes deeply personal. And some laughter and fun helps.












On a personal level, this was one of those weeks: long hours, including a night of parent conferences; a lot of grading; and a number of "misses." You know what I am talking about. Those classes where nothing really goes wrong; however, something feels off. Like there's a lack of connection. In any case, I ended a couple of the days in a funk. My wife refers to this as "impending doom." Maybe that's taking it too far. Still, anybody who has spent time in the classroom should know what I mean: a nagging, indefinable suspicion that things could have been better.

But then, each day, as I scanned Twitter, I saw the moments of #edjoy. All I can say is, they truly helped. I look forward to more, and to hopefully getting more educators involved. A sincere thank you to all who contributed ideas this week. I know there are far more than I've included here.

I'll give the final word to one of my favorite tweeps:

My brain and heart got a jolt this week as well. I'm ready for more. How about you?

Shadows and Stars

One man with his guitar after what sounds like a long night of the soul. At its most basic, that's how I would describe Joe Strummer's meditation on individuality in his song "Long Shadow." Does it matter that his voice is raspy, possibly even out of tune? No. In fact, there is an authenticity present in his voice. It is the sound of experience. As he rasps through lyrics about struggles, about "grabbing [your] demons and wrestling them to the ground," his voice becomes the real instrument. "I've been there," it assures the listener, and I am still here now.

The key sonic moment comes a little over halfway through the song, when Strummer implores us to "listen to the country/listen to the Night Streamliner." The verse starts off low, almost in a whisper, but quickly rises in volume and intensity. This is the sonic moment.  Listen to the way he growls the word "rock," and enunciates the words "prayers" and "road." He adds texture to these lyrics. When I listen, I can feel it. When I listen, I ask myself "what is he talking about?" Who is "she?" What does he mean that "Beale street didn't have no prayer"?

When I listen, I am not sure. But this is part of the sonic moment. There is a desperation in Strummer's tone, even as there is ambiguity in the lyrics. There is a nod to great American poets like Woody Guthrie and Walt Whitman as well. Especially in these lines. Both of those men sang of the common people, of the desire to explore, of radical democracy and the importance of accepting all because all struggled equally for their share of existence.

Perhaps this is a purpose of art. Not the purpose, of course. But one reason people grapple with aesthetics and form, be it music, or painting, or film. It is one person's attempt to share with others the struggle of being alive and the need to persevere. After all, here it is again: in a much different kind of song by Adam Levine. But the same sonic moment is present. "Yes," both songs say, we are small, perhaps even insignificant. Yet we are here." 

We have our identities, our songs, our art to prove it.