Broadcasting Me

Recently, I watched a Ted Talk by Andrew Fitzgerald titled "Adventures in Twitter Fiction." For most of the talk, Fitzgerald provided examples of the interesting ways people are experimenting with social media, especially Twitter, in order to tell stories. While I enjoyed hearing about these examples, it was something he said earlier in the talk that really intrigued me:

We are all broadcasters now

It is not that I found the statement groundbreaking. In fact, it is really just the latest version of an idea I have heard often: we are all now producers of content and designers of our digital personas. Still, something about Fitzgerald's declaration got me thinking, especially when I paired it with ideas from two other Ted Talks: "Your Online Life, Permanent As A Tattoo," by Juan Enriquez; and "After Your Final Status Update," by Adam Ostrow. 

While these two talks ultimately do not focus on the same exact idea, they agree on one thing: as human beings, we all now have to consider something that no other humans in the history of the world had to on quite the same scale--we are "broadcasters" of our selves. Meaning? With every move we make online, especially regarding social media, we provide information about ourselves that affects how people see us right now. But that's not all.

This information will also outlast us.

When we are no longer physically on this planet, our posts, tweets, pics, purchase histories, emails, videos, etc, will remain for our children, grandchildren, and successive generations to see. With this in mind, perhaps we need to take time to consider the kind of digital self we are leaving behind. As I think about my "broadcasting" from the previous week, here's what it looks like:

1. A few gift purchases on Amazon.
2. Some pictures of a family get-together on facebook and Instagram.
3. Between 5-10 G+ posts. Some for class communities and a few for a mooc in which I am participating. For one of the posts, I used YouTube Editor to create a short video about writing.
4. Roughly 150 tweets regarding education. Most of them surrounding the idea of #edjoy--a hashtag that I have asked other educators to use.
   
5. An iMovie video posted to YouTube in which I tried to remix a friend's Vine video. 

There is probably more that I am forgetting about. Here is the upshot, though. It has me thinking about my "broadcasting." Does it give an accurate sense of who I am? Have I shared ideas that I find important? Or how about this question:

If people only knew me through my "broadcasting" from the previous week, would I be happy with what it says about me?

Creativity Brings Life

Recently I came across this Vine, compliments of @timneedles:



It inspired me so much, I decided to remix it and use it as the basis for a short video:



For such a short video, this actually took me quite some time. Naturally, somebody might ask why I would spend a couple of hours putting this together, knowing that few others would see it. The simple answer? Creating, regardless of what it is, provides a break.

It is about the process. Whether making a video


A piece of micro fiction:

Or a multimedia collage:

Working on this material or with paper, scissors, and glue removes me from my daily routine and reminds me how important it is to explore the emergent possible. It is too easy to coast, to skate, to not think beyond what needs to be done. But life is mysterious and wonderful and difficult. Creating restores an awareness of what is in front of me and, more importantly, what is inside me.

Creativity brings life. Rejoice! Inside, you'll find power. You'll find ability good for a big heart.

My Problem: Tests

I attended a conference last year where I heard Chris Lehmann speak. Like countless teachers, I consider him on target regarding the ways we need to rethink how we do education. And, like many teachers who have listened to and spoken with Chris, I now have a problem: tests.

As Chris was discussing the benefits and challenges of implementing a problem based curriculum, like they have at SLA, he said something along these lines: if you have a test at the end of a unit, you don't have a problem based curriculum. You have a test based curriculum. Well. That makes sense.

But, as it turns out, resisting the impulse to test is quite difficult. First off, there are some reasons to give tests. For example, on a test, students can demonstrate their knowledge. Tests can also hold students responsible for information and reward those who have been diligent about doing the work. I am sure there are other reasons as well; however, my intention here is not to support tests. Instead, I want to reflect on why I am struggling with giving them.

Here are three reasons: 1) I'm not convinced that a test truly shows what a student thinks about whatever it is she is being tested on. It is the definition of top-down assessment. 2) Tests standardize learning, which is messy by its very nature. 3) Tests do not strike me as authentic learning experiences. What do I consider learning?

This is learning

And this 

And this 

Each of these examples illustrate meaningful, hands-on experiences. By looking at the work and talking to students about the experience, I know these activities required planning, focus, attention to detail, trial and error, flexibility and risk. These are skills that we know students (and all of us) need. 

So, why can't I just embrace this approach and think no more about tests? I guess a big reason is that tests still reign supreme. As much as I hate to say it, I feel pressure (albeit from within) to conform. I feel (again, with no real evidence) like other teachers would regard with suspicion my choice not to test. I feel like I might even be doing my students a disservice by not testing, since most of them are going on to college, where they will face some big tests. 

Thanks Chris Lehman. You have me thinking. Then again, it would be so much easier not to.

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.

Spread the #edjoy

One of my favorite Twitter chats is #sunchat. It never fails to motivate me for the upcoming week. Even when conversations revolve around potentially depressing topics, like the move towards more standardization and high stakes testing, ultimately I still feel hopeful. There are just too many thoughtful people out there fighting for what is right in education. 

Two weeks ago was no exception. The initial question asked us to discuss the ways we help struggling colleagues. A thread evolved regarding the need to laugh. Perhaps, some of us wondered, the time had come to establish a new hashtag: #edjoy? Yes, we decided. It was. In order to articulate the need for this hashtag, a number of people helped create the Joy in Education Manifesto.

Lets face it, teaching is a tough, high-stress job, especially in the current climate when so many educators feel besieged. It is easy to forget to laugh with our students and colleagues, to chuckle when things go off the rails, to emphasize joy. 

#Edjoy is about reconnecting with what attracted us to teaching in the first place: the desire to keep learning while helping others reach their potential. #Edjoy is about reasserting ourselves in the conversation regarding what empowered learning looks like. #Edjoy is about reminding ourselves that it's one thing for those on the outside to enumerate the shortcomings in our education system, but quite another to dedicate oneself to offering solutions from within.

In short, #Edjoy is about educators sharing what they love about their profession and, in so doing, providing uplift for themselves and others.

So what's the upshot, you might be wondering? What am I supposed to do with this hashtag? There are ideas for a more organized, concerted effort at making #edjoy known. One possibility: a daily #edjoy tweet challenge for the month of November (the month of giving thanks). Another possibility: an #edjoy flash mob at some arranged day and time. Maybe we could even get the hashtag to trend.

For now, however, the point is to USE IT! Spread the #edjoy.

**Thanks for reading. If you would like be part of future action, tweet me at @sglass771 or leave your twitter handle as a comment below or list your twitter handle on the #edjoy activists list on the 2nd page of the Joy in Education Manifesto.