*Instead of writing new posts for June, July and August I will revisit past posts, share the essence of the original post, reflect on its relevance for today and offer new insights and perspectives. I’ve been writing IN:SIGHT since September of 2016, so I will have plenty of material to draw from. I invite you to scroll back through the older posts to see what captures your inner eye or energizes the heart of your teaching.
June 29th, 2022—6 years ago (December 14th, 2016) I wrote a post about the nature of despair in teaching and the importance of understanding broken heartedness as a path toward wholeness in education. My initial post was informed by a deep sense of loss as I considered the range of challenges I witnessed while coaching student teachers as they pursued their personal calling to serve the learning needs of all students. I sensed then that the combined forces of accountability, standardization, and efficiency were taking precedence over the internal passions of the teacher’s heart to love, care for, and express compassion for the needs of learners.
My feeling of despair has only deepened. In addition to the challenges I noted, which were mostly related to external mandates, I can now add forces seeking to narrow what can and can’t be taught in schools related to economic disparities, definitions of democracy, the history of enslaved peoples, social justice, reproductive rights, the arming of teachers, and the nature of human sexuality. Many of these socially, emotionally and politically charged debates have moved right into the space of the day-to-day activities of teachers, when just a few years ago they were present but slightly removed to the level of school boards or state legislators. The level of teacher scrutiny has increased and intensified. Parents shout insults, social media posts condemn and threaten violence, and some states are considering installing video cameras in classrooms so lessons can be live-streamed and monitored for compliance. No longer, it seems, can teachers apply the age-old strategy of closing their door, excluding the pressures of policy makers, and teaching in ways that best suit the intellectual, emotional, and physical needs of their students.
I’m left wondering, why would anyone want to teach under these conditions? Where is there room for joy, mystery, and awe? The heart of teaching? The sad answer is that the rate of teacher attrition is increasing as many educators feel like cogs in a system they can’t support. The outflow of wisdom and experience is troubling and disheartening. And yet the fact that students still enroll in teacher preparation programs because they care and want to make a difference in the lives of learning is encouraging. I can take hope in their willingness to act.
In my December 14th, 2016 post I wrote:
In moments of personal or professional despair I’m often drawn to the poem “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver for meaning making. I’m not looking for sure or quick answers but rather a place of purchase from which my broken heartedness can become a place of understanding and growth. In her poem she writes:
“Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. / Meanwhile the world goes on.”
I’m drawn to the transition between the two sentences, a mere tiny space between a period and capital letter. Yet at the same time a universe of potential that frames a productive space between the real and tangible moments of suffering I experience, and the equally real sense that larger more life-giving energies are ever moving forward. Her poem continues:
“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, / the world offers itself to your imagination, / calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -- / over and over announcing your place / in the family of things.”
6 years ago, I was drawn to the word “meanwhile” in Oliver’s poem. Today I’m drawn to “imagination” and its wild and unpredictable character. As necessary as it is to resist the forces constraining the call the teach, through political and social action, it is also essential to embolden the gift of imagination. To seek and lean into the unexpected that can emerge through openness and vulnerability. I take hope in K-12 students who show deep care and compassion as they witness to the broken heartedness of their teachers. The voices of young people imagining new and different ways of being more fully human. They see a future that acknowledges the despair of our time, not shying away from harsh realities, and at the same time articulating an imaginative reality that offers wholeness.
Broken heartedness, it seems, unities the lived experience of students and educators. I sense a powerful force for change in the union of youthful passion and imagination free of adult social constraints, combined with the experienced wisdom of teachers who have faithfully resisted the deformation of their heart and call to teach. Who are the wild geese in your teaching calling you back to place in the family of educators? For me, they are the students who faithfully show up as full and complete human beings in the classes I teach.
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