All posts by Mary Anne Duggan

career, Living, risk-taking, Write6x6

GCC in 2033

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For this last week of GCC’s Write 6X6 challenge, the suggested prompt was to write about where we see GCC 5 or 10 years from now – a “vision,” if you will. This prompt brought up another vision I had almost 10 years ago – one that changed my life in profound ways.

Before anyone gets excited, I am a scientist. I don’t suffer tales of the paranormal gladly. I had a vision about 10 years ago that absolutely came true, but plenty of my other visions did not. For example, I am not now, nor have I ever been, a Radio City Rockette. But I digress . . .

The day of my vision started by walking my daughter Taylor to her first day in a new job at a Manhattan advertising agency. A few months earlier, Taylor took an uncharacteristic leap and decided to move to the Big Apple. Tears filled my eyes as we hugged a block away from her office, lest any of her new colleagues see mommy walking her to work.

After we parted, I decided to take a stroll on the High Line, a public park built on a historic, elevated rail line. Full of public art and flora and fauna (okay, birds and squirrels) right next to the life-sounds of the city, walking the High Line makes for a brain buzzy with introspection. I thought about Taylor’s exciting new career — and the one I was currently enduring as an assistant research professor.

View on the High Line

Right there on the High Line somewhere between 26th Street and the 10th Avenue crossing, the thought flashed, “I want to teach at a community college!” I then spent the next hour or so going over in my mind how such a position would feed my soul. (Yep, I said soul – this scientist has one, too.) This wasn’t the first time I considered community college teaching, but it was this one particular vision that spurred me to action.

I had one eensy problem. The leadership in my then-department had a policy: If you apply for another position, you must resign in order to receive a recommendation. You know where this is going. I quit my full-time job. With benefits. And a retirement plan. To become an adjunct. If my mother were alive to see it, she would have muttered, “Mary, Mary, Mary . . .”

Shortly after my decision to leap out into the CC job market, the net in the form of an adjunct gig at GCC magically appeared. (Did I really just write about magic?) More adjunct opportunities came from SCC and NAU. I even returned to ASU to lecture for a couple years before I landed in the residential position I am in now. My point is it’s been a long road to get here, but I have never been happier and more fulfilled at work.

My vision of GCC in the next 10 years is that we continue to grow in our vibrancy and remain as wonderfully student-centered as I believe we are today. My vision includes a faculty who feel valued and energized. There’s a fun book entitled, If You Don’t Feed the Teachers, They Eat the Students. My hope for GCC is that all faculty feel fed so that they may be fully present for students.

Five years elapsed between my initial vision and inking my employment papers with GCC, but every minute of the struggle to get here was worth it. Whatever we do collectively to move GCC forward over the next 10 years is worth every bead of sweat if it helps our students to live out their own visions of the lives they want as well.

 

May GCC be as vibrant as this mural on the High Line!

The post GCC in 2033 appeared first on My Love of Learning.

career, Living, risk-taking, Write6x6

GCC in 2033

Leave a comment

For this last week of GCC’s Write 6X6 challenge, the suggested prompt was to write about where we see GCC 5 or 10 years from now – a “vision,” if you will. This prompt brought up another vision I had almost 10 years ago – one that changed my life in profound ways.

Before anyone gets excited, I am a scientist. I don’t suffer tales of the paranormal gladly. I had a vision about 10 years ago that absolutely came true, but plenty of my other visions did not. For example, I am not now, nor have I ever been, a Radio City Rockette. But I digress . . .

The day of my vision started by walking my daughter Taylor to her first day in a new job at a Manhattan advertising agency. A few months earlier, Taylor took an uncharacteristic leap and decided to move to the Big Apple. Tears filled my eyes as we hugged a block away from her office, lest any of her new colleagues see mommy walking her to work.

After we parted, I decided to take a stroll on the High Line, a public park built on a historic, elevated rail line. Full of public art and flora and fauna (okay, birds and squirrels) right next to the life-sounds of the city, walking the High Line makes for a brain buzzy with introspection. I thought about Taylor’s exciting new career — and the one I was currently enduring as an assistant research professor.

View on the High Line

Right there on the High Line somewhere between 26th Street and the 10th Avenue crossing, the thought flashed, “I want to teach at a community college!” I then spent the next hour or so going over in my mind how such a position would feed my soul. (Yep, I said soul – this scientist has one, too.) This wasn’t the first time I considered community college teaching, but it was this one particular vision that spurred me to action.

I had one eensy problem. The leadership in my then-department had a policy: If you apply for another position, you must resign in order to receive a recommendation. You know where this is going. I quit my full-time job. With benefits. And a retirement plan. To become an adjunct. If my mother were alive to see it, she would have muttered, “Mary, Mary, Mary . . .”

Shortly after my decision to leap out into the CC job market, the net in the form of an adjunct gig at GCC magically appeared. (Did I really just write about magic?) More adjunct opportunities came from SCC and NAU. I even returned to ASU to lecture for a couple years before I landed in the residential position I am in now. My point is it’s been a long road to get here, but I have never been happier and more fulfilled at work.

My vision of GCC in the next 10 years is that we continue to grow in our vibrancy and remain as wonderfully student-centered as I believe we are today. My vision includes a faculty who feel valued and energized. There’s a fun book entitled, If You Don’t Feed the Teachers, They Eat the Students. My hope for GCC is that all faculty feel fed so that they may be fully present for students.

Five years elapsed between my initial vision and inking my employment papers with GCC, but every minute of the struggle to get here was worth it. Whatever we do collectively to move GCC forward over the next 10 years is worth every bead of sweat if it helps our students to live out their own visions of the lives they want as well.

 

May GCC be as vibrant as this mural on the High Line!

The post GCC in 2033 appeared first on My Love of Learning.

career, Living, risk-taking, Write6x6

GCC in 2033

Leave a comment

For this last week of GCC’s Write 6X6 challenge, the suggested prompt was to write about where we see GCC 5 or 10 years from now – a “vision,” if you will. This prompt brought up another vision I had almost 10 years ago – one that changed my life in profound ways.

Before anyone gets excited, I am a scientist. I don’t suffer tales of the paranormal gladly. I had a vision about 10 years ago that absolutely came true, but plenty of my other visions did not. For example, I am not now, nor have I ever been, a Radio City Rockette. But I digress . . .

The day of my vision started by walking my daughter Taylor to her first day in a new job at a Manhattan advertising agency. A few months earlier, Taylor took an uncharacteristic leap and packed up to move to the Big Apple. Tears filled my eyes as we hugged a block away from her office, lest any of her new colleagues see mommy walking her to work.

After we parted, I decided to take a stroll on the High Line, a public park built on a historic, elevated rail line. Full of public art and flora and fauna (okay, birds and squirrels) right next to the life-sounds of the city, walking the High Line makes for a brain buzzy with introspection. I thought about Taylor’s exciting new career — and the one I was currently enduring as an assistant research professor.

View on the High Line

Right there on the High Line somewhere between 26th Street and the 10th Avenue crossing, the thought flashed, “I want to teach at a community college!” I then spent the next hour or so going over in my mind how such a position would feed my soul. (Yep, I said soul – this scientist has one, too.) This wasn’t the first time I considered community college teaching, but it was this one particular vision that spurred me to action.

I had one eensy problem. The leadership in my then-department had a policy: If you apply for another position, you must resign in order to receive a recommendation. You know where this is going. I quit my full-time job. With benefits. And a retirement plan. To become an adjunct. If my mother were alive to see it, she would have muttered, “Mary, Mary, Mary . . .”

Shortly after my decision to leap out into the CC job market, the net in the form of an adjunct gig at GCC magically appeared. (Did I really just write about magic?) More adjunct opportunities came from SCC and NAU. I even returned to ASU to lecture for a couple years before I landed in the residential position I am in now. My point is it’s been a long road to get here, but I have never been happier and more fulfilled at work.

My vision of GCC in the next 10 years is that we continue to grow in our vibrancy and remain as wonderfully student-centered as I believe we are today. My vision includes a faculty who feel valued and energized. There’s a wonderful book entitled, If You Don’t Feed the Teachers, They Eat the Students. My hope for GCC is that all faculty feel fed so that they may be fully present for students.

Five years elapsed between my initial vision and inking my employment papers with GCC, but every minute of the struggle to get here was worth it. Whatever we do collectively to move GCC forward over the next 10 years is worth every bead of sweat if it helps our students to live out their own visions of the lives they want as well.

 

May GCC be as vibrant as this mural on the High Line!

The post GCC in 2033 appeared first on My Love of Learning.

Boundaries, Write6x6

Teaching Boundaries, Part II – Time

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Picture if you will: I’m wearing a pencil skirt and high heels, and I am dragging a luggage cart behind me. I’m bobbing and weaving through corridors to get to my destination. Am I a flight attendant? No, I am a first-year fourth-grade teacher circa 1986, and the luggage cart is full of books and papers. The destination? Home, where I will grade papers and write lesson plans. All weekend.

I wish I could say that so much has changed since then. But I constantly find myself needing to set time boundaries around my teaching. Case in point just a few years ago when I was teaching fully online for the first time: My husband would be stunned to come home to a completely dark house, save the beam of light from my home office door. Day would turn into night, and I wouldn’t have left the office to turn on the lights in the house.

Maybe you’ve never had days like those. Maybe you have figured out the secret. Maybe it’s just me who has to remind myself to find work-life balance, but I don’t think so. Teachers are reporting increasingly higher levels of stress, and feeling like there aren’t enough hours in the day is a definite stressor.

In the early years of our marriage, my husband would suggest that it was all a matter of “time management.” (It really is a miracle we’re still married.) But then years later when I was a professional development specialist, I suggested to a group of teachers that they take two minutes out of the day periodically to breathe with their students. One teacher snapped back, “I don’t have two minutes to breathe!”

Yes, the words “time management” almost escaped my lips. But, it’s really not about time management, but rather it’s boundary management. It’s deciding what I want my life to be like, and the structures that need to be in place in order for that life to happen. It’s deciding what is important and acknowledging that I can’t please everyone. It’s accepting that good is most often good enough.

One boundary I put up a few years ago is letting students know I am unavailable on nights and weekends. This is more of an issue with online students who have a vision that I’m chained to my computer at all hours, waiting for their burning questions. I make a big show of this in a regular Friday e-mail reminding students that I am unplugging for the weekend and perhaps sharing any fun plans I might have.

Not only does that put up the stiff-arm for weekend meetings, but I believe it is good modeling for our students. After all, our students are watching us closely. What do I want them to see? Someone ever-available-but-frazzled or someone who practices healthy self-care? Even if I have to fake it sometimes, I choose the latter. And my students know and accept my boundaries. One of my stats students remarked in a mid-term survey this semester: “You seem to have a great work/life balance.” A student in another class wrote, “I enjoy the weekend reminders and hearing about how you are unplugging for the weekend.”

Beyond just telling students I don’t work on nights and weekends, I have to actually follow through with this plan. This is challenging because there is always something else that can be done to make my class run better. My work could eat up every hour of my day if I let it, and the line has to be drawn somewhere. So 6pm at night and the weekend is the boundary I set for work. Now, I do break that boundary occasionally, but it serves a purpose of mostly keeping my over-work tendencies in check.

Because I have set boundaries for work, there are times when I make people wait. I disappoint people every now and then. I definitely don’t accomplish all that I want. I drop the many balls I’m juggling with regularity, but somehow the world keeps spinning and my students keep learning, and that’s what will keep me teaching.

The post Teaching Boundaries, Part II – Time appeared first on My Love of Learning.

Boundaries, Write6x6

Teaching Boundaries, Part II – Time

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Picture if you will: I’m wearing a pencil skirt and pumps, and I am dragging a luggage cart behind me. I’m bobbing and weaving through corridors to get to my destination. Am I a flight attendant? No, I am a first-year fourth-grade teacher circa 1986, and the luggage cart is full of books and papers. The destination? Home, where I will grade papers and write lesson plans. All weekend.

I wish I could say that so much has changed since then. But I constantly find myself needing to set time boundaries around my teaching. Case in point just a few years ago when I was teaching fully online for the first time: My husband would be stunned to come home to a completely dark house, save the beam of light from my home office door. Day would turn into night without me leaving my desk.

Maybe you’ve never had days like these. Maybe you have figured out the secret. Maybe it’s just me who has to remind myself to find work-life balance, but I don’t think so. Teachers are reporting increasingly higher levels of stress, and feeling like there aren’t enough hours in the day is a definite stressor.

In the early years of our marriage, my husband would suggest that it was all a matter of “time management.” (It really is a miracle we’re still married.) But then years later when I was a professional development specialist, I encouraged a group of teachers to take two minutes out of the day periodically to breathe with their students. One teacher snapped back, “I don’t have two minutes to breathe!”

Yes, the words “time management” almost escaped my lips. But, it’s really not about time management, rather it’s boundary management. It’s deciding what I want my life to be like, and the structures that need to be in place in order for that life to happen. It’s reflecting on what is important and acknowledging that I can’t please everyone. It’s accepting that good is most often good enough.

One boundary I put up a few years ago is letting students know I am unavailable on nights and weekends. This is more of an issue with online students who have a vision that I’m chained to my computer at all hours, waiting for their burning questions. I make a big show of this in a regular Friday e-mail reminding students that I am unplugging for the weekend and perhaps sharing any fun activities I might have planned.

Not only does this put up the stiff-arm for weekend meetings, but I believe it is good modeling for students. After all, our students are watching us closely. What do I want them to see? Someone ever-available-but-frazzled or someone who practices healthy self-care? Even if I have to fake it sometimes, I choose the latter. And my students know and accept my boundaries. One of my stats students remarked in a mid-term survey this semester: “You seem to have a great work/life balance and an overall positive attitude and I really like that.” A student in another class wrote, “I enjoy the weekend reminders and hearing about how you are unplugging for the weekend.”

Beyond just telling students I don’t work on nights and weekends, I have to actually follow through with this plan. This is challenging because there is always something else that can be done to make my class run better. My work could eat up every hour of my day if I let it, and the line has to be drawn somewhere. So 6pm at night and the weekend are boundaries I set for work. Now, I do break a boundary occasionally, but  my boundaries serve a purpose of (mostly) keeping my over-work tendencies in check.

Because I have set boundaries for work, there are times when I make people wait. I disappoint people every now and then. I definitely don’t accomplish all that I want. I drop the many balls I’m juggling with regularity, but somehow the world keeps spinning and my students keep learning, and that’s what will keep me teaching.

The post Teaching Boundaries, Part II – Time appeared first on My Love of Learning.

Boundaries, Write6x6

Teaching Boundaries, Part II – Time

Leave a comment

Picture if you will: I’m wearing a pencil skirt and pumps, and I am dragging a luggage cart behind me. I’m bobbing and weaving through corridors to get to my destination. Am I a flight attendant? No, I am a first-year fourth-grade teacher circa 1986, and the luggage cart is full of books and papers. The destination? Home, where I will grade papers and write lesson plans. All weekend.

I wish I could say that so much has changed since then. But I constantly find myself needing to set time boundaries around my teaching. Case in point just a few years ago when I was teaching fully online for the first time: My husband would be stunned to come home to a completely dark house, save the beam of light from my home office door. Day would turn into night without me leaving my desk.

Maybe you’ve never had days like these. Maybe you have figured out the secret. Maybe it’s just me who has to remind myself to find work-life balance, but I don’t think so. Teachers are reporting increasingly higher levels of stress, and feeling like there aren’t enough hours in the day is a definite stressor.

In the early years of our marriage, my husband would suggest that it was all a matter of “time management.” (It really is a miracle we’re still married.) But then years later when I was a professional development specialist, I encouraged a group of teachers to take two minutes out of the day periodically to breathe with their students. One teacher snapped back, “I don’t have two minutes to breathe!”

Yes, the words “time management” almost escaped my lips. But, it’s really not about time management, rather it’s boundary management. It’s deciding what I want my life to be like, and the structures that need to be in place in order for that life to happen. It’s reflecting on what is important and acknowledging that I can’t please everyone. It’s accepting that good is most often good enough.

One boundary I put up a few years ago is letting students know I am unavailable on nights and weekends. This is more of an issue with online students who have a vision that I’m chained to my computer at all hours, waiting for their burning questions. I make a big show of this in a regular Friday e-mail reminding students that I am unplugging for the weekend and perhaps sharing any fun activities I might have planned.

Not only does this put up the stiff-arm for weekend meetings, but I believe it is good modeling for students. After all, our students are watching us closely. What do I want them to see? Someone ever-available-but-frazzled or someone who practices healthy self-care? Even if I have to fake it sometimes, I choose the latter. And my students know and accept my boundaries. One of my stats students remarked in a mid-term survey this semester: “You seem to have a great work/life balance and an overall positive attitude and I really like that.” A student in another class wrote, “I enjoy the weekend reminders and hearing about how you are unplugging for the weekend.”

Beyond just telling students I don’t work on nights and weekends, I have to actually follow through with this plan. This is challenging because there is always something else that can be done to make my class run better. My work could eat up every hour of my day if I let it, and the line has to be drawn somewhere. So 6pm at night and the weekend are boundaries I set for work. Now, I do break a boundary occasionally, but  my boundaries serve a purpose of (mostly) keeping my over-work tendencies in check.

Because I have set boundaries for work, there are times when I make people wait. I disappoint people every now and then. I definitely don’t accomplish all that I want. I drop the many balls I’m juggling with regularity, but somehow the world keeps spinning and my students keep learning, and that’s what will keep me teaching.

The post Teaching Boundaries, Part II – Time appeared first on My Love of Learning.

Write6x6

Just a Girl in Senior English

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I dreaded my College Composition course in the fall of 1981. Not because I hated writing, but rather because of the teacher I was assigned – Mr. Luther Stewart. Mr. Stewart had a reputation at Scottsdale High School which included failing my brother in Freshman English. He was not to be trifled with. (And yes, he would hate that dangling preposition.)

Rumor was that Mr. Stewart had, at one point, been a lawyer but left it all to become a teacher. He looked more teacherly than lawyerly, with a largish bald head and over-sized glasses that magnified his glaring eyes. He didn’t smile much.

My own knowledge of Mr. Stewart stretched back to the first day of sophomore Advanced English, and he was my assigned teacher then. During the previous year, I had been on a Rumspringa of sorts from my regular academic persona. I discovered boys and drinking. I almost failed Algebra. I got kicked out of a class once, and I made my family very nervous. “What happened to Mary?” they all asked.

On that first day of sophomore year, Mr. Stewart passed out a chunky list of required reading, which consisted of no less than 25 classic texts. My then-14-year-old self balked and quickly retreated to a “regular” English class for the rest of the year.

Fast-forward to senior year, and Mr. Stewart was again on my slate of classes. This time, there was nowhere to run, and I resigned myself to being in his class. I entered Mr. Stewart’s room with a great deal of shame and a definite lack of belief in myself.

The regular assignment in his class was a weekly essay, and he allowed us to choose topics that were personally meaningful. I remember one such essay I wrote: “A Girl Should Make Her Prom Dress Instead of Buying One.” Let’s unpack this title for a moment. I am a “girl” in the 80’s. My pressing topic is prom dresses, and above that I am hell-bent on sewing my own.

I was a pom-pom girl. My path set out by my parents was to become a wife and mother (in that exact order). Nobody took me seriously, and I didn’t either. Enter Mr. Stewart. Our College Composition class was full of lively discussion, although the boys in the class were most vocal. On more than one occasion, Mr. Stewart would stomp his foot, raise his hand in the air, and exclaim, “Form follows the function of a reasoning mind!” We had debates in class such as “What is truth?” He taught us the art and science of argumentation.

As each week progressed, Mr. Stewart would provide detailed feedback on my essays, and his red pen was all over my papers. But deep down, I knew that level of feedback meant he cared and that I had something to offer. I felt like more than just a girl to be cast aside. My voice mattered.

With each essay, his ice melted, his encouragement ramped up, and I started to look forward to the weekly challenge of impressing him. Towards the end of the school year, he wrote the following feedback on one of my essays: “Sounds like you – a high compliment!” Today, I have these words on a sticky note on my desk, and I believe that praise is why I love writing today. And, it’s why, as a teacher, I want to hear and honor the voices of all my students.

The post Just a Girl in Senior English appeared first on My Love of Learning.

Write6x6

Just a Girl in Senior English

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I dreaded my College Composition course in the fall of 1981. Not because I hated writing, but rather because of the teacher I was assigned – Mr. Luther Stewart. Mr. Stewart had a reputation at Scottsdale High School which included failing my brother in Freshman English. He was not to be trifled with. (And yes, he would hate that dangling preposition.)

Rumor was that Mr. Stewart had, at one point, been a lawyer but left it all to become a teacher. He looked more teacherly than lawyerly, with a largish bald head and over-sized glasses that magnified his glaring eyes. He didn’t smile much.

My own knowledge of Mr. Stewart stretched back to the first day of sophomore Advanced English, and he was my assigned teacher then. During the previous year, I had been on a Rumspringa of sorts from my regular academic persona. I discovered boys and drinking. I almost failed Algebra. I got kicked out of a class once, and I made my family very nervous. “What happened to Mary?” they all asked.

On that first day of sophomore year, Mr. Stewart passed out a chunky list of required reading, which consisted of no less than 25 classic texts. My then-14-year-old self balked and quickly retreated to a “regular” English class for the rest of the year.

Fast-forward to senior year, and Mr. Stewart was again on my slate of classes. This time, there was nowhere to run, and I resigned myself to being in his class. I entered Mr. Stewart’s room with a great deal of shame and a definite lack of belief in myself.

The regular assignment in his class was a weekly essay, and he allowed us to choose topics that were personally meaningful. I remember one such essay I wrote: “A Girl Should Make Her Prom Dress Instead of Buying One.” Let’s unpack this title for a moment. I am a “girl” in the 80’s. My pressing topic is prom dresses, and above that I am hell-bent on sewing my own.

I was a pom-pom girl. My path set out by my parents was to become a wife and mother (in that exact order). Nobody took me seriously, and I didn’t either. Enter Mr. Stewart. Our College Composition class was full of lively discussion, although the boys in the class were most vocal. On more than one occasion, Mr. Stewart would stomp his foot, raise his hand in the air, and exclaim, “Form follows the function of a reasoning mind!” We had debates in class such as “What is truth?” He taught us the art and science of argumentation.

As each week progressed, Mr. Stewart would provide detailed feedback on my essays, and his red pen was all over my papers. But deep down, I knew that level of feedback meant he cared and that I had something to offer. I felt like more than just a girl to be cast aside. My voice mattered.

With each essay, his ice melted, his encouragement ramped up, and I started to look forward to the weekly challenge of impressing him. Towards the end of the school year, he wrote the following feedback on one of my essays: “Sounds like you – a high compliment!” Today, I have these words on a sticky note on my desk, and I believe that praise is why I love writing today. And, it’s why, as a teacher, I want to hear and honor the voices of all my students.

The post Just a Girl in Senior English appeared first on My Love of Learning.

Write6x6

Just a Girl in Senior English

Leave a comment

I dreaded my College Composition course in the fall of 1981. Not because I hated writing, but rather because of the teacher I was assigned – Mr. Luther Stewart. Mr. Stewart had a reputation at Scottsdale High School which included failing my brother in Freshman English. He was not to be trifled with. (And yes, he would hate that dangling preposition.)

Rumor was that Mr. Stewart had, at one point, been a lawyer but left it all to become a teacher. He looked more teacherly than lawyerly, with a largish bald head and over-sized glasses that magnified his glaring eyes. He didn’t smile much.

My own knowledge of Mr. Stewart stretched back to the first day of sophomore Advanced English, and he was my assigned teacher then. During the previous year, I had been on a Rumspringa of sorts from my regular academic persona. I discovered boys and drinking. I almost failed Algebra. I got kicked out of a class once, and I made my family very nervous. “What happened to Mary?” they all asked.

On that first day of sophomore year, Mr. Stewart passed out a chunky list of required reading, which consisted of no less than 25 classic texts. My then-14-year-old self balked and quickly retreated to a “regular” English class for the rest of the year.

Fast-forward to senior year, and Mr. Stewart was again on my slate of classes. This time, there was nowhere to run, and I resigned myself to being in his class. I entered Mr. Stewart’s room with a great deal of shame and a definite lack of belief in myself.

The regular assignment in his class was a weekly essay, and he allowed us to choose topics that were personally meaningful. I remember one such essay I wrote: “A Girl Should Make Her Prom Dress Instead of Buying One.” Let’s unpack this title for a moment. I am a “girl” in the 80’s. My pressing topic is prom dresses, and above that I am hell-bent on sewing my own.

I was a pom-pom girl. My path set out by my parents was to become a wife and mother (in that exact order). Nobody took me seriously, and I didn’t either. Enter Mr. Stewart. Our College Composition class was full of lively discussion, although the boys in the class were most vocal. On more than one occasion, Mr. Stewart would stomp his foot, raise his hand in the air, and exclaim, “Form follows the function of a reasoning mind!” We had debates in class such as “What is truth?” He taught us the art and science of argumentation.

As each week progressed, Mr. Stewart would provide detailed feedback on my essays, and his red pen was all over my papers. But deep down, I knew that level of feedback meant he cared and that I had something to offer. I felt like more than just a girl to be cast aside. My voice mattered.

With each essay, his ice melted, his encouragement ramped up, and I started to look forward to the weekly challenge of impressing him. Towards the end of the school year, he wrote the following feedback on one of my essays: “Sounds like you – a high compliment!” Today, I have these words on a sticky note on my desk, and I believe that praise is why I love writing today. And, it’s why, as a teacher, I want to hear and honor the voices of all my students.

The post Just a Girl in Senior English appeared first on My Love of Learning.

Living, Write6x6

Teaching Boundaries, Part I – Tech

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I wake up to the first morning light, my brain recently bathed in glorious REM sleep. The restorative powers of sleep are legion: memory consolidation, increased problem-solving abilities, boosted immune functioning to name a few. There is evidence the brain performs a sort of housecleaning during shut-eye, making morning a ripe time for starting out the day with renewed clarity and potential.

So what do I do? Before my feet hit the floor, I grab my cell phone off the bedside table and let the fresh horrors of the overnight world infiltrate my blissfully open mind.

I tell myself that I am checking my phone because I have children. (But they are in their early 30’s, y’all.) Then, I see a red flag indicating I have e-mail, and without thinking I click to open it. And, while I’m here, I might as well check Facebook . . .

I know none of this is good. First, any student who e-mails me overnight is not writing to say what a wonderful teacher I am. Instead, it’s that there’s been a death in the family or they just plain forgot they had an assignment due at 11:59pm. And don’t get me started on how scrolling social media can affect mood.

I noticed a tendency to feel tethered to tech when I started teaching online full-time about five years ago. I had a gnawing sense that I needed to be able to respond to students at all hours of the day (and night). I thought that since I wasn’t actually teaching in-person, the tradeoff was making myself widely available to students.

So, I found myself reaching for my phone at stoplights, while I waited for my coffee, pretty much any time my brain was idle for a minute. Heaven forbid I should be left alone with my thoughts.

What I found, however, is that I was feeling exhausted all the time as an online teacher. I felt overwhelmed and a tad resentful. It seemed like I could never “catch up.” I know I’m not alone in this. Many teachers feel like their workdays never end, and that is because they don’t. Tech has a frightening way of blurring day into night, weekdays into weekends, our 40s into our 50s . . .

Over time I have discovered that most of the angst in my life can be traced to boundaries. According to Nedra Glover Tawwab, author of Set Boundaries, Find Peace, the definition of boundaries is, “expectations and needs that help you feel safe and comfortable in your relationships.” Thus, a tech boundary is one set for your relationship with yourself.

Okay, so just set a tech boundary. I’ll just tell myself I won’t pick up my phone at the slightest hint of ennui. Easy, right?

Not so fast. What makes this a struggle is we battle our brain’s reward system when we fight tech. The little red dot with a number on it is anything but innocuous; it is there to prompt us to lay eyes on the alert. Tech shapes our behavior by hijacking the reward system.

So what’s the reward associated with opening overnight e-mail?  It actually might be the positive rush of seeing that there is, to quote my cop-husband, “nothing to see here” – that good feeling of realizing there are no fires to extinguish.

In her book Good Habits, Bad Habits, author Wendy Wood writes about creating “friction” around behaviors we want to discourage. In this way, we interrupt habits that are deeply grooved in our neural pathways. Here are some ideas I’m working on for putting friction between me and tech:

  • Remove work e-mail from my phone and home devices. This works as long as I don’t circumvent by logging into e-mail using my phone’s browser.
  • Alternatively, remove e-mail notifications from all devices. Can’t quite remove e-mail from your phone altogether? Disable the notifications that keep us coming back.
  • Designate three periods a day for checking e-mail. I am more successful with this on some days than others. But, I find I am more focused when I am not trying to multi-task.
  • Put my phone where it can’t be accessed quickly. I’m not as likely to grab my phone at every stop light if it isn’t right there on the console. At the grocery store, I can put my phone at the bottom of my bag.

The other day, while waiting for coffee at my local shop, I instantly reached for my phone and thought better of it. Even if there is an e-mail I need to respond to, must I do it right now? Instead, I immersed myself in the artwork on the walls and felt a better kind of rush.

Up next week – musings on setting time boundaries as a teacher.

The post Teaching Boundaries, Part I – Tech appeared first on My Love of Learning.