Think Like a Teacher

For most of my 27 years in the classroom, I taught gifted students. I was the “gifted program specialist” whom these children trusted to provide their weekly respite from ordinary school. It was a privilege to learn from them and later to see what became of them. They did not all become doctors or lawyers or college professors. Few became rich. Some have suffered and wandered and have not yet found a happy medium between functioning around other people and the intellectual play they so enjoy. There are few I do not remember in detail from my time knowing them as elementary and middle school students. Among the hundreds (maybe a couple thousand?), there were perhaps a score who brought me up short with their vision. I looked forward to the days when they would bound (or shuffle) through the door of my borrowed, “itinerant” classroom space.

As Steve Jobs passed away this week, I wondered where his teachers are. Surely there are some still alive who watched this adopted son of a working class couple through elementary and middle school. I wonder: how did he articulate his vision as a young man? I am guessing he had some tough times on the playground and in the cafeteria. I am guessing he irritated more than one  straight-arrow teacher who found his opinions inappropriate coming from a young mouth. I wonder whether he was the one who read and absorbed quietly, then tinkered in the garage, or whether he blurted out unthinkable mental connections to peers (and adults) who did not understand. Surely, Steve Jobs was what I call “severely and profoundly gifted.”

As a teacher, I love to mentally rewind adults into what I hypothesize they might have been like as a child.  I never really research or verify my musings. I do enjoy thinking about little people I have known and unrelated adults, playing a mental matching game with no correct answers. I just enjoy flipping over the two cards: one child, one adult, and questioning in my mind whether this could be the precursor to that.

I have no matching child card for Steve Jobs, though I think I have some partial matches in my Former Student deck. But somewhere there is an aged teacher or two who knew this man as a boy. I envy them.

Every once in a while, I have an amazing conversation with another teacher. Yesterday was one of the best ever. I have a colleague who teaches science and is dedicated, reflective, and far too self-critical. She is not a visual person. Listen to her talk, and you hear words like “data” and “application.”  Listen to me, and you hear “vivid” or “visually rich” or some sort of metaphor you can picture. We both love seeing kids learn, but we see it so differently.

We are both intrigued by infographics, she as the scientist and I as the artist. She calls them “data visualizations.”   I find that a mouthful. (Today I ran across this blog post on this very topic and chuckled aloud at how fitting it is to the two of us.)  Both of us want to help kids discover ways to critique and create infographics. We don’t just want kids to throw a quick copy/paste or slap a downloaded image together with a too much text or endless numbers in  large serif font, however. We want to see kids create meaning out of what they are learning.

As we conferred about how she might use infographics to scaffold learning in her biology classes and not simply as a culminating assessment, we talked for over an hour about the infographics, but we never approached it from the same orientation. We think as scientist and artist. Fortunately, each of us has great respect for the other approach, sometimes verging on awe. As we bounced ideas around for helping her kids get started and for a presentation proposal we are working on about this, I wondered why more teachers don’t try such a collaboration. Imagine if the artists (and I include writers) among us were to partner with the data people, the scientists. I can help her figure out an approach that will work with her artist students and help draw out (BAD pun!) visual analogies from her scientist students. She can help me see what my scientist/data loving students are looking for. Not only that, we can learn from each other to the benefit of our students. I even mused aloud that it would be very cool if schools facilitated such partnerships between teachers.  But we both paused, cringing to imagine if teachers were “forced” to talk to those on the other side of the worldview fence.

A few hours later, my colleague emailed me with a link from the National Writers Project, a project I know well as a fellow in a local affiliate. It was about helping kids visualize vocabulary.  My scientist colleague gets it. She knows that she is not a visual person, so she seeks out the advice of those with a visual approach either in person or via an online resource. Thus, I have the privilege of  enjoying eye-opening conversations with the scientist as we seek to fill the voids we know we have.

I have to wonder how much more effective we all would be as teachers if we ventured to form friendships or professional partnerships with other teachers who see the world differently. What can a physics teacher and a Spanish teacher learn from each other? Should the math teachers all eat lunch together without ever speaking to the art teacher? Even elementary teachers have very different preferred angles of view,  though they teach every subject. How can we encourage teachers to appreciate, celebrate, and learn from our different world views? I know our students would benefit.

I admit it. I am sick of social networks. My hermit feelings will surely pass, but this Friday finds me questioning the value-added of so many places to contribute, comment, rate, respond, or otherwise spill my guts. The cicada-like buzz about Google+ is deafening this week. I find myself taking an analytic look at social absurdity in hopes of avoiding an all-out rant.

As pundits point out, our social networks establish a false sense of consensus. We see and hear only the opinions of those who agree with us. Yes, it’s “social” to pat each other on the back and sing in harmony from the same choir stalls, but what do we learn or gain? What makes the difference between social networking that has value and social networking that wastes time and has little nutritional value?

The social marketplace: a food model of social networking

Premise: There are different places to acquire social network nourishment. Which describes the social network that you frequent?

The roadside table: We can stop by this spot for random offerings, whatever is in season. It stays open only as long as there is a surplus of cucumbers in the garden – a few thoughts to share. We rarely see anybody else as we leave a dollar in the coffee can, and the goods we take with us may be delightfully fresh. If left too long by the roadside in the hot sun, they shrivel and are of no use to anyone. Most web sites with add-on “social” features are simply roadside tables. We pass by without stopping unless it is a neighbor.

The farmers market:  We gather at specified times – the earlier the better – to buy or swap for the freshest of the fresh. The offerings change with the seasons, and we learn to anticipate the coming crops. We dicker, exchange, and find the best ingredients, taking them home to create new recipes based on today’s offerings. The level of chatter and common support is strong as we wait or weave through the hungry crowd, armed with our reusable bags. The selections and the company of this network influence our nutrition for several days, and we like it so much we come back, as long as it isn’t too far to go. It does require extra time out of our week, though. Some of us have such social networks as part of our weekly habits. #edchat seems more like a farmer’s market for edu-ideas.

The food coop: We organize with a group with common goals: good food, fresh, and at good prices. We plan and delegate work that will be shared. The ideas we acquire here are outlined in advance: an online conference like the K-12 Online Conference or the Global Educon. Only the very organized can manage this kind of network on an ongoing basis.

The independent grocer: If nearby, we know this store well,  and they keep it well stocked — given possibly limited space. They don’t spend much on advertising, so the we discover it by word of mouth. But the nutritional offerings are comprehensive and quite tasty. The management will even bring in something new we suggest. We know that the clientele and floorspace are smaller, but the combination of staples and new ideas keeps us coming back. TeachersFirst is like this, I hope. Perhaps not a megsatore range of offerings, but always open to new suggestions.  We customers talk to each other when we can, but the grocer respects the fact that we don’t have a lot of time.

The specialty shop (Coffees, teas, and gourmet baked goods): Our little favorite stops. We can only get one thing there, but it is our passion: the perfect bean, the best book club blog, the latest tech developer blog. We make time for this one. The rest of our food is not important to us as long as we have the best coffee beans. Good Reads is  such a specialty shop for book lovers. Classroom 2.0 is another. Once we choose a niche like this, we always come back. We don’t have time for many.

The growing, upscale market chain: The Wegmans of social networking nutrition, these have all the media buzz and the latest and greatest in both groceries and cafe offerings. We watch the pastry chef at work  as we gather the rest of our ordinary groceries. The lobster tank is full, and we are tempted by the very best.  Even the store brands seem special. We are quickly entranced and find ourselves wishing we knew everything they carry. If there is a new product, they have it. Google+ is the Wegman’s of social networking. If you haven’t bought new ideas there, your ideas simply aren’t as good.

The mega-market chain:  The Walmart of social networking nutrition is Facebook. They tell us what to eat by offering loads of  quantity but a limited selection. Everything is Real Value and comes stacked high on the row-ends to fill our carts with blandness. Though “everybody” shops there, we leave only slightly satisfied– if at all.  Walmart Facebook is ubiquitous and blue.

The fast food stop: We run in, grab what looks good, and run out. Some of us stop far too often, and our nutritional balance is at risk if we are not careful to select well. We risk a diet high in fat or sugar, but the 140 character offerings can be so temptingly tweet. Definitely not the only way to feed your mind.

Take out/delivery: We can order up anything, but our interaction and learning are limited to a few likes and comments. We frequently order the same thing: this channel or What’s Popular. YouTube.

I think I need to decide my nutritional needs for this stuff.  But first, there’s a weekend…

I spent most of the weekend prepping for one of my #ISTE11 presentations, “Cycles vs. Checklists: Fostering Creative Process in an Accountability World,”  In the process, I learned a few things that actually became part of the presentation:

1. one place is better than multiple places
2. color coding works
3. I never have to throw anything away

One the the best things about submitting ISTE proposals a eight or nine months before you actually give the presentation is the delightfully long incubation time to pull the presentation together in your head, make it better,  let it evolve to a higher plain. During the time from acceptance (December) to delivery (June), you collect, refine, do more research, talk to colleagues, read, read, read — and eventually create. At some point, it seems that everything you run across in your browsing and tweet-reading relates to what your upcoming presentation topic.

Along the way, you grab ideas and toss them into storage. In my case, Diigo seemed great at first because I could tag and add notes on the angle that particular image or article or video provides on creativity and creative process. But I also had my own ideas popping into my head: pithy things to say, questions to ask, things I wonder about, etc.– all related to the preso topic.  So I jotted some of them in a word doc on my cluttered desktop. About three months out, I also began a linoit wall– they call it a “canvas”–* which I dubbed my “idea bin.” I filled it with stickies and video clips and links, all related to the preso topic.  [*I chose linoit.com over Wallwisher because it has an app version for iOS users. Wallwisher uses Flash so would prevent the iPad folks from “seeing” and participating in the space. I considered Evernote, but I like the ease of lino.it for newbies. I also wanted to try something new to learn it.] Unfortunately, my own lack of consistency meant my idea collections were in three places. The lesson I learned: when it comes time to cull, arrange, and construct the actual presentation,  three attics filled with ideas are unmanageable. I had duplicates, lost things between the cracks, and wasted a lot of time.

Having learned that lesson, I tossed almost everything into my linoit “idea bin,” with the intention of sharing it during the preso as a model.  The result is a very cluttered space, especially it you are an outline-style person, which I am not. To help myself out, I found that color coding was huge! I sorted by making the “thinking question” stickies one color, the “MUST include” quotes another color, and so forth. If I had been really organized, I would have used tags on each sticky to sort, but I am visual, so I went for color. I even played with fonts and shrinking the relative size of less important ideas. Note that I intentionally did not “finish” color coding/sorting so people could see an idea-bin-in-progress. I LOVE this process and will use it again. It fits me.

An added benefit: That idea bin isn’t going anywhere.  I don’t have to throw anything out! I still have all the unused ideas as fodder for blog posts, future presentations, articles, maybe even a book. I am an idea hoarder, and having an omni-present, accessible place to throw things is right up my alley. Another lesson learned.

I have learned more than I could ever share about my topic, something about a tool, and something about myself in the process of preparing this presentation. And isn’t that what we want our kids to do?

If you are going to ISTE, I hope you will join me Wednesday, 6/29/2011, 10:15am–11:15am PACC 204B. If not, You will be able to see loads of related materials and resources — the equivalent of “handouts”– on the presentation support pages after June 29.

ISTE 2011 is just three weeks away, and I am as bad as the kids who procrastinate on projects. Circumstances have made it tough to wrap up my presentations, work I would normally have pretty much completed by now. Typically, I’d be adding extras at this point. Maybe this is a good experience for me. Now I know how the kids feel when they have no control over circumstances and end up working down to the wire. Yes, there are such things as personal accountability (I am a big proponent of pointing it out) and planning. Then there are occurrences and convergences you simply could not anticipate. For the kids, it may be the parent who simply does not share enough computer time or who does not have the money to buy a new printer cartridge. It may be the family trip your student did not realize was that weekend– the same one she had set for doing the project. Or it may be the younger siblings she is supposed to babysit. Even the most responsible student can become entangled in circumstances that force a rushed project.

How can we tell whether this is a controllable situation or not?  How do we know which speech to give to that student: the you-should-have-planned-ahead  speech or the how-can-you-reprioritize-to-make-the-best-of-the-time-that’s-left speech or the it’s-not-the-only-grade-you-will-get speech? Or is a speech really going to make a difference, anyway?

The important thing is the learning experience. I am going to select my own “speech” for my ISTE presentations: the how-can-you-reprioritize-to-make-the-best-of-the-time-that’s-left speech. I suggest that we need to ask our students to select the speech they should be hearing, too. Even better, as we promote creativity and more project-based learning, we need to make this discussion part of the experience. Just as we ask kids to develop intrapersonal awareness of their ideal creative surroundings, we must help them become aware of how they handle roadblocks and obstacles, self-made and external.

These skills do not show on tests or state standards, but they matter. A lot. In life. Which speech do you give yourself? How do you handle the detours?

It’s late on a Friday before a long weekend. I have been thinking off and on all day about John T Spencer’s post about Why We Paint Murals (thanks @ShellTerrell and Tweetdeck). Now those thoughts have turned a little surreal– or maybe not. If you are looking for a straightforward opinion piece, stop now. If willing, breathe deeply and dive into my mental swim.

Spencer got me thinking about the space where we learn and our drive to make that space our own. I, too, have shared butcher paper walls and seen students seize the space as finally theirs.  I love what they write and ask and draw when the paper goes up. I have also seen ideas in other classrooms: atypical ways of moving the furniture around a hub for learning, rooms where vertical space suddenly becomes part of the landscape, classrooms as environmental art pieces.  While it might be nice — at times — to remove classroom walls, there are positive aspects of walls, too. Walls are our surroundings and partially define who we are as a group of learners. Spencer’s video shows students making the space their own with brushes of paint and personality. If we could have it, what would a class Dream Space for learning and thinking look like?  Here is my stream of Dream Space ideas.

Surround:  verb to noun

The walls of the Dream Space hold nothing in. They surround us with experiences. The dreaded (and much reviled) IWB, if one has been put here,  can be part of this “surround” as a place for students to create and collaborate. Unlike butcher paper, this electronic surround can be saved, erased, sent, “finger painted” and edited, text-recognized, and used as a collection point for leaking ideas. What else should surround us? Walls of sound, perhaps? Walls of light or dark? Walls of images. I would love an IP addressable imagespace– floor to ceiling — to which we could “send” images any time, simply by knowing the address. The people we know could send us their back yard or their llama. The scientist we know could send us an amoeba. We could send things to ourselves from our phones or our weekends. We could bring in our worlds to wrap us in visual mind graffiti. The Dream Space for thinking is our surround.

Flip the walls

Just as we grow accustomed to the walls we create, take a day in our Dream Space to  Flip the Walls again. What is on the back of this wall? Erase it all and ask us to show the back of our thoughts, like the back of a web page.

Bring it ‘Round

For some reason, my mental images of the Dream Space persistently appear more like the stand-up omnimax theater spaces that have no corners. The Dream Space does not have places for learning to hide or get lost in an angular trap. Ideas in this Space can bounce freely and endlessly because they continue to deflect off the circular hug of thinking.

Then the door clunks open on sturdy school hinges, and the spell breaks.  A skeptical voice inquires, “Why is this teacher lady dreaming about a classroom that doesn’t exist? What is the point here?” In my Dream Space, even one that has suddenly morphed back to a regular classroom with rows of desks, a chorus of voices simply calls out, “Come on in!”

Why is it that some people can articulately describe and actually facilitate their personal creative process while others have no idea how they go about “making” things? You might think just “letting ideas happen,” sparks the highest level of creativity:  serendipitous fireworks that splash across our mental and aesthetic skyline. I would propose that those who pause to notice, name, and massage their personal creative process — a seemingly UNcreative thing to do– are the most prolific artists, writers, and thinkers.

Analyzing how a successful project evolves requires a very sophisticated level of metacognition, a true intrapersonal intelligence. Taking note of the circumstances that help you generate ideas or pluck the best from a messy pile of possibilities will help you “set up” similar circumstances the next time you seek to complete a project.It seems counterintuitive that those we call “creative” people actually do this. We think of artists and writers as somewhat random — or a little crazy. Artists, writers, and deep thinkers may not call it metacognition, but they pay attention, tuned in with a powerful intrapersonal awareness, to how they work. Their studios or workspaces may seem disorganized, but there is method to their madness, and they KNOW that method. Those less aware among us may founder when asked to “be creative,”  not because we lack ideas, but because we don’t know enough about how our own creative process works to move from inspiration to fruition.

In about two months, I have a presentation about creative process at ISTE2011. Right now, I am struggling with exactly the process I propose to speak about. I need to manage my own creative process, putting this presentation together on a deadline and subject to the accountability of my own presentation proposal.  I know that allowing subliminal incubation time with a looming deadline has always worked for me. Mulling questions in the background as I swim, walk, work, drive, and do other things has always helped me reach an AHA! moment when ideas explode to the forefront. At that moment, I know how to put the presentation or quilt or blog post or article together. But it is frightening to manage this need for a looming deadline and time for incubation when I have so many other tasks at hand, not the least of which involves relaunching a huge web site on exactly the same timeline as the presentation! And I wonder: Is it better to work up against pressure and a looming deadline or force ahead now to be overprepared and possibly stale? Which makes for the most creative, vital product? How much should my own messy creative process be shared as part of a preso on creative process? Obviously, I am still at the messy stage right now.  So I will step back to look for the learning that can come from this moment.

I think creative process matters for all of us, even those who call themselves “just teachers.” Teaching is a blessedly creative process, if we allow it to be. We sculpt a product — a plan for learning. We try it, revise it, tear it apart, remix its pieces, and try it again.  I wonder how many teachers experience teaching this way? I can’t imagine teaching any other way, but it is all I have ever known.

I have been thinking a lot lately about why teachers become teachers. I know the media and the teacher-bashers have it all wrong. It’s not all about wanting summers off or a cushy job. Three posts/articles got my attention this week on the related topics of teacher respect and recruitment. An April Fool’s “memo” from a school administrator mentioned Finland’s teacher education programs that skim la creme de la creme to enter teacher preparation after two years of college performance. This would imply that Finns choose teaching because it is a place to work among very smart, well-prepared people. A New York Times Op Ed described a writer’s personal experience with teachers, describing an experience and appreciation similar to my own. Perhaps that writer’s teachers chose teaching because they could encourage and challenge students beyond where they went themselves. A series of suggestions from “debaters” also in the Times tout different strategies for raising the status of teachers. These various suggestions imply that money, autonomy, professional growth, supply and demand, and various other factors drive the choices of 18 to 22 year olds to consider teaching.

We should be asking good teachers the question: Why did you choose teaching?  To reach a consensus of what a good teacher is for this exercise,  I would propose using teacher-leaders respected by a broad spectrum of their peers and/or credited by former students as having had profound impact — in both public and private teaching settings. I have some ideas of what they might say, though we know the responses would vary each decade since the 1960s and 1970s, when opportunities for women changed dramatically. Some responses I suspect we would hear:

• I did well in school, so I like being around schools.
• My teachers were nice to me, and I liked the idea of paying it forward.
• I liked the idea of doing something a little different every day.
• I grew up in a family of teachers.
• A teacher changed my life.
• I thought that was what a smart girl was supposed to do.
• Teaching was the only thing I knew you could do if you loved (fill in the subject here).
• I was more comfortable around kids than adults.
• I love learning new things.
• Teachers get to be creative.
• I couldn’t afford to be a writer/artist, so I decided to teach.
• I always wanted to be a coach, and you have to teach to coach.
• I love to read.
• It feels good to teach people things.
• I like words and can explain anything.
• I like the way a kid looks at me when he “gets it.”
• Teachers get to laugh and make kids laugh.
• add your teacher story starter here

What is probably not on the list:

• I like measuring learning by tests.
• I like using cold, hard data to describe my work.
• I like following someone else’s script.
• I like going to meetings.
• I like having people write letters to the editor about how lazy I am.
• I like being lazy.
• I like being in the middle of domestic disputes.
• I like the thrill of violence.
• add your own unlikely response here

If you are a good teacher or know one, please ask him/her this question and share the responses — and NOT responses — here. You can put “anonymous” as your name. Or just pass the question along on Twitter or Facebook or any other way, tagging it #whyteach. Maybe someone will notice that it’s not all about summer vacations.

This week I watched an Oscar ceremony including Natalie Portman, followed livebloggers through the unveiling of iPad 2, and read a blog post at ASCD. They all had something in common: the confluence of technology and the humanities.

I had never known that Natalie Portman was a brilliant scientist in her own right until I read the NY Times article about her multifaceted talents. Instantly, I thought of A.M., S.R. and a handful of my other highly gifted former students  who also crossed over the perceived science/humanities “divide” as if it were a laughable piece of yellow, plastic police tape. Natalie Angier, who writes about Portman, focuses on Portman’s drive and on the odd contrast between the isolation of serious scientific researchers vs the public exhibitionism of the entertainment industry. Angier misses out, however, on the place of acting as artistic and personal expression, on film as a place where layered interpretation,visual imagery, and rich language can intrigue the mind and invite as much analysis and questioning as any science– perhaps with a bit more opportunity for ironic twist. I suspect that Portman could talk about the line between science and arts and dance along it quite well. I don’t know her work well enough to be sure, and I certainly have never talked to her. But I can envision my exceptionally gifted former students dancing the line with her, laughing.

Enter Steven Jobs.  His road sign icon for the role of Apple’s “DNA” (and its forward thinking people) marks the meeting point of liberal arts and technology. That meeting place “yields us the result that makes our hearts sing.” I know “Liberal Arts” is a dirty word (well– two) these days, and those of us who actually expended tuition dollars on them are ridiculed for our irrelevance in an era of competitiveness and the hard-driving skills needed in the 21st century. But I firmly believe that Jobs is right about technology’s place. Technology is not simply the test tube or tool we use for data, data, data. If you watch what people do with it, you quickly see today’s technology as a place to play, express, evaluate, compare, collage, question, write, answer, re-question, and enter into an iterative process of exploration and expression. Technologically-assisted exploration IS creative process if we allow it to be. Throw away User Manuals.

David J. Ferraro’s post on the ASCD blog, “Humanizing STEM: A Different Kind of Relevance,” says he “privately fret[s] over the way STEM advocacy, and current reform efforts in general, inadvertently devalue the humanistic and civic dimensions of a basic education.” He goes on to delineate the vital role that the humanities can play as a lens for viewing the intrinsic beauty of science and…

that math is beautiful, true, and good in its own way; that the development of the physical and natural sciences over the centuries has been motivated in part by a universal human desire to make sense of the world; and that technological innovations throughout history have been fueled not only by economic necessities but also by a basic human restlessness and the quest for mastery over nature.

Exploration, whether it is the how and why of science and technology or the what-if of changing a musical key or  shifting the composition of a photograph, is the common ground of the techmanities. Jobs gets it. I think Portman gets it. I know the people who dance across the yellow tape get it. I just hope that people who plan for education get it soon, before we lose the next Jobs or Portman or Ferraro… or your neighbor’s kid.

The China trip continues to be of high interest to my friends and colleagues, and the six weeks since our return have given me greater perspective. I am no politician or policy maker. I am a teacher. So I am going to stick to teaching and leave the more delicate issues of U.S.-Chinese relations, human rights violations, and Nobel laureates to the pundits (who likely will spin faster than the top I haggled down to 10 yuan at the Pearl market in Beijing).

One of the topics that came up in discussions with educational technology leaders in China was creativity. The Director of the Shanghai Distance Education Group (SDEG) commented frankly in his opening remarks to our group of American educators (roughly translated here from my notes):

“The Chinese model [of education] is: Everything students do is for exams. We want students to learn beyond textbooks. I feel the U.S. education model is very different from ours, especially in creativity. We need to learn from the U.S.”

I will resist the temptation here to launch into discussion on high stakes testing(!) and look at the even greater challenge posed here. As an astute colleague asked me— on hearing of the director’s statement above, “Well, if you were going to teach the Chinese how to teach creativity, how would you do that? It’s not part of their culture.”

On my grouchier days, I wonder whether creativity is part of our culture, either. These are the days when I read about yet another bean-counting way people are trying to overanalyze, categorize, or prepackage the things that make life enjoyable: things like learning for the creative joy of it. I question how the Chinese can implement creativity in their usual systemic way, since they do not celebrate the joy of learning for the sake of the good feeling it gives. But I wonder whether we do either anymore. I think we have two places: The World and My World.

In The World, we look at long term trends of what the global economy will demand in the next 20 years. We break it up into little pieces and make sure we measure them. We tell everyone that these are the answers to success. We pass legislation, write media articles about them, and make parents feel guilty if their kids are not progressing toward these goals.

In My World (“My” meaning the world that each of us has individually), I have time for solitary wonder. I don’t even report in on Facebook or Twitter unless I feel like it. I can play with a toy (often a web tool or some silly thing my laptop can do or a montage I can make from photos and sounds). I can forget what time it is. I can savor the joy and keep it secret. Later, when the joy has made me feel less grouchy,  I can discover that one of my friends was experimenting with the same toy and found a whole other way to create with it. In My World, it’s OK not to have a goal in mind. We can wander a bit and simply feel the joy.

I suspect that the gentleman at SDEG actually believed that we in the U.S. have packaged creativity for The World and that China simply needs to copy it through their system of deployed change. What he doesn’t realize is that creativity lives in the My World(s) of Americans, not necessarily in our schools. I will keep working on that, but today– while I am feeling grouchy– I will seek some time alone with some toys and wait for some friends to stop by later.

What brings the joy of creativity to Your World? Do you share it?