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I recently completed an independent study course about mindfulness (this is a link a psychological understanding) and began to consider its connections to education. Five months of reading, writing journal entries, and creating an annotated bibliography and a paper, encouraged me to reflect personally and professionally on my lived practice. I want this learning to resonate through the length of my life, not just become a temporary fix.

Although mindful practices usually come with specific religious and spiritual connotations, Eleanor Rosch (in press) suggested that “embedded in most of the world’s spiritual traditions is some version of beginner’s mind/primordial wisdom teachings” (p. 1). Mindfulness and the teachings gleaned through the meditation or contemplation practices associated with it are not the sole property of one culture, religion, or ethnic group.

Rosch, a University of California Berkley psychologist, advised “what we want is an educational system that enables people to access aspects of their minds capable of making creative and wise decisions in an increasingly complex … environment” (p. 17). She suggested a burgeoning contemplative education movement can add ingredients to the educational experience of children and adults. Matthieu Ricard (2011) used scientific research, data, and conclusions to support his claim that “certain, practical elements of meditative training could be valuably incorporated into the education of children and help adults to achieve a better quality of life” (p. 134).

Ellen Langer (2011), a Harvard psychologist, argued humans “cling to the illusion of stability to … mindlessly hold [the world] still [and] the educational system forgoes [the] more nuanced approach in favor of stability … we educate ourselves into mindlessness [and] the stable, consistent world we accept isn’t the one we live in” (pp. 124-125).

The questions to be asked begin with what and who as opposed to how or why. The latter words lead us into circular and technical debates that focus on blame, defensive stances, and binary answers of right/wrong, good/bad, and me/you. The words who and what invite the many and the one to the table for a personal conversation. What needs to be attended to in any educational setting to affect transformation? What changes do we want to effect? What changes are personal? What changes are more in the domain of the collective? What does my inner teacher, wisdom, and experience tell me? I can see that it will take much more reading, studying, writing, and meditative practice to move towards any understanding fo what changes will lead us closer to mindfulness in our educational systems, both for our students and for us as teachers

Susan Kaiser Greenland (2011) echoed the teachings of Suzuki Roshi that “a beginner’s mind is open and receptive to new ideas, not closed down by adhering rigidly to what we believe to be true. Putting preconceived concepts and ideas aside to look at something with fresh eyes is one of the most difficult qualities in mindfulness practice” (p. 238). Children lead with questions full of the joy of learning which we “sometimes inadvertently condition out of them. … [Mindfulness] is the polar opposite of the school day during which children are often compelled to direct every bit of their energy to a static rigid goal” (pp. 240-241).

When I was about 6 or 7 years of age, I was introduced to the importance of uncertainty and being a non-expert by the way my mother responded to one of my questions. The question I posed that day and my mother’s response remain with me and emerge at various times to remind me that the desire for certainty is only my wish to be able to do something I cannot do, predict the future. I wanted to know where good non-Catholics might go when they died. At that young age, I already felt that God was not so arbitrary or rigid to send good people any place but to Heaven. My mother provided me with a remarkable answer. She responded that God would have a similar plan for all of us who had lived good lives. This wonderful reply would not have followed the teachings of the church but it was an answer that allowed me to have faith in God. The only certainty was this plan could not be understood through an intellectual exercise. Uncertainty is the certainty of life. Harvard psychologist Ellen Langer (2011) suggested “from the moment we are born we are presented with absolute facts rather than facts in context. … [We simplify and make] the world seem more predictable…we educate ourselves into mindlessness” (p. 124).

Whenever I begin to think of my personal ideologies and pathologies in ways that invest them with absolute certainty, I take myself back to a time when I had a beginner’s mind open to ideas and willing to wonder aloud about the world around me. It is not only to children that we have denied that opportunity. Tomorrow, I will wonder, “What is my unicorn today? This will counterbalance a healthy cynicism born from the failure of my certitude.

I recently finished reading the book The Mindful Teacher written by Elizabeth MacDonald and Dennis Shirley. My initial reaction was disappointment. There was little in the book that I identified with mindfulness, as I have grown to understand it, but, as I reflected on the book’s messages, I grew to realize it was my preconceived expectations that led to the disappointment rather than the message of the authors. My view of mindfulness is still quite immature or naïve. What the authors offered was not a recipe, but recognition that a strategy of mindfulness might offset the alienation that the conditions teachers work under may lead them to feel. The thesis of the book might have been stated as the alienated teacher, a phrase modified from the Marxist notion of the alienated worker, which “is a kind of teaching that teachers perform when they feel that they must comply with external conditions and from which they inwardly dissent” (p. 2).

To offset the disconnect from one’s heart and calling, the authors encourage teachers to cultivate mindfulness and “be informed by contemplative practices and teacher inquiry that enables teachers to interrupt their harried lifestyles, come to themselves through participation in a collegial community of inquiry and practice, and attend to aspects of their classroom instruction and pupils’ learning that ordinarily are overlooked in the press of events” (p. 4).

The authors suggested an approach based on mindfulness be brought into the classroom. I need to be present to myself to be present for those I serve. In my case, the collegial community of inquiry includes the parents of children served.

The Mindful Teacher reminded me that while I have many miles to go before I rest; the journey can be energizing and invigorating. Engaging each moment, being present each moment is essential to mindfulness. I determine whether I feel alienated or oppressed by things I do not control. Maintaining the fire means adding necessary fuel. Mindfulness has the potential to be metaphoric kindling for teacher practice that connects elements closest to our hearts so words spoken are filled with wisdom and matched by acts of compassion.

I have not blogged for some time. I was struggling to find an explanation or a definition for Peter Senge’s personal mastery. I am pleased to announce a breakthrough—I don’t have an answer. Well, I do, but it is not an answer as there is no answer. As I drove to work this morning, I realized there was not an intellectual explanation. Instead, paradoxically it is in the mystery that the answer sits. Similar to Parker Palmer’s writing on vocation, I can only use words at a superficial level. Victor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and psychotherapist, suggested that there is a need to believe in something bigger than one’s self to find meaning in life. This is to be engaged in something we love to the point it becomes inexplicable with mere words. This is not to do something, but to be fulfilled by being in something larger than one’s self and inexplicable.

Acknowledging mystery provides a willingness and humility to say, “I don’t know” and is refreshing. For some time, I was frustrated with this realization, but I grew to understand that to believe humans have complete answers is arrogant and delusional. To deny space for the mysterious and transitory nature of life as life lived in each ensuing moment is to deny its wholeness and richness. Life, its vocational aspects and its meaning, are revealed in the unfolding of each ensuing moment. How then can we expect to explain this regardless of any name we might attach to it? More importantly, why would we want to explain the mystery of life?  Welcoming unknown, transitory aspects of life provides personal mastery.

Life is not designed to be explained or done. It is essentially being in life that counts, without filters. Personal mastery is something beyond. It is our ability to engage with the unknown and the constantly changing landscape in positive ways, to sit quietly and allow each moment to unfold. It is in the puzzles, the koans, and the mystery that we find our mastery, but we have to be aware of each new moment as it appears to fully live the life in that moment and each ensuing moment.

“The mind that is not baffled, is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings” – Wendell Berry

Senge (2006) indicated personal mastery embodies two underlying movements. First, individually we continually clarify what is important and, second; continually learn how to see our personal reality more clearly (pp. 131 – 132). To do those things we need the space, a combination of time and place, to reflect.Spokaneprovides that space and I spend more time in reflection. I can step back from the cauldron of everyday life, its demands on me, and the ubiquity of problems to be resolved.

Since arriving July 3^rd, between readings, writing, and conversations, I took time to reflect. I read Blessed Unrest by Paul Hawken in which he writes about connectivity or synchronicity (Jungian) in the world. I have witnessed some of the same in my life. 12 years ago, driving to work, I was immersed in my normal daily routine of listening to the radio. Usually, when the horoscope came on, I flipped to a CD or turned the radio down. That morning I listened. My horoscope informed me I would have a second chance and I should take advantage. Later that morning, I was called in to re-interview for a teaching role at Stony Creek. The rest is history: the job was offered, I accepted, and began the following September.

That May morning, I was afforded a chance to work and learn in the company and presence of families and educators at Stony Creek. I “felt connected to others and to life itself … part of a larger creative process, which [I] can influence but cannot unilaterally control” (Senge, 2006, p. 132). Personal mastery is about unseen forces which move us in the direction of what we are good at and love. It is a part of the creative process I have been ensconced in at Stony Creek.

I will leave you with a line from a beautiful Michael Franti song called Say Hey: I Love You:

“It seems like everywhere I go/ The more I see, the less I know/ But I know, one thing, That I love you.” You, in this case, is the learning and being part of a creative process. Any time we create, it should be for the love of what we do individually and collectively.

I am working to understand personal mastery in my life. As I was journaling the old-fashioned way, I had a breakthrough. We discussed in class the other night how people are called to do good works while in the company of others. Personal mastery is an emergent process echoing the lines of Robert Frost’s classic poem, The Road Not Taken, but, in this case, both paths are overgrown. Each new step we take is part of an emergent process. In a remarkable poem, Just a minute, said a voice, Mary Oliver gave us these lines: “‘Just a minute,’ said a voice in the weeds./ So I stood still/ in the day’s exquisite early morning light/ and so I didn’t crush with my great feet/ any small or unusual thing” (2004, p. 45).

If personal mastery is emergent, how does it fit with personal vision? It does, and is the process by which my personal vision comes to life and is fulfilled. I realize how obvious all this has been with answers in plain view. Parker Palmer, like Deborah Meier, is a teacher and learner I admire from a distance. Frequently, I am drawn back to explore his words. I find myself reflecting on a line from The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life. “Authority is granted to people who are perceived as authoring their own words, their own actions, their own lives, rather than playing a scripted role at great remove from their own hearts … I reclaim my identity and integrity, remembering my sense of selfhood and my sense of vocation” (Palmer, 2007, p. 34). This authoring is the learning and finding balance between the advocacy and inquiry I wish to undertake in my life.

Bolman and Deal (1995) used authorship to describe this authority as we co-create life’s composition through word and action while engaging the spirit of learning and welcoming to the inner teacher we each possess (p. 73). Sir Ken Robinson (2009) used the term the element to describe a place where the sweet spot of what I love to do and what I am good at meet, revealing wholeness as I author life (p. 8).

Each time I take a step, I will be reminded of the uncertainty of where I step, just like Mary Oliver. I am learning my way through the world and mastering my presence.

Quite often, we relegate celebratory accolades to people we have never met, legendary heroes in a mythical world when, in truth, heroes work right next to us. I have been blessed twofold. First, I worked with such a person for six years. Ruth was and is an educational pioneer. Seventeen years ago, she embarked on an educational quest. I recently had the opportunity to acknowledge Ruth, her wisdom, her courage, and her pioneering spirit as she retired. I am fortunate and grateful I could articulate these characteristics first in a public setting and, now, virtually. We rarely seize opportunities to speak from the heart. We can describe Ruth as a “teacher who met children where they were in their learning.”

The second person I am acknowledging is Deborah Meier. I have never met Ms. Meier, but her writings have inspired and encouraged me to believe I can be a better teacher by being a better learner. I am currently reading In Schools We Trust: Creating Communities of Learning in an Era of Testing and Standardization, and I previously had read The Power of Their Ideas: Lessons for America from a Small School in Harlem plus several articles. Her pioneering vision, her work in innovative school settings inNew York andBoston, and her candour have provided me with great insight into the possibilities that exist in public education. Today, as I was reading, she offered the following: “I believe we can reinvent schools to better conform to what we know about teaching and learning. Such reinvention will require patience … ‘One teaches best by listening and learns best by telling’” (Meier, 2002, p. 23).

Although this quote comes from Deborah Meier, it could have easily come from Ruth. When children speak, when their parents speak, we should listen attentively as if they were the only people who mattered in the world at that moment. When it comes time to tell, it is narrative of who we are that matters to the person in front of us.

Personal mastery calls on us to be present and responsive to the children we inherit the earth from. It calls on us to learn from those with wisdom in this quest. In a wonderful book edited by Mike Seymour called Educating for Humanity: Rethinking the Purposes of Education, Sam Intrator (2004) explained “a companion is the person with whom you share bread on a journey; a companion is a messmate, a comrade, and a fellow sojourner. In my own journey as a teacher, I cherish those people and resources that help me do my best and most inspired work. Their presence in my life helps beat back the forces that would otherwise exhaust me, deplete me, or leave me feeling too lonely to be fully present for my students” (p. 63). Ruth provides an example of such a person and Deborah Meier of a resource, allowing me to be present on a daily basis. To grow, we need both and must be attentive to their words and actions.

The power of their ideas: Lessons for America from a small school in Harlem, (Meier, 2002) provides a paradoxical, yet relevant joining of words – hubris and humility. I reflected about the unusual combining of these words as I prepared for my next entry. It is appropriate to what I am saying about blogging.

The paradox of those two words reminded of the following: “The expansion of social media means that the only working system is to publish then filter” (Shirky, 2008, p. 98). To be engaged in the use of social media means turning a traditional publishing paradigm on its head. I can publish and, then, filter my work. “In the weblog world there are no authorities, only masses” (p. 94). I can join the global square in its discourse if I choose. What is my responsibility? Who will read my message? How will they not just interpret the message, but understand the person publishing it? These are fundamental questions.

There is hubris here. Publishing is no longer an elite activity or one of vanity that I can afford to indulge. If I believe I have something important to share and am passionate enough about it, I can publish within reason and with limited restrictions. This is not an undesirable arrogance, as it is tempered with humility. When I read my most recent post, I was humbled by the lack of literacy in places. I wrote, “This sacred space also serves a space we can to be in relation with our self.” I left “as” out.

To blog I need self-confidence and efficacy. Conversely, I will err. Confidence is the ability to acknowledge a mistake where possible. I chose to publish and it is in this action the hubris is not supercilious. I am on a digital stage where I am the authority when it comes to publishing and filtering. The Shakespearian quote “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances” takes on new meaning. I doubt the bard considered digital roles played out for the entire world. My hubris and humility requires mindfulness urging me to be present, as best as I can, with my audience and strive to be a positive role model in the digital global public square. In twenty years, my position may be antiquated and quaint, but today it is worthy of being published and entered into the public view for discourse.

I am finding blogging a challenging activity. Some of this is the nature of who I am. It is essential, and part of who I am, to take time, reflect, and be accurate. I read blogs where it is basically grammar, spelling, formatting, etc. be damned. As a result, ideas become incoherent and sound semi-literate. If my message is important, should I not take the time to make it complete?

I attended a recent presentation by Dr. Sherry Turkle of MIT. Dr. Turkle, a psychologist, works in the computer science department and has studied the impact of technology, including AI and social media, on people.

It was intriguing to hear about the impact of social media on children and adults alike. In our world, technology is pervasive and invasive; therefore purpose is critical, without stripping us of identity. She raised an interesting point about our identity beginning with the debate about cursive writing which has arisen. With the ability to sign our names electronically do we need to be able to sign it the ‘old-fashioned way’? She suggested the debate is complex as it ties into who we are moving it beyond the use of calculators, as a result. Signatures are part of our identify. As a child, I was excited to learn to write my name. Today, students marvel over the scrawl I use. It leads to a story about my hands. It creates a space for them to enter. This sacred space also serves a space we can to be in relation with our self. Here, we can be alone to reflect and gather to learn who we are.

The ubiquity of technology presents a need for a mindfulness that, as I interpret Dr. Turkle, may be slipping away. This is no mean challenge. As a family, we have had computer technology of various forms in our house for over a 1/4 Century. Our first laptop was made by Texas Instruments; really! As a late-blossoming academic, I returned to university as an adult three times. Without the use of ever-increasing technology, I am not sure how successful I would have been. I recognize the value it is has added to my life, my learning, and my recreation, but I have always been wary of the way it can take firm hold of lives and isolate the self from each other. Now, I am open to the idea it can also serve to isolate me from my self.

Think about the most rewarding relationships in your life. They are based on honest commitment only accessed by open communication. This begins with us individually speaking to our self; from our heart. Thirty-five years of marriage and three grown children inform me that this is no simple task. Twenty years of being in classrooms has affirmed this for me. To build a relationship successfully, means to be vulnerable and be prepared to be real first to our self and, then, to others who are important to us. Technology cannot be a place to hide or distort our self.

As I reflected on Dr. Turkle’s message, I realized how easy it is to hide in plain sight. Educators have a wonderful opportunity to model for children; to be exemplars in the use of technology. When I read blog entries filled with errors, missing words, and incomplete messaging, I can only wonder if this is the model we wish to present for children and other adults. This takes me full circle. I need to be true to my self to be true to those I want to read my blogs.

I have not posted for awhile due to a variety of reasons. During spring break, I attended the ASCD conference. As well, I have been writing a paper.

The latter experience has provided food for thought about mental models. Writing the paper has at times been a struggle. Largely, this has been self-induced. I have never used a paid editor, but I fell short in my writing. This required reflection. I had to recognize a shortcoming. It required humility to say, “I need help and I don’t know it all.” Otherwise, completing my PhD is not viable.

How often do we ignore needs in daily practice, classrooms, schools, and jurisdictions? No one is so expert they can ignore the wisdom of others. Students lose. Educators need to boldly go where educators have not gone before.

Peter Senge in his book “The Fifth Discipline: The Art and Practice of the Learning Organization (2006) suggested mental models impede or accelerate learning. We need to surface and challenge mental models (p. 167). First, we need to know and surface what impedes individual and collective growth. Second, we must acknowledge there are alternative views based perspective. Third, we need to accept alternative views might be better. We need dialogue. This is more than lip service through idle, banal posturing to promote fads or prove we know the vocabulary. I had to admit my writing needed more. I enjoy listening to people tell me how hard change is. I know. My life is full of change. This is a second career spanning 40 years in the workplace.

More recently, admitting I needed an editor was humbling and difficult. Surfacing an outdated mental model about my writing was essential. If I am to live my moral purpose (see Michael Fullan) both as a person and as a teacher, I need to say, “I am a learner.” I acknowledged this, in a small way, about writing a scholarly paper.

Change with the ideal of learning at the heart separates “bandwagoneering” and attempts to make substantive differences. It begins with, “How do I make a difference in a real, substantive way?” This requires entering into a dialogue with your heart.

Lee Bolman and Terrance Deal (sorry no link) in their book Leading With Soul: An Uncommon Journey of Spirit orient educational leadership to serve those in classrooms, schools. jurisdictions, and communities. We serve. This is a new mental model, but not one of mere words. It requires real action demonstrating real change.

“In matters of spirit, wisdom and experience, count far more than technique or strategy. Wisdom comes from within rather than without” (1995, p. 169). Turn inward, find a guide on your spiritual journey, and listen to the wisdom of those who journeyed before you.