Tag Archives: metaphor

Lessons from nature

Took a bike ride today on a trail near Squamish and passed this massive rock that sheered of an adjacent rock face. Three trees have grown around it, adapting to the shape of the rock. It almost looks like they are there supporting the rock from falling over, like massive pillars burdened by the weight of the rock.

That’s not the case. The rock was probably there long before the trees, and they have grown around the stationary rock. They adapted to the presence of the rock.

In the coming weeks, schools will need to make some major adaptations to the structures put in place due to Covid-19. Some of these changes will be challenging. Unlike the giant, unmovable rock, the parameters of the response will be fluid and changing. Similar to the rock, what we are going to be facing will be long-lasting. This school year will be one where outbreaks determine responses and communities will be impacted.

Covid-19 will be the immovable rock, and we will need to respond organically.

A forgotten dream

Last week I visited my uncle and he reminded me of a dream that I shared with him, 27 years ago, before my move from Toronto to Vancouver.

There is a saying: “To the fish water is invisible.” And that is what my dream was about. I grew up in a pre-Google era, but I had something better… I had my dad. It seemed that no matter what question I may ask, my dad had, and still has, a comprehensive answer. My only hesitation to ask him a question was that I needed to be sure I was interested enough to get his extensive and detailed answer.

The dream was that I was in my bedroom next to my dad’s office and everything was under water. It wasn’t scary, I could breathe. I knew the water was there but I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.

What was right in front of me was all of dad’s books that I had never read. 1,000’s of books. My dad has read and given away more books than any 50 people would normally read in their lifetime. From my earliest memories I can remember our house containing numerous bookshelves with books double stacked, one in front of the other, with whole sections having books stacked horizontally, so that 6 or 8 horizontal books could take the place of 4 or 5 vertical books.

And I read almost none of them.

The dream was a dream of lost opportunity. Of being blind to the ocean of information that sat before me metaphorically unseen, and literally unread.

I didn’t enjoy reading until I was in my 30’s. I slowed down again after that, getting too busy, until recently in my 50’s when I discovered that I could listen to audio books while exercising, and walking, and waiting in lineups, and commuting in my car.

We often don’t see the opportunities right in front of us. We often take things, and people, for granted because they are right there.

About 8 or 9 years after I moved to B.C., my librarian at the school I was teaching at did an exchange with a teacher from Australia. That teacher and her retired husband went away almost every weekend during the exchange. In a single year they had visited more of B.C. than I had in almost a decade. In fact, more than I have in over a quarter century of living here now.

We are fish, blind to the water we swim in. Sometimes it’s worth stopping and paying attention to what is right in front of us.

Not so open book

It’s interesting to see how much of themselves people are willing to share online. Intimate family moments like the moment parents ask a foster child if they would like to be adopted. Moments of despair, hoping for human connection. ‘Angry Karen’ moments, though admittedly these are seldom shared by the targeted ‘Karen’. Requests for prayer for an unwell relative. Wedding proposals, break-ups, bedroom/bathroom humour, and embarrassing situations that are personal, and confidential, until posted online.

I’ve never been one to keep a consistent journal, but here I am approaching a year of journaling on my Daily-Ink, and I’ve come to realize that I keep some things intentionally out of this reflective space. Not just things I can not share:

“Many challenges in schools can be summarized as: a) Someone was treated unfairly; b) Someone felt that they were treated unfairly; c) A decision that affects more than one person was deemed unfair. Put another way: actions, perceptions, and circumstances in relation to fairness are imbalanced. The moment I dissect one of these scenarios on my blog, I have the potential to undermine any resolution that may have come out of it. I would be unfair and disrespectful to some of the people involved.”

…not just these things that affect the lives of others, but things that directly affect my personal life. It’s not that I’m harbouring some big secrets, it’s just that I choose to keeps certain personal things personal.

This makes writing hard sometimes, because the things that are weighing heavy on my mind are not things I want to write about… but normally this is where my inspiration comes from. So, I sit looking at my blank screen, wondering what I’m going to write about, and deliberately choosing not to write what comes to mind.

Still, I prefer this to being a completely open book. I think some things are best kept to myself, or in my family… definitely not to be archived in a blog post, or for others, shared in a viral video. In my opinion too many people over share, without thought, simply because they can. I share a lot, but a few pages won’t ever be open, at least not here.

Shifting winds

Most school years are like prevailing winds. You know which way you are sailing and you adjust your course a little and keep going.

This year, and especially these past 4 months, have created shifting winds that keep altering the direction we are going, outside of our control.

If you’ve ever watched a sailing race, the most important aspects of a boat being successful are leadership and teamwork. That doesn’t just mean working together when everyone agrees with the captain. In fact, the test of a true team is how well they work together when there is disagreement.

In the coming months there will be some metaphorical rough seas, and blustery winds. To sail through safely we will need good leadership and great teamwork.

In our Province, we have leadership worth following and listening to. It is sad to see a team crumble under good leadership.

In other jurisdictions people are not as lucky. It is equally sad to see a team crumble because of poor leadership.

What we have to remember is that we are all in the same boat. How well will we sail through this rough patch? Calmer winds and seas will come eventually, until then the shifting winds are testing our resolve to work together.

The garden

7 years ago we had a community day at Inquiry Hub Secondary when 3 students organized the construction of our school garden. It was a wonderful day filled with food, family, and community support. But mostly it was about students showing pride in their school. Everything was organized by the students and the event was a complete success.


I’ve been thinking a lot about how empty the school feels these days. Students are working from home, and our garden is empty when this is the time it is usually thriving. It made me think about how some students thrive while others don’t.

Joe Truss asked in a Tweet:

The achievement gap is really the gap between ______ and _______.

And I responded:

…between
those that easily thrive
and
those that need to survive.

This has made me think about the inequality of what students deal with, in a metaphorical sense of a garden.

Some students are given every opportunity to grow… they are raised in a home like a garden filled with fertilizer, and they are given all the nutrients to not only sustain themselves, but to thrive.

Some students have a patch of dirt rather than a garden, and the elements support them sometimes, and sometimes the conditions are harsh.

Some students have parents and teachers who are good gardeners that know how to foster health and growth.

Some students have parents and teachers who are frustrated by their lack of growth and unaware as to how to foster healthy development.

Some students grow like weeds, regardless of the conditions and environment.

Many other students depend on those conditions, and can strive or just survive depending on how they are nurtured.

Schools aren’t perfect, but we can do a lot at schools to help give every student an opportunity to grow. We can be the wards of the community garden sustaining every child, and doing what we can to help them thrive.

Students are learning from home, but are schools still nurturing our students in the same way? Are we just giving them sustenance, or are we fostering opportunities to blossom?

Finding my sea legs

I remember a trip to the Cayman Islands with my dad. We were on the small island of Cayman Brac and we hired a boat to take us to see a shoreline that my dad wanted to explore. The boat wasn’t very big, under 25 feet long, and not designed for anything more than a day trip. The captain was a short, old man with a weathered, leathery face that made him look over 100 years old. He was letting me troll for marlin while we travelled. The waves were choppy, the boat bounced and swayed, and I had to keep my eyes on the horizon to keep from getting sea sick.

At one point I caught a barracuda and after I reeled it up to the boat, I couldn’t get it over the edge of the boat without standing up from my chair. The movement of the boat set me on my ass before I could take two steps towards the stern. The old sea captain put my dad’s hand on the steering wheel and pointed forward. He then walked to me, as sure-footed as if he were a young athlete on a flat track, picked me off the deck and helped me back into the seat. He then took my rod, walked back to the stern and got the fish into the boat. All the while, the boat bounced in the rough seas and this captain casually made tiny little shuffle-step movements with his feet, keeping himself perfectly balanced. This ancient-looking man had sea legs, he was as comfortable with the motion of the sea under his feet as we are on land.

This is my twenty second year as an educator and for the first time in years I feel like I’ve lost my ‘sea legs’. I’m struggling to find my balance. I’ve struggled with work load, and time management, and work-life balance before – I think all committed educators do – but this is different.

I recently discussed with Dave Sands that, “All screen time is not created equal,” but this is where I’m losing my balance. Beyond a daily walk, I’m spending every moment of my time in my school office or at home. During this time, I’m spending a fair bit more time online. When I’m at work, there is a constant flow of video conferences that interrupt any sense of work flow for my other tasks, and so days are very busy, but don’t always feel productive.

My online time at home flows from distraction, to entertainment, to work, to creating and writing, to news, back to work, and then back to news or distraction, with a daily workout thrown in. Recently, I’ve missed workouts, I’ve missed my daily meditation (3 times this month), I’ve spent more time writing (without writing much more than I usually do), and my focus seems scattered.

I need to rework my daily routine during this pandemic. It feels difficult because there is a constant flow of information that keeps shifting what things look like at work. There is also ever-changing news about how our social distancing expectations will change going forward. Metaphorically, the waves keep churning, and I’m struggling to keep my balance on the boat. I don’t have my sea legs. I’m going to rethink and reintroduce some of my routines that have worked for me before, and see if I can steady myself a bit.

It’s a marathon, not a sprint

After today, I’m going to take at least a few days off from posting about school, remote learning, social distancing, and Covid-19. I need to take a break from writing about these things daily, but will admit it’s hard when that’s mostly what’s on my mind. The reality is that these things aren’t going away any time soon. We are in this for a while.

Despite that, the last two weeks have felt like an all-out sprint. There are so many things that need to get done and the days have disappeared into busy blurs of activity and exhaustion.

This can’t be sustained over the marathon we have in front of us. We. Need. To. Slow. Down. This four-day weekend couldn’t have come at a better time.

No, I won’t be taking all four days completely off. But I will let go of work for a couple days. I will continue to exercise and take care of myself. I might be a little lax on my good eating habits. I will sit in front of the television. I will read. I will get outside.

Most importantly, I’ll remind myself that there are more than two and a half months of school left… If I’m going to be my best, it will be because I remember that I’m needing to be my best over a marathon of time, and not just for a short sprint.

Adding a little extra

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a recipe where the amount of garlic ‘recommended’ wasn’t less than I wanted to (and probably did) put in. My whole family loves garlic and despite adding more garlic than suggested, in our house a meal has never been ruined by too much garlic. You can’t say the same for salt, or dill, or oregano.

Some things you can add a little extra, some things you can’t:

You can add some genuine compliments, be careful how much criticism you add.

You can add generosity generously, but just a pinch of selfishness.

You can add copious amounts of love, but only a sprinkling of animosity.

There isn’t any one recipe for living a good life, and so the ingredients we choose to put in can be played with… if we are thoughtful and liberally creative with the right ingredients, we can end up with delicious results!

New beginnings sprout from the old

This morning I went for a walk with my wife through Mundy Park. There is a 5 kilometre perimeter trail that we like to walk that takes us 50-60 minutes depending on our pace. The trail is well maintained and well used, especially by dog owners. We take the same route every time and it makes for a great uninterrupted time to chat.

I don’t usually take my phone out during the walk but today I did so to take a few pictures of trees growing out of old, larger stumps.

I love the way old stumps and roots become the home to new growth in the forest. Decaying life becomes the fuel and the foundation for new life.

It reminds me that we don’t always have to begin anew. We don’t always have to throw everything out and start fresh. We can build from a foundation we already have, and we can use existing resources to help us. Sometimes when we are looking to make changes, to make things better, we forget the accomplishments that got us where we are now.

It’s still early February, and I know we have a lot of wet and cloud-covered days to go before we can say spring has arrived. But getting outside on a bright and fair-weather day like today, and paying attention to the cycle of life in nature, reminds me that I can look positively ahead to new adventures, while also embracing the the things I hope to change. I can reflect on how these old things are an important part of the journey we all go through. When we bring life to new ideas, we need to respect the foundation of old ideas that we built on.

Just follow the steps

I enjoy solving puzzles like this:

The thing about these kind of puzzles is that if you don’t see the solution, you make a guess, you toss around ideas, then you eliminate them, and suddenly you see the pattern… you’ve figured out the steps, and you know you are right even before you’ve completed the answer. At that point you just follow the steps.

Easy… Or is it?

Sometimes the solution eludes you. Sometimes you just don’t see the pattern. In the example above, I can even tell you the next line of numbers and if you don’t see the pattern, it won’t help you understand: (13211311123113112211). The new row I shared would just become another set of confusing numbers. The solution won’t help you figure out the steps.

For some learners, getting started on a project or an assignment is like this. The blank page is daunting, giving no hints as to what to do next. Interpreting the question is too hard even before thinking about possible answers. For others, getting started is easy, but knowing how to finish involves a roadblock such as, explaining a process, collecting relevant data, summarizing information, extrapolating what the teacher wants, understanding the conclusion, or figuring out the purpose of even doing the assignment in the first place.

It took me about a minute and a half to solve this question, with half of that time doing the simple math to ensure I was right:

Find next number in the series:
23 21 24 19 26 15 28 11 30 7 36 ?

If you know the pattern, great! But if you don’t and I told you the answer is 5, that wouldn’t actually help you figure out the next number in the sequence.

When you know or understand the steps to get to the end of an assignment, it’s just a matter of doing the work. When you don’t understand the steps, or when a learning challenge gets in the way, then the steps become cliffs, too big to climb.

How often do we ask learners to climb cliffs?