Goal setting

The 100th Day, A Day to Reflect

February 3, 2019 By Kathie Z

Goalposts. They’re everywhere. Lines painted on turf, items crossed off a to do list.

They’re the physical and metaphorical end zones guiding us in the direction of goals.

In sports, the goalposts are clearly defined, outlined in brightly colored paint. Athletes make their way down the field in bursts of energy, progressing towards the goal line. Sometimes they cross the line, sometimes their progress is deterred. All the while, time is ticking away and every moment counts. Because the game has a finite amount of minutes. There is little time to celebrate when players cross the goal line, score points for their team. Taking time to celebrate during the game is not an option. Game time is too precious, the stakes too high.

In so many of our real lives we, too set goals and get to work making our way down the field, mindful not to run down the clock. We achieve one goal and quickly set another, keep moving forward towards the next goalpost. Over and over again we repeat this process. Set goal. Work towards goal. Achieve goal. Repeat.

This week while so many are focused on football’s Super Bowl, I’m preparing for the primary grade big event, the 100^thday of school. In the primary grades, the 100^thday is a. Big. Deal. It is a major goalpost.

100 means so much to small children. It represents an understanding of math concepts. 100 equals 100 ones, 10 tens and 1 100! 100 days is also a big deal because it signifies such a huge chunk of time passed in the eyes of a young child.

Historically, the 100^thday has been a fun-filled day in my classroom, centered around the theme of the number 100. My students complete a number of 100 themed math and writing activities. Laughter fills the classroom as children ponder what life will be like in their far, far away future.

Year after year as the 100^thday came to a close, I struggled with remaining present. Rather than basking in the joy of the day, I couldn’t help but think about the looming June goal post. After 100^thday, time seems to magically speed up, the remaining days pass at an accelerated pace. Rather than marvel at all the good learning that had occurred, I thought about all that still remained to be done!

This year I’m choosing to view the 100^thday through a different lens. This 100^thday, my students and I will take time to reflect and we will celebrate. Because they have invested a lot of effort into their learning. They’ve done hard work, pushed through challenges, made great progress.

And what a powerful lesson for all of us; parents, educators, children. To take time to reflect on our efforts, make note of progress we’ve made, and be proud of how far we’ve come.

There will always be goalposts. And time will always be precious. But there’s always enough time for acknowledging, appreciating and celebrating where we are now.

©Kathie Z.

Progress

January 13, 2019 By Kathie Z

For the past few years rather than craft New Year’s resolutions, my sister and I have chosen theme words. Inspired by the Rubin sisters, Gretchen the O.G. happiness expert and her younger sister Elizabeth, my sister and I have chosen our words and shared them with one another. The word is meant to serve multiple purposes: inspire, encourage and motivate. And in our case, provide accountability.

Most years, I choose a word hastily. There are so many words and in the panic of the January 1 deadline, I choose a good enough word, then forget it or replace it before January is even done.

On Christmas, my sister asked me if I had given my word for 2019 any thought. “Nope,” I said. She was excited. She had chosen hers. She was already practicing utilizing hers. My closest accountability partner, I knew she’d be checking up on me, encouraging me to make 2019 the year. So, I started thinking about the year and the different things I want to accomplish personally and professionally.

I had a week’s notice. And then our mother got sick. My siblings and I turned our focus to our mother. Standing in the coffee line in the hospital lobby café on New Year’s Day, my sister asked, “So what’s your word?”

“Dunno,” I said.

As the days passed, our mother was getting better. Bit by bit. She was making progress.

And then it hit me. Progress. That is my word of this year.

Embracing progress as my word of the year is a huge deal. It’s an acknowledgement of small, incremental forward movement. It is honoring the process, rather than putting all of the value on the finished product. Progress encourages acknowledgement which encourages perseverance which ultimately leads to accomplishment.

Which is what we primary educators do every day. We note the progress our students make daily. It’s why we collect work samples, portfolio assess. Then we provide verbal feedback, tailor instruction and encourage our students to keep going. Remind them, “you’ve got this.” Progress is at the root of the growth model we primary teachers know so well.

And when our students look at the work they did at the onset of the year and compare it to the work they are currently doing? Well, the joy in the room is contagious, the energy electric. Because our students are proud of how far they’ve come.

But we adults who tended towards perfectionism fail to recognize the progress we make in teeny, tiny incremental steps. Instead, we put an inflated value on the end product; dishonoring the effort, failure, and learning we’ve experienced. How ridiculous is that?

So I encourage you to choose your word for the year. And while you’re at it, encourage your kids to choose one, too.

©Kathie Z.

September, the Other January?

September 10, 2018 By Kathie Z

Everywhere I’ve looked in the past week or so, I seem to encounter this idea: September, the other January. A time to reset, start anew. Do better, be better. The second “New Year.”

This concept is not new for those of us who teach. September literally is the beginning of a new year. And each brand-new year is full of endless possibilities. It’s a time to refine what’s worked in our practice and try something new to replace the things that haven’t. September is our annual do-over. That’s why September is so great. For us.

In spite of our excitement, we know September and all of its unknowns can be a tricky, stressful, challenging time for our kids. And the gift of experience heightens our awareness for spotting worry and unease which we work to minimize with a treasure trove of get-to-know-you and community building activities. During September, we take our time settling in, establishing routines to foster an environment of encouragement and student success.

One of the ways we build our students’ confidence is by building a classroom community through whole group activities that allow us to become a “we.” Tour any elementary school in September and you’re likely to see different examples of students’ hopes and wishes displayed, my classroom included. Each September as I open another school new year with a new group of students, I read Happy School Year! by Susan Milord aloud. In the book, every student in the school makes a wish for a happy school year. Just like last year and the year before and the year before that, I invite my students to make a wish for the new school year. My students think about the things they want to learn, skills they want to develop, friendships they hope to make. After making a wish, students write their wishes for a great year on paper cupcake cut outs that they decorate with crayon. By putting pencil to paper, my students make their wishes for a happy year real, their goals visible.

For years, I’ve embraced the idea of September being the marker of a new year, a time when anything is possible, a month of optimism. Then I thought of my daughter who had recently graduated from college. And the rest of the “big kids” who had not landed where they wanted to be yet. September is here anyway. And for the first time in nearly two decades, they are no longer part of a school community, following academic calendars, working towards graduation requirements. They’ve crossed the goal line. Sort of.

This made me think of the flip side of the September coin. Where I find September rejuvenating, a return to structure, routine, my calling; there are scores of young people feeling the opposite. The infinite possibilities of “the rest of your life” can be mind-boggling and the prospect of finding work that both sustains and fulfills overwhelming. Statistics tell us that it takes college graduates on average three to six months post-graduation to find work in their chosen fields. That means that scores of young people are currently unemployed or underemployed. It’s no wonder these kids find themselves feeling untethered; like balloons whose strings have been let go, floating to places unknown.

And then it occurred to me. Why is it that we encourage our younger students to reflect each September on the things that would make them happy in the coming months? Then help them to set personal goals, which we help them to attain? But we discontinue this practice once our kids grow older, become “big”? What if we parents and mentors asked these big kids to take a moment, reflect on what they hope to accomplish in the coming months? Visualize, articulate the things that would make them happy in the next year? Guide them in the direction of following their dreams, remind them that we struggled, too, many years ago? What if rather than the month to figure out the rest of their lives, September became the month of hopes and dreams, the month to make wishes and devise plans? A time to take a breath and figure things out. For now.

Then September could be the start of a happy new year.

©Kathie Z.

Turning Points

April 14, 2018 By Kathie Z

Both of my daughters are at turning points. One is weeks away from graduating from college. The other weeks away from declaring her major. Both are faced with the question: What next?

This question mark is huge. There is absolutely no known answer to this question. Because it’s this question that leads to a slew of other questions. Which, when you share intense passion for creativity and are inherently square-peggish, can be inordinately anxiety producing.

I’ve spent a lot of time on the phone with my older daughter recently. She’s been feeling the pressure of the what next question. It seems everyone she meets from relatives to shop keepers want to know what her next steps are. Some even ask, “What are you going to do?” or “Do you have a job yet?”

The truth of the matter is, I don’t want her to take a “job.” She is an artist. A gifted painter. Her work is beautiful, impactful. And she’s been told by people in the art world, not her mother, people who actually know things that she can make a living as an artist. And live independently. Which is my dream for her.

Her younger sister texted last night, wanting to talk. Which is a big deal. My younger daughter is a very closed-mouth social butterfly. She’d make an amazing undercover operative, we joke. She’s a vault. Except her emotions have a limit and her voice gives her away. She too, is at a turning point. She’s realized she can no longer avoid pursuing her passion, photography. She was upset about changing her academic focus; veering from dependable to unpredictable, disappointing us in the process.

I told her I got it. I did the same thing as a college sophomore. I realized that studying business was not for me. I wasn’t interested in balance sheets or debits and credits. Plus, I was a really bad business student, only good at the “fluff” courses that tapped into my creativity. Numbers numbed me and I over-thank everything. Suffice it to say, I still recall the teary conversation I had with my mother all those years ago when I told her I wanted to study literature instead. And with my father’s blessing, I declared myself an English major, minoring in dance, veering away from a predictable profession.

Until I’d spoken with my younger daughter last night, I’d all but forgotten about the stress of declaring a major in college. When I told her to declare her art major, I felt a heavy burden evaporate. Problems grow to enormous proportions in our imaginations when we keep them to ourselves. Turning points arise when we need them, not when we want them.

The irony of my children being in such synchronicity is not lost on me. They’ve both been feeling the pressure of meeting the expectations of people who don’t matter. Last night I was blunt with my younger daughter. I interrupted her mid-explanation as to why she no longer wanted to pursue the major she had previously (confusing to me) declared. She had to take a course in which she pursued a passion project related to the field. She was stumped for a topic. I told her matter-of-factly, “That’s because it’s not your passion.” She was taken aback a little. I pressed on. “What would make you happy?”

“Photography,” she said through tears.

“Then do it,” I said. “That was the plan, anyway.”

Which is the honest-to-goodness truth.

My oldest daughter picked up a crayon before a pencil. I can’t remember a time she hasn’t been drawing. And my younger daughter became a photographer the moment she picked up her first point and shoot. Both of my children are incredible artists. Who see the world in a different way than most. And the world needs the beauty and perspective artists provide.

I applaud their courage to choose the path of authenticity and creative expression. They’ve chosen challenging, creative fields, but I know they’ll both be fine. Will their chosen passions bring the creature comforts they’ve grown accustomed to? I don’t know. Only time will tell.

But I do know their work is just as meaningful as any other traditional type of work they could choose. I also know, if they choose to turn later on down the road, elect a more traditional path, that will be o.k., too. Their creativity will never die; it’s an integral part of each of them. At this turning point in the road, I want my girls to know what it took me so many years of suppressing my own creative impulses to learn; your work is a reflection of who you are, not the definition.

Interconnectedness

February 25, 2018 By Kathie Z

A little more than a week ago, on Valentine’s Day, there was another school shooting. Another.

Looking at my last sentence, I’m stricken by the directness of it. Another.

I’ve been an alphabet soup of emotions ever since. I am heartbroken, frustrated, confused, angry. I cannot believe I am writing about school violence. The thought of school violence becoming a “thing,” something that happens over and over again hurts my head.

But I’m a teacher, a mother, a writer. I make my living by using words; choosing them carefully, using them effectively. I understand the power of words; their ability to inspire or discourage, empower or belittle. So, I must write about this.

When I first began teaching, in 1994, school violence wasn’t even on my radar. I’m sure I would have defined school violence as punches thrown. Over the past two decades, though, the violence has ramped up, morphed, become deadly and come closer to home. Literally.

First Newtown, in our tiny state of Connecticut, a mere 40 miles away; home to one of my dear friends and her family. Now Parkland. Geographically far, but still close.

In the past week, I’ve followed the Parkland story closely. Sound bites, video clips, headlines. I am awed by the eloquence and strength exhibited by victims and parents, alike. I am astounded by the ability of those grieving to speak up, speak out. Forge their grief into action.

Last weekend my husband and I visited our daughter at her college, my alma mater. The flags were flying at half-staff in honor of the victims of Parkland, one of whom we can sadly claim. The victim’s father, an alumna of our little liberal arts college, was a class ahead of me.

Walking on campus on a gray, snowy day I was struck by the interconnectedness of it all. I hadn’t known this man decades ago when we were both students, but I feel a kinship with him, nonetheless. My husband, daughter and I discussed the lowered flags, the senselessness of this tragedy. Another one. Again. Then I remembered another gray day, a little more than a year ago when my husband and I received those texts from our daughter. She’d just witnessed a shooting and was hiding in a locked stock room of a crowded shopping mall. She wanted to tell us she loved us and let us know her phone battery was dying.

I remembered the wave of gratitude that swept over me hearing her voice a few hours later. The police had arrived, secured the area. Miraculously the shooter had missed his target. An odd realization struck me. That gunman had nearly shot someone; his intended target, a young father pushing his baby in a stroller, my daughter, her friend. In an instant, he could have taken someone’s baby from them. What, I remember thinking at the time was, what could make somebody decide to shoot someone else? Harm another’s baby? Then I thought, this person, this gunman, was someone else’s baby. How could this happen? Was it a lack of awareness? Some broken connection?

It’s a question I’ll never know the answer to. What I do know, though, is we are all connected. Every one of us. Whether we’re conscious of it or not. And words have the power to strengthen or weaken those bonds.

To honor all that have been senselessly lost, I will do my best to remain mindful, continue choosing my words carefully. Because words are the currency of education, empowerment and unity. Which, like us, are interconnected.

Goal setting

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