Imagine being parachuted onto the top of a high mountain. The views are breathtaking. You look around and absorb the beauty of all you can see taking photos to remember it by. But how much greater would your enjoyment and satisfaction in that moment be if you had climbed the mountain on foot? If you’d put in the graft of the walk to the foothills, the trudging uphill, the times when the path goes back down and you feel like you’ve wasted effort in climbing just to have to do it again. You’ve forded streams, clambered over rocks, got lost and gone on a detour. You thought you were nearing the summit, only to discover that you haven’t made it yet and there’s still another slope to climb, and probably another after that.
But you’ve also paused to take in stunning views along the way. You’ve sat and rested, enjoying the beauty of a wildflower meadow, or a mountain stream. You’ve covered new ground, seen scenery and nature that you’d never seen before, explored new places. You’ve enjoyed the company of a friend along the way, helping each other over obstacles and encouraging one another along. You’ve reached the top and the reward is worth the effort, enhanced because of all you’ve put in to get there.
As you survey the scene you can see more peaks, nearby and in the distance, which you want to climb and explore. It’s been hard work getting here, but you’re ready for more.
As I was walking in the Yorkshire Dales during the recent half term break, I was thinking about these things* in relation to teaching and my approach to my own development and that of the department I lead. When I was climbing a hill, I was enjoying the scenery, the company, experiencing the ups and downs which would lead to the peak. Reaching the summit was the aim, but the whole walk was important. If I’d just been transported to the top, I’d have missed out on so much that had value, the experience would have been diminished.
When it comes to professional learning and leadership I’m frequently so focussed on the goal, the perfect way to teach a concept, having the perfect curriculum or the optimal assessment regime in place, that I forget to enjoy the process of getting there and all that I can learn along the way. I often feel to have failed because I haven’t reached the peak of perfection, I rush on forgetting to pause, take stock, and reflect on the progress that has been made, the valuable conversations which have been had, the lessons learned when discussions or ideas have gone in a different direction to what I had anticipated (there’s no map to follow in this journey – some would say that makes it more exciting, but it’s scary too!) When things don’t work out exactly as I wanted them to, or seem to be delayed, or going backwards, I get frustrated rather than valuing what I can learn from listening to others, or taking a different approach. And if I do reach the point I was aiming for, I’m often disappointed because I have learned more on the way and can now see that this wasn’t the peak, or that there’s another mountain to climb which I hadn’t realised was there. I get disheartened rather than celebrating the fact that I can only see this new peak because of what I’ve learned in climbing this far.
So, as I look forward to getting stuck back into the things I love about teaching (after what’s been such a challenging year or so, both professionally due to Covid, and personally), I want to try to focus on enjoying the journey and all that I can learn along the way.
Those of you that know me. Please remind me of this because I will forget, and will need your help to remember.
*I’ve exaggerated somewhat to paint a picture – the Dales are beautiful, but not quite the mountains I’ve described!
elements of learning 