A More Human Beginning
This article is published as part of our 2021-2022 series, “Be More Human.”
Depending on where you are in the country, the first day of school might have happened already or it might be a few weeks away.
How are you approaching the start of school? As a series of tasks to achieve, or as an opportunity to build community and purpose?
When we design the experiences humans will encounter this year, are we unintentionally continuing a social pattern of isolation and dislocation, or are we actively disrupting those patterns to recover our shared humanity?
How will you seize the opportunity for this year to be more human?
Consider the first day of school. What are the things we often think we need to do? We need to “cover” material. We need to have a system for homework. We need to establish a routine.
I’ve seen the results, and maybe so have you. Students spend the first day trudging down the hallway, moving from class to class and collecting syllabi along the way. But their unmet needs are expressed in the unoccupied, in-between times, the interstitial spaces which they program on their own: I specifically remember students taking a long walk into the auditorium where they would hear adults talk at them for the first hour. They drew out the opportunity to connect with each other for as long as possible.
What will it be like for students to be back on campus? Last year, many kids were not at school that much, and for some it was a relief. If your school spent part of last year learning remotely, what will it be like for those students to be back together from the very start? Many students haven’t seen most of their peers over the summer, and they all may have changed in that time. How are we designing for that need? A thick stack of syllabi isn’t going to do it.
Leaders often make the same kind of mistakes when designing experiences for educators. We focus on task: what are all the things I’ve done this summer that I need to let people know about? What are the duties I need to assign?
But faculty come back to the school year with all of the normal needs of human educators plus the psychological challenge of re-entering a traumatic experience. Educators need reassurance that this year will be better than the last. They need an opportunity to reconnect after so many months behind laptops or physically isolated in their classrooms. They need to be connected to purpose.
And what about Back to School Night? What will families need from us to be comfortable, confident, and maybe even delighted about the year ahead?
The start of the school year is the chance to create new rituals, events that have meaning because they are repeated and because they mark the crossing of the threshold from one kind of time to another. In marking that boundary, they say: this place is special, and this time we have with each other is special, and you get to be part of it.
In The Art of Gathering, Priya Parker emphasizes the importance of beginnings and endings. She says, “Your opening needs to be a kind of pleasant shock therapy. It should grab people. And in grabbing them, it should both awe the guests and honor them. It must plant in them the paradoxical feeling of being totally welcomed and deeply grateful to be there.”
Rituals can be hard for educators. They require us to take them seriously, and not to hide. Another way of saying this is: vibrant rituals demand us to take our relationships seriously, and not to hide from each other. The kids need us to be real and vulnerable in these moments so that they can trust us when they, in turn, need to be real and vulnerable. If we play it cool and hide in our own ironic detachment (I’m lookin’ at you, Gen X’er, and at me) we won’t be building the relationships they need for those moments.
So, as you consider the experiences that are headed our way – whether it’s the first day of school, preservice faculty meetings, or Back to School Night – here are some needs you might design for:
To be seen and included. People want to know that others noticed they showed up. They want their identities to be acknowledged and respected. They want to see themselves represented in the activities, leaders, spaces, and programs they experience during the day.
To connect with others. Remember how it felt to be the new kid at school? New teachers feel the same way. And even if we’re returning to campus for the 20th year, this year will feel like a reunion after a year of isolation and disconnection. Make sure you foreground the need to connect and build community before moving to task.
To build a sense of purpose beyond the self. We work in groups because we can do more together than we can do alone, and to be part of something bigger than ourselves. Honor the reason you are there and tap into the desire we all have to be part of something good in the world.
To honor transitions (including growth and loss). I’ve already heard from educators who are dreading the return to school after a challenging and traumatic year...they have needed their time away, and the return to campus triggers a flood of emotion. Other members of the community are eager to get back on campus after spending too much time at home. We need to hold space for these competing emotions and recognize the transition that is happening. New rituals may need to be created to mark that transition and to acknowledge the individual and communal losses that have been endured.
And yes, cover a well-curated set of nuts and bolts. “To feel prepared to start the year” is also a human need. But in the same way that more minutes of coverage does not always mean more student learning, more time on task does not necessarily mean more work gets done.
It does mean risking a missed opportunity for the people we love and serve to feel totally welcomed and grateful to be there.
