Approaching the “Finish Line”: Lessons from Reflectors, Savings, and Hawaii

What might I share that will be worth your time to read? For many teachers (and students!) energies and attention right now are being funneled into the finish of yet another academic year. Though there is so much still to be wrapped up, the end will likely come quickly. In an effort to finish the year strong, let us look more closely with wisdom at what appear to be three completely unrelated items: reflectors, savings, and Hawaii.  Hopefully not only a connection becomes clear but also an understanding of the necessity to prioritize a vision of the future tempered with an intention to live in the here and now.

 

What If I told You a Reflector Could Save Your Life?

While I was in university, one outdoor outing particularly stood out. As I traipsed across a snowy mountainside, not a care in the world, in an instant I found myself facing nature’s wrath in a battle for survival. Underfoot, an unstable mass of snow broke free, followed by a deafening roar. The cloud of snow and ice hurtled to catch me, faster than 320 kilometers (200 miles) per hour. Scientists calculate a fully developed avalanche can potentially weigh as much as a million tons. This feeling of despair or race against time might be parallel to a teacher’s experience. We would hope not, but what did Orwell say about reality? That it exists in the human mind, and nowhere else! In the mountains of the western United States alone, there are approximately 100,000 avalanches each year. I would argue, that across our myriad of classrooms, we witness many more “avalanches. Where time is lost to all meaning, consumed by the suffocating weight of “snow” or “to-dos”.

But, what if…

“What if” is a powerful phrase. Emboldened by infinite possibility, it invites us to explore alternative realities. Those Orwellian possibilities maybe existing in our minds and nowhere else. But, what if, by design, our schools, classrooms, and all that we experience in education were backed in trust? This ultimately comes down to the essentials of establishing strong and meaningful relationships. For outdoors people this may be a “relationship” with their gear, a testament to the saying that there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad gear. More than 150 brands of outdoor gear utilize a patented reflector (RECCO®) as a rescue technology to help find people lost in the outdoors or buried by avalanches. If something so tiny as a reflector has the potential to save someone’s life, or moreover build trust, what might this say about the potential inherent in our schools and amongst us as educators? The “avalanches” we perceive are far from being unstoppable juggernauts. We have this!

 

16x is a Lot

Bestselling author James Clear asserts, “Most people need consistency more than they need intensity.” He reflects on how consistency is what ultimately leads to progress. A difference in intensity and consistency is compared to going out to run a marathon versus not missing a workout for two years. Or, jumping cold turkey into a silent meditation retreat as opposed to finding silence daily. Such consistency has a level of patience and also requires discipline. Virtues in a sense and both are also steeped in vision. Recently I was dismayed to read how according to Northwestern Mutual, Americans think they will need $1.46 million to retire. Yet, they have on average only saved $88,000. That is 16x under what they think they need. Sixteen times!  Imagine having sixteen times more students. A few years back I felt overwhelmed teaching 104 students. That number would now be 1,664 students! Or, what if we lived 16x longer? 73.4 years would mean 1174.4. 

So, ultimately besides consistency, patience, and discipline, a bit of vision is necessary. As educators hopefully, we can see the “finish line.” Some maybe are even preflecting on how they may begin the next academic year. Yet, what we do with today is critical. We cannot afford to miss the here and now.  The fact is, the future depends on it! 

 

Determine Your Truth

Though I feel fortunate to call Hawai’i my home, I am not proud to share how the beauty and fragility of resources are largely unprotected.  According to the Department of Land and Natural Resources, “As of 2023, Hawai‘i only invests $9 per tourist back in the environment, and less than 1% of the state budget goes towards conservation. We currently face an estimated conservation funding gap of $360 million per year.” Though this example has elements of both reflectors and savings, we consider it  for another reason. Ultimately, it is about protection. A friend recently waxed poetically on what he  terms the “underbelly” of conservation. Though the word “conservation” has its roots in the Latin “conservationem,” meaning “a keeping, preserving, conserving,” might the word have taken on a different meaning in reality? One with emphasis on “con.”  Where charisma, deception, or opportunism are what ultimately courses through the veins. A truth painted by lies. 

And how might this relate to us as educators?

As we continue to drown in information, artificial or not, we are being summoned to think. To read and watch widely and to listen to learn. One mandatory course within The International Baccalaureate (IB) Diploma Programme (DP) to support this is the Theory of Knowledge (TOK). Students take TOK to develop critical thinking skills by analyzing knowledge claims and to gain interdisciplinary understanding by exploring connections between different subjects. Within the context of the College Board, the Advanced Placement (AP) Seminar is similar to TOK, seeking for students to develop critical thinking, research, and communication through interdisciplinary exploration of complex topics. Regardless of the curriculum, a school subscribes to, the intention is for students to be able to determine truth. Their truth. This is only possible if we take time to reflect critically on not only what we might know or think we know. It also requires us to pay close attention to the diverse ways of knowing and a multitude of perceptions. 

So, slow down. Listen a little harder and look. Though the “finish line” is in full sight, go slow to go fast. And enjoy the “ride.”

 

Our Mindset and Actions are Omnipotent

As we navigate the tumultuous currents and possibly perceived “avalanches” of education, let us not overlook the significance of reflection but also a deep understanding of the necessity to prioritize a vision of the future tempered with an intention to live in the here and now. Building trust, fostering consistency, and embracing patience are all necessary ingredients to this recipe we call “education.” Just as a tiny reflector embedded in our jacket (RECCO®) has the potential to save our lives, our mindsets and actions are omnipotent. Instead of counting down the days, might we delve into the depths of critical thinking with students, and embrace the moments we have left with absolute intentionality and purpose?  “Your mission (insert your name), should you choose to accept it, is to serve as a beacon of guidance, inspiring those you teach to navigate the complexities of the world with purpose, integrity, and joy.” 

I accept.

IN THE RHYTHM OF NATURE: EMBRACING PATIENCE IN EVERYDAY LIFE

“Place-based education? We have it all,” a colleague recently quipped. Though I agree, I am not so declarative. Instead, I seemingly find myself routinely in quiet appreciative contemplation of the place I live. Fittingly, this past week a friend shared an invitation to attend a storytelling event titled, “Where I Live.” Several eloquent stories were told and afterward, I was left considering my own stories.

As much of the world transitions out of Winter and into Spring, central to “my story” is the role of patience. Akin to deciduous trees which lose their leaves and go into a sort of hibernation, the changing of seasons even in the Tropics, provides us an opportunity to become more aware, grounded, and maybe even grateful. So long as we are patient. Years ago I gave up the snow and cold, so trees shedding their leaves is no longer a part of my autumn-to-winter experience. Instead, winter now signifies whales, waves, and wind. “The original www (World Wide Web),” I kid.

Learning from Great Masters

I awaken exhilarated not from the deep rest but by visions of how the Pacific stretches in the early morning unwrinkled, illuminated in various hues of blue. Paddling out on my 11-foot board I often stand alone, watching whales. Humpback whales to be precise. Approximately 10,000 whales make the 10,000-mile sojourn each year. More will leave than arrive, as these warm waters are for breeding. The whales will eat nothing while here. Yet, upon their return to polar waters, they can consume up to 3,000 pounds of food daily! Though such facts intrigue me, it is the humpbacks’ size and grace that motivates me to paddle out and wait. Rebecca Giggs, author of “In Fathoms: The World in the Whale,” she describes whales as complex and enormous, with lives and abilities that make them masters of the seas. To see a whale is to feel veneration.

Some days I see no whales. Yet, I paddle out whenever possible, pleased to patiently wait. Usually, there is complete silence until I hear air being expelled, sometimes the blow results in a cascade of mist. Legally, one is not allowed to get closer than 100 yards from a whale. Atop a 3-inch table of epoxy, nor would not be wise to be aside the hulking mass of 60,000 pounds. However, there have been times when an utter sense of awe rivaled my patience, and whales have approached me. Gliding beneath and sometimes aside me, more than one whale has risen, rolled on her side, and met my stare. To look into the eye of a whale ensues much emotion and, primordial connection. It is patience, the wait for such encounters that allows for such reverence.

Waves are Nature’s Patience Test

Just as winter means whales, the season also brings world-class waves to the isles. During December, January, and February storms brew far north in the Pacific, sending long, rolling swells. Waves sometimes towering over 20 feet high, crash onto the north and west shores. A common refrain from Civil Defense is “Heed all advice from ocean safety officials. When in doubt, don’t go out.” Yet, it is times like these that resonate most with a surfer’s heart, maybe even speeding it up a beat. High surf is more invitation than warning. Regardless of how active the ocean is, surfing requires patience. At least surfing the “right wave.” Either prostrate or sitting atop an even smaller board, many factors are taken into consideration. The wave’s shape and size are a priority. Also how the crest peels is important, so it is not too steep. Speed is weighed in, fast but not too fast, or maintaining balance may be difficult. To ride a wave is often a fleeting moment, followed by a great deal of work paddling back out and through crashing waves. World class South African Surfer, Shaun Tomson says it best, “Surfing teaches patience. On land, surfers cannot will a swell to appear. They have to wait for nature to make the call. So surfers wait. They keep their eyes on the horizon and they wait.” Sitting astride my board, staring as far as my eyes can see, the sun sinking low. These moments in wait are sometimes as enjoyable as gliding atop the wave.

Chilled by the Wind and Rain of Kīpuʻupuʻu 

Where I live, over two thousand feet above the ocean, the weather can be described as windy or windier. There is no happenstance that the mascot of the school where I teach is kamakani, “wind” in Hawaiian. Trade winds, blowing from NE to ENE direction account for 70% of all winds in Hawaii. The origins of the name “trade winds” date back to the mid-15th century to the mid-17th century and what is called, the Age of Exploration and Overseas Expansion. Sailors recognized the trade winds as a reliable way to navigate and they used the predictable easterly winds for westward voyages across the open oceans. Though summer months may in effect be even windier, it is the type of wind that has me equate winter with wind. Kīpuʻupuʻu, one of at least 58 names for the different winds of Hawai‘i Island, is specific to this place high in the hills and means “chilly wind and rain.” These winds and rain are known for their side-sweeping direction. Patience has a role when Kīpuʻupuʻu winds and rain prevail. One must not imagine hard, knowing how verdant and sweeping hills will illuminate and birds will fill the air in song.

Asked to Change the Rules of the Game

Telling “my story,” I think about how place plays a pivotal position. So too does patience. A lifelong lover of basketball, I helped coach “women’s” basketball this past winter. “Women’s” is wrapped in quotes because it is yet another “w”. Several moments stand out from the season and yet one is indelibly etched as “to be remembered.” A moment that required patience. A player challenged, “If we just hit the top corner of the box, can we count that?” The question, asked honestly, came amidst a drill where players kept missing what is termed “the easiest shot in basketball,” standing 45 degrees and just three feet from the basket. This was a lesson ultimately based on geometric laws. An example of compound motion which combines vertical and horizontal motion. The ball is heaved, follows a three-dimensional trajectory, bounces off the backboard, and goes through the rim and eventually the net. Two points. If only you use the backboard, the keys being the angle of incidence and angle of reflection. Mastering this shot, called a “bank shot” requires a bit of understanding of angles, distance, and also timing. Yet, true mastery comes through repetition and muscle memory. This very drill might just have been “the magic” behind why shooting averages improved so much.

However, at this penultimate practice, the player whether earnestly or entitled asked, “If we just hit the top corner of the box, can we count that?” yearned to shortcut not only the rules of the game but the very essence of geometry itself. My dumbfoundedness resulted in the space for players to ask about spin, height, ball pressure, etc., and how these all might need to be factored in. True, true, and true. And yet, counting a basket meant scoring it. So, “NO! We could not just hit the top corner of the box and count it!” Though I wanted to scream, “Just do the drill,” I calmly bit my bottom lip; somehow, somewhere finding the necessary level of patience to listen, respond kindly, and refocus players’ attention on the mechanics necessary to score.

Letting Patience Be a Unifying Force

Basketball season is over, the winds are settling down, the waves waning, and the whales are all headed north and eastward. I sit contemplatively, reflecting on a life deeply connected to nature’s rhythms. Patience emerges as a guiding principle and I will it blossom. Already I am excited to await another winter and the majestic return of whales and exhilarating waves. Patience is a necessity. The Kīpuʻupuʻu sweeping across the hills and the moments on the basketball court helped me realize the value of this patience. My understanding but also hope, is to understand how every experience shapes a distinct narrative, and how it is patience that holds the potential to serve as a unifying force. If we can be comfortable, if even for just a little while, to step aside, wait, listen, and learn. Only then will places be in a prime position to teach us.

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