I love birds. I can't tell you how many times I've hit the rumble strips on the highway because I'm watching a beautiful red-tail or one of my favorites, the Red-winged Blackbird, fly over the car. It's seriously an issue. Distracted driving has nothing to do with my phone for me. If I die in a car accident, it will be immediately preceded by the phrase, "Woah! Look at that bird!"
Now, you aren't here to read about birds (though, you should). You're here to talk about teaching, and especially right now, you are here because we are here looking for answers in this crisis. Hang in with me for a second. I'll get there.
One of the things that I always am fascinated by is the migration of geese. Like, I can't even get to a store I've been to ten times without navigating on my phone, but these birds can fly thousands of miles with nothing and end up exactly where they want to be (which will likely inspire a blog post about the importance of purpose and vision someday, but today's not the day).
The other piece about their migration that fascinates me is their flight formation.
Any Mighty Ducks fans out there that think of this every time they see this formation?
As a kid, I had no idea why they did this, but then I started cycling, and I realized that they're drafting off each other. It makes it easier for the entire group to travel long distances and conserve their energy.
However, there's a huge caveat here: it isn't easier for all the birds. The front bird ends up with about a 15% higher heart rate, leading to extreme exhaustion and physical deterioration rather quickly. Think about it. If all the other birds are drafting, there has to be a bird that's out in front constantly facing that first onslaught. It's out there leading, pushing the pace, and exhausting itself.
Here's where the whole "talking about birds for longer than probably necessary" starts to make sense. Too often I see educators be the exhausted goose, pushing the pace of innovation and always taking the lead on everything. Saying this without addressing myself would be a lie. I make myself this exhausted goose more often than I should, especially now. I've given up full weekends just because I wanted to have something ready to go by Monday. I've closed my laptop and crawled into bed on more occasions than I'd like to count.
Is it wrong to do it? No, not at all. When I'm inspired and passionate about a project, I'm energized by that process. I love the feeling of completing huge tasks. Tapping into your passion and engaging in a flow state is awesome.
But, it's only awesome for intervals. You can't sustain that type of passion for long, and eventually, you lose.
I remember this so clearly during my first year of teaching. I pushed myself harder than I ever had. Honestly, I loved my first year of teaching. I look back and am still fairly impressed at some of the learning experiences that I put together, often staying up until later the night before to make sure it was perfect. There were moments where that effort paid off.
But, there were also moments like the night that I hit a wall. It was early spring. We'd been working on a persuasive writing unit, and I had spent all evening trying to reach businesses that would partner with my students to have them write a script for an advertisement. I had gotten a few responses, but most of my phone calls and time had resulted in nothing.
I had a moment around 9:00 that night, where I suddenly realized that I was sitting there with my head in my hands and just shaking. I'd never experienced anything like this. My body was giving up on me. I had a hard time breathing. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I couldn't even put together thoughts about what I should do to fix the problem.
I was paralyzed. I was exhausted. I was the lead goose.
I learned later that I had experienced a panic attack, which led to some really valuable sessions with a counselor to talk through a lot of the pressure I put on myself to always be that lead goose.
If we are constantly pushing ourselves to always be at the forefront of everything, we'll burn out quickly. Part of this burnout is because when we are always out front by ourselves, we end up pursuing things that take all our time with very minimal results. Worse yet, sometimes they result in nothing.
Here's what I learned: constantly being the lead goose will absolutely suck the joy out of everything you once were passionate about.
Here's the other thing I learned, though: the lead goose almost never dies during migration, and it's because they don't take that burden on themselves for the entirety of the migration. They share the burden, and as educators and leaders, sometimes we are really bad about that.
It's a simple trap to fall into. At some point, people start seeing you as a leader, and it's really hard to say, "Hey, I can't do it right now. I need someone else to lead." Our pride gets in the way of that statement, and we instead choose to continue being the lead goose much longer than we should. We exhaust ourselves, losing the joy in everything we once loved along the way.
This doesn't mean that we can't ever be the lead goose. Our schools need people to take the lead more so than ever right now.
What it does mean is that we need to learn how to ask for help. Think about the goose analogy. What would happen if the lead goose never let someone else take the lead? Bird after bird would die of exhaustion. They would reach their destination as a fraction of what they could have been.
Too often, I watch this happen with educators. They push and push and push, and eventually they either give up and leave education because they are so frustrated, or they just give up and fall in line with the status quo.
But, think about this: because the geese have learned to trust each other, to share the burden, and to work as a team, they accomplish one of the most incredible feats of the animal world, and they do it EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR.
What if that was true in our schools? What if we learned to work like that as a team? Everyone would share the burden of pushing boundaries, taking the lead, etc.
Think of what we could do in our schools EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR.
So, here's my challenge.
If you are always the lead goose, stop. You are too valuable to exhaust yourself and burn out. The education system needs you long-term, and being the hero all day every day is a short-term approach. Learn to ask for help. Learn to trust your team and empower them to lead.
If you are always drafting behind someone, hanging back and riding their coattails, give them a break. Take the lead on a project. Be the one who brings up the new idea and shares it with everyone. You don't have to do it for long, but your decision to step up and take the lead, giving the lead goose a break for a bit, can make true change so much more sustainable.
Final Thought:
As I wrap this up, I realize that this all comes down to one thing: trust.
We have to have each other's back. We have to be there for each other. We have to share the burden of making education what we know it could be.
We can't do it alone, but we can do incredible things together.
EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR.
Now, you aren't here to read about birds (though, you should). You're here to talk about teaching, and especially right now, you are here because we are here looking for answers in this crisis. Hang in with me for a second. I'll get there.
One of the things that I always am fascinated by is the migration of geese. Like, I can't even get to a store I've been to ten times without navigating on my phone, but these birds can fly thousands of miles with nothing and end up exactly where they want to be (which will likely inspire a blog post about the importance of purpose and vision someday, but today's not the day).
The other piece about their migration that fascinates me is their flight formation.
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As a kid, I had no idea why they did this, but then I started cycling, and I realized that they're drafting off each other. It makes it easier for the entire group to travel long distances and conserve their energy.
However, there's a huge caveat here: it isn't easier for all the birds. The front bird ends up with about a 15% higher heart rate, leading to extreme exhaustion and physical deterioration rather quickly. Think about it. If all the other birds are drafting, there has to be a bird that's out in front constantly facing that first onslaught. It's out there leading, pushing the pace, and exhausting itself.
Here's where the whole "talking about birds for longer than probably necessary" starts to make sense. Too often I see educators be the exhausted goose, pushing the pace of innovation and always taking the lead on everything. Saying this without addressing myself would be a lie. I make myself this exhausted goose more often than I should, especially now. I've given up full weekends just because I wanted to have something ready to go by Monday. I've closed my laptop and crawled into bed on more occasions than I'd like to count.
Is it wrong to do it? No, not at all. When I'm inspired and passionate about a project, I'm energized by that process. I love the feeling of completing huge tasks. Tapping into your passion and engaging in a flow state is awesome.
But, it's only awesome for intervals. You can't sustain that type of passion for long, and eventually, you lose.
I remember this so clearly during my first year of teaching. I pushed myself harder than I ever had. Honestly, I loved my first year of teaching. I look back and am still fairly impressed at some of the learning experiences that I put together, often staying up until later the night before to make sure it was perfect. There were moments where that effort paid off.
But, there were also moments like the night that I hit a wall. It was early spring. We'd been working on a persuasive writing unit, and I had spent all evening trying to reach businesses that would partner with my students to have them write a script for an advertisement. I had gotten a few responses, but most of my phone calls and time had resulted in nothing.
I had a moment around 9:00 that night, where I suddenly realized that I was sitting there with my head in my hands and just shaking. I'd never experienced anything like this. My body was giving up on me. I had a hard time breathing. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I couldn't even put together thoughts about what I should do to fix the problem.
I was paralyzed. I was exhausted. I was the lead goose.
I learned later that I had experienced a panic attack, which led to some really valuable sessions with a counselor to talk through a lot of the pressure I put on myself to always be that lead goose.
If we are constantly pushing ourselves to always be at the forefront of everything, we'll burn out quickly. Part of this burnout is because when we are always out front by ourselves, we end up pursuing things that take all our time with very minimal results. Worse yet, sometimes they result in nothing.
Here's what I learned: constantly being the lead goose will absolutely suck the joy out of everything you once were passionate about.
Here's the other thing I learned, though: the lead goose almost never dies during migration, and it's because they don't take that burden on themselves for the entirety of the migration. They share the burden, and as educators and leaders, sometimes we are really bad about that.
It's a simple trap to fall into. At some point, people start seeing you as a leader, and it's really hard to say, "Hey, I can't do it right now. I need someone else to lead." Our pride gets in the way of that statement, and we instead choose to continue being the lead goose much longer than we should. We exhaust ourselves, losing the joy in everything we once loved along the way.
This doesn't mean that we can't ever be the lead goose. Our schools need people to take the lead more so than ever right now.
What it does mean is that we need to learn how to ask for help. Think about the goose analogy. What would happen if the lead goose never let someone else take the lead? Bird after bird would die of exhaustion. They would reach their destination as a fraction of what they could have been.
Too often, I watch this happen with educators. They push and push and push, and eventually they either give up and leave education because they are so frustrated, or they just give up and fall in line with the status quo.
But, think about this: because the geese have learned to trust each other, to share the burden, and to work as a team, they accomplish one of the most incredible feats of the animal world, and they do it EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR.
What if that was true in our schools? What if we learned to work like that as a team? Everyone would share the burden of pushing boundaries, taking the lead, etc.
Think of what we could do in our schools EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR.
So, here's my challenge.
If you are always the lead goose, stop. You are too valuable to exhaust yourself and burn out. The education system needs you long-term, and being the hero all day every day is a short-term approach. Learn to ask for help. Learn to trust your team and empower them to lead.
If you are always drafting behind someone, hanging back and riding their coattails, give them a break. Take the lead on a project. Be the one who brings up the new idea and shares it with everyone. You don't have to do it for long, but your decision to step up and take the lead, giving the lead goose a break for a bit, can make true change so much more sustainable.
Final Thought:
As I wrap this up, I realize that this all comes down to one thing: trust.
We have to have each other's back. We have to be there for each other. We have to share the burden of making education what we know it could be.
We can't do it alone, but we can do incredible things together.
EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR.
This is great. Very inspiring and I'm a 43 year old in my masters and credential program in California with the hope of starting next year. Thank you.
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