When I’m feeling most fragile, vulnerable, or uncertain of my own capacities, when I have to take a risk or have chosen to take one but am apprehensive, I activate this disposition [of trust]. Trust the process, I tell myself. The anxieties peel away like a skin I’ve outgrown, and I feel more myself but also more something else. I feel less alone because I know that I can only do whatever it is I am doing. I can only offer whatever I’m offering, and I know that there are more factors at play than what I can see or control. I let go. I give what I can give. And then I appreciate myself, which builds more trust and resilience. – Elena Aguilar
The Grammar of Transitions
When I was a writing teacher, I loved the journey students would enter into: from their terrible first drafts to the iterations that had a little more polish along the way, to the final drafts that reflected students’ voices and values. Without fail, the process inspired me. Invariably, somewhere in the third-draft stage, as students were moving from revision to editing, I noticed a common pattern all students (regardless of skill) struggled with: transitions.
Every year, I strived to make the grammar parts of my lessons dynamic and relatable, something to jog students’ memories as they began to edit their work. I likened punctuation to food items (colons are like jalapeños; use sparingly), comma splices to driving parlance (like “California stops”; ideas will run too closely together), clauses and phrases to music patterns (I even made a “sentence fluency” playlist). And I, like my students, struggled with how to make transitions relatable.
Yes, there a gajillion handbooks and tools that teach about transitions, and I’ve relied on those resources. But I wanted something that would stick—something where students could see transitions as essential, the keystone of a writing process. And when I started to think more deeply—about transitions in a bigger way than the writing classroom— it hit me: everyone struggles with transitions.
It’s Not About the Sentence
I could go on about how I eventually made transitions stick for my students, how I found the relatable way in. And in some classes I did. But the macro lesson I think about more is how challenging transitions can be. When put in perspective, the transitions in student writing are just one way to teach young people how one thing informs the next—the causes and consequences of our choices, conscious and unconscious. As our students grow up, though, the transitions become greater: from one grade to the following one, to college, to adulthood, to the many milestones that punctuate an existence. The bigger the life transition, the greater the stakes. Sometimes the most practical tools are helpful; there are quick fixes and scaffolds to shepherd someone through each life phase. Other times, the habits we cultivate allow our transitions to stick. And the most important habit is trust.
Accepting the Inevitable
The ending of a school year is a great time of transition. Students and teachers prepare to close up shop from their typical routines and downshift into a different way of being. I used to get sad when school ended; while happy that I had some time to rest and recuperate, I also noticed I was grieving. I missed the pulse and energy of the school day, the buzz of students in hallways and classrooms, the showcasing of student learning, closing celebrations and graduation festivities. I had a small ache in my stomach. Endings hurt a little bit.
I also felt this small ache when school was about to get underway again, accompanied by an additional dose of overwhelm, anxiety, and a lot of questions: What will I do differently this year? How can I ensure that students and adults feel supported? What will equity promotion look like? How will I know I met my goals? Will I have the energy and stamina to thrive this year? The transition into the year can be just as hard as the ending, as we ramp back up and prepare for the pulse and energy of the school day, the buzz of students, showcasing learning, opening celebrations and festivities. Beginnings can hurt a little, too.
What about Trust?
Education is one of the only fields where the cycle of endings and beginnings is so prominent—the transitions so stark. Regardless of the roles we play in schools, we are all preparing for the beginning, middle, and ending of the school year, always managing transitions through phases and seasons. The more we trust the process that unfolds, knowing the only inevitability is the passage of time, the more we may be able to free ourselves from staying fixed in any one emotion, type of thinking, or way of being. If allow ourselves to build our trust muscles, we can hold more lightly to change; we can feel sadness and appreciation at the end of the year; we can feel excited and overwhelmed at the start of the year—and trust that the feeling isn’t permanent, thus freeing ourselves from the constrictions that can distract us, that preclude us from experiencing life and all its vicissitudes. Most of all, we can be more present for what unfolds, completely aware of every moment as it’s happening, thus appreciating transitions and what they have to offer.
Lori Cohen is an experienced school leader, instructional coach, classroom teacher and education
consultant who has worked in public and independent schools for two decades; she cares deeply about educating for equity and believes coaching serves as the best form of professional development for teachers and leaders. She is also the author of Why Instructional Coaching Matters in Independent Schools, Breaking Down Barriers and Building Relationships, Strong Leadership Lies in Strong Coaching, Mindfulness As a Tool to Dismantle Systems of Oppression–Within Ourselves, and To Play, To Create, To Resist, To Love…Through Socks. Beginning July 2019, Lori will be joining the Bright Morning Team to provide ongoing and customized services for Independent Schools. You can find her on Twitter @lcctchr.