About ten years ago, I left my job in a rural school district to go teach at a suburban district near the state’s capital city, Harrisburg. I was excited about the new gig, eager to meet new colleagues and students. Though a bit reluctant, I was also looking forward to the purge—dumping every resource I had used over my first few years of teaching. But I did it. I put it all in the trash.
It’s a scary thought for most people: starting from scratch, after years of planning and creating. But as blogger Matt Wertz said in his post called The Terrifying and Beautiful Act of Starting Over, “…the antidote to fear isn’t safety, but courage.” Think about that for a second. We don’t overcome our fears by hiding in a safe place but by taking courageous risks and committing ourselves to starting anew.
When I made the purge and let everything go—each lesson plan, worksheet, rubric, poster, and even my thumb drives—I walked to my car feeling a bit lighter but also a bit scared. Was that really the best idea? You really just let it all go? I had. And as the moments passed, that emptiness turned into something quite full, a feeling of freshness, a blank slate with endless possibilities. It’s true: the panic subsided in a matter of minutes and my excited grew and would continue to grow in months to come.
Hanging on to things, especially for a teacher, can be incredibly convenient. We might improve on the same plans from one year to the next. A project might take a new route or a rubric could be revised which results in a better product from the students. Maintaining a sense a familiarity feels comfortable and consistent. In theory, the practice becomes so routine that a teacher (or another professional) can focus on other intangibles when the routine of the familiar occurs—and do so without much effort. But at what point does the same-old become the old? When does the activity that worked eight years ago fall short with a new group of students, perhaps a new generation with different needs? How do you know when to put it all in the trash?
The good news is there isn’t a “when.” There are several moments to choose from and to finally seize the opportunity and commit. Certainly, it requires a shift, a decision to move forward, which doesn’t always happen so easily. But it will happen.
Writer and self-named “Mom-Strategist” Mia Redrick says, “Don’t bring your old attitude and expect new outcomes.” She’s right about that. When I put everything in the trash, I also had to part with a portion of my “self.” I had to let go of the confidence I had built over the years, which led to a vacancy—an empty space for me to begin, with trepidation of course. But it grew into a pleasantry of creation: new ideas, new plans, new colleagues, new collaborations and, best of all, new energy.
Since the purge, I haven’t taught the same lesson more than once, and I haven’t collected the same project or held the same class discussion. In doing so—starting fresh each year and each day—I created a genuine environment for my students. My lessons, activities, and projects are for them, not their predecessors. They get my current perspectives, customized plans geared toward them, and I get the same kind of newness in return.
So throw it all in the trash. See what becomes of you and, even better, what becomes of your students and their work.
It’s a scary thought for most people: starting from scratch, after years of planning and creating. But as blogger Matt Wertz said in his post called The Terrifying and Beautiful Act of Starting Over, “…the antidote to fear isn’t safety, but courage.” Think about that for a second. We don’t overcome our fears by hiding in a safe place but by taking courageous risks and committing ourselves to starting anew.
When I made the purge and let everything go—each lesson plan, worksheet, rubric, poster, and even my thumb drives—I walked to my car feeling a bit lighter but also a bit scared. Was that really the best idea? You really just let it all go? I had. And as the moments passed, that emptiness turned into something quite full, a feeling of freshness, a blank slate with endless possibilities. It’s true: the panic subsided in a matter of minutes and my excited grew and would continue to grow in months to come.
Hanging on to things, especially for a teacher, can be incredibly convenient. We might improve on the same plans from one year to the next. A project might take a new route or a rubric could be revised which results in a better product from the students. Maintaining a sense a familiarity feels comfortable and consistent. In theory, the practice becomes so routine that a teacher (or another professional) can focus on other intangibles when the routine of the familiar occurs—and do so without much effort. But at what point does the same-old become the old? When does the activity that worked eight years ago fall short with a new group of students, perhaps a new generation with different needs? How do you know when to put it all in the trash?
The good news is there isn’t a “when.” There are several moments to choose from and to finally seize the opportunity and commit. Certainly, it requires a shift, a decision to move forward, which doesn’t always happen so easily. But it will happen.
Writer and self-named “Mom-Strategist” Mia Redrick says, “Don’t bring your old attitude and expect new outcomes.” She’s right about that. When I put everything in the trash, I also had to part with a portion of my “self.” I had to let go of the confidence I had built over the years, which led to a vacancy—an empty space for me to begin, with trepidation of course. But it grew into a pleasantry of creation: new ideas, new plans, new colleagues, new collaborations and, best of all, new energy.
Since the purge, I haven’t taught the same lesson more than once, and I haven’t collected the same project or held the same class discussion. In doing so—starting fresh each year and each day—I created a genuine environment for my students. My lessons, activities, and projects are for them, not their predecessors. They get my current perspectives, customized plans geared toward them, and I get the same kind of newness in return.
So throw it all in the trash. See what becomes of you and, even better, what becomes of your students and their work.