Goodbye, Module 1!

Whew! I just turned in everything and that's the end of module 1. It's hard to believe the first semester of grad school is a wrap already! How is everyone else faring? Looking forward to module 2, and best of luck to everyone else getting their submissions in!

Considering All Students

Jane brought up something in our skype session yesterday that made me think about my own teaching practices. She was talking about how we shouldn't prejudge our students based on what we think they can or can't eventually do or pigeonhole them into a "lane" of ability. I totally agree, having been pigeonholed like that. It's hurtful and often winds up being inaccurate.

Now as a teacher, I find I really don't know how to do that anyway. It would feel very odd to me to treat my students based on their perceived level. Of course, that's not to say that my students are all at the same level--far, far from it. But I push all of my students to try for their best, regardless of what that may be. I'm not omniscient and have no idea what they'll eventually wind up doing with dance. Regardless, it's not my job to figure that out. It's my job to teach them as best I can, and in my opinion, to do any less is to neglect my job.

There are no guarantees with students. I had a very sharp, talented, and hard-working young student quit at the end of last season, because she wanted a break from dance. It was a huge pity (hopefully someday she'll return!), because to my eye, she could really do something with it if she wants to. I have other students who are less "talented" or have less physical capability, and yet they work very hard and their improvement reflects that. Some students take to one style more quickly than another, or find their stride later in age than their peers. I was one such student.

Ultimately, I try to assume that each student is capable of doing the movement correctly, perhaps with some modifications for less turnout or flexibility or whatnot. I very, very much hope that my students know that I'll always be their biggest fan. It is also my hope that if my students don't think they can do it, they'll catch a bit of faith from me and learn that they can, in fact, do the thing, and do it well. I think that's half my job anyway, right? Not just teaching them how to dance, but teaching them how to gain confidence, courage, and curiosity in dance and life.

Harvard Citation Suggestions?

I've gotten a bit swept away between writing papers and Thanksgiving for the last few weeks, but hoping to get back to blogging regularly soon. For those of you in modules 2 and 3, what resources did you find for referencing in Harvard style? I'm having a hard time finding resources, and clearly I found ones that weren't accurate, because I got feedback about checking my bibliography. All the sources I'm finding online are contradictory to both each other and to the feedback so any suggestions are greatly appreciated.

Warning: Transition in Process

Yesterday we had our monthly skype call, and Maité offered some excellent advice--think of the AOLs as a transition to module two, she said. They're just a jumping off point. Adesola had a great analogy too, saying that the AOLs are our bridge from work to academia, and the module three artifact is our bridge from academia back to work. Then some questions about module three and the process of research made me think about transitions and processes in general.

My title above is tongue-in-cheek, but in earnest also. Lately, I've noticed myself apologizing a lot for being mid-process in life and work, as if perfection is something not only attainable but realistically attainable in the near future. Obviously it isn't! At the risk of sounding cliche, I'm trying to drum into my head that there's nothing in life that isn't a process. The AOLs lead to module two's big questions which lead to module three's specific questions which lead to different kinds of questions which lead to other areas of research ten years down the road... it doesn't stop. If I wait to be satisfied until my process is done, well, that's just never going to happen, and that's okay.

Example--when I was a senior in undergrad, I did a large senior performance project that turned out rather disappointingly. In some ways it went well; I got great feedback from the audience, a good grade, and of course I learned a lot about both my research subject and myself. In other ways, it didn't go so well. But when I finished it, I didn't really feel done. I felt like I had just completed the very beginning of a long journey and that someday I might revisit it, even though the basic conclusion of my research investigation was that the investigated thing was something that didn't work for me at ALL.

Fast forward five years later... and that thing? It's suddenly reappearing in my life! In fact, I'm finding it to be immensely helpful, which frankly I find weird, but whatever, it happens. I find it immensely satisfying as well as darkly amusing that a thing I hated so much and was so convinced would never work for me is suddenly something that is giving me a great deal of joy.

It's the same with our module questions. Instead of thinking of them all as research projects with a defined end and goal, it might be better to think of them as jumping off points, during which we bite off a tiny amount, chew it, turn it in, and then keep coming back to it over our lives. Research and life aren't ever really done, right?

Teaching as Performance Art

I was writing in my journal today and wondering how people manage to teach full-time, because it is such an output of energy. I was also thinking about how uncomfortable having parents and other teachers around during class makes me, and that got me thinking about teaching as a kind of performance art. Recently, I read an internet comment from a non-dance teacher who said that she's not necessarily the same person outside of class as in, that she puts on her teacher persona and then takes it off when she leaves class. And yeah, I do that too.

Some of it is necessity. As a somewhat shy introvert who hates to be in the spotlight (well, figuratively--literal spotlights are just fine), I need to portray a calm, confident, professional front in class and be willing to speak. That is, after all, what I'm being paid for--to speak up and fix things that are going wrong.

But it's tiring, and sometimes I come in feeling rather quiet and without my "teacher face" on. The students' energy in those classes tends to be lower, which leaves me wondering, to what extent can a teacher be real with their students? Obviously, some things are not appropriate--they're students, not confidantes, professionalism is key.

Sometimes being honest feels warranted, though; perhaps an older student asks how you are after a tough week, and you say, "Well, it's been a rough week, TGIF!" or something along those lines. They're students, not dolls, and warm relationships sometimes develop. Not to mention that it's good for students to see that adults are people too, that they struggle with things, and that no one has it all together.

It also leaves me wondering about the effectiveness of various personality styles in the classroom. I'm sure we all know at least one person who's so charismatic they capture the room's attention without even trying. Some of us are just not like that though, and is it necessary to become like that? Sometimes, I think so, but always? Hm...

I'm very curious--fellow teachers, to what extent do you put on your teacher face before classes, and what kinds of situations do you take it off? And more importantly, do you feel you need one, and why?

The Value of Trusted Colleagues

As I was reading through Gillie Bolton's Reflective Practice over the last few weeks, one section in particular caught my eye. Bolton was talking about mentoring pairs, where instead of finding someone higher in the field to mentor you, you mentor each other professionally and use each other as sounding boards to talk things out (59-62). I loved the idea, but wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

But this week I had a phone call scheduled with a dear friend from school, who's now a respected colleague and has had a variety of teaching experience. I was asking her opinion on a few things, and was surprised at how encouraging it was talking through things with another professional. I can't fathom why I was so surprised though, since we've talked over things before and have said that we both find it encouraging.

So on a whim, I mentioned what I had read to her and asked if she'd like to do something like that, and she was totally game. We've agreed to set up an ongoing email thread for random questions and issues, which I'm thrilled about.

But it's also gotten me thinking about how important it is to have colleagues and how to foster that community. As someone who not only works from home for my non-teaching job, but also teaches as a freelancer, I have exactly two local colleagues right now that I could talk to easily, neither of whom do I get many chances to talk to (and both of whom live an hour away), and it can be isolating. It's something similar to what Helen and Adesola have been talking about to, in trying to create a community of students online, something that's very difficult to do. And I'm sure I'm not the only person who feels this way.

If we don't have it available through school resources, how does everyone feel about finding some kind of resource like a private chatroom or an email thread or a mass skype thread to get some conversations going? Blog comments are great, but they tend to be more one-on-one and it's not as easy to talk to multiple people at once that way. Let me know if you'd be interested in joining something like that (and I'll also try to remember to bring it up in a skype or similar for people who don't see this blog).

And if you've had experience with peer mentoring, let me know your experience in the comments!

Variation and Learning

This week I've been reading, reading, reading... and reading, trying to absorb and process through the information in the Moon and Bolton books. I've found Moon's book to be quite fascinating as she discusses the nature of learning and knowledge, as well as reflective learning and experiential learning in particular.

One thing that stuck out to me was her discussion of variation and its role in learning. Essentially, variation works in one of four ways. 1) The external material changes (perhaps via a teacher giving a new combination), 2) the learner sees the same external material and finds something new, 3) the learner processing through things in her mind and understanding new things, even though the external material hasn't changed, or 4) the learner demonstrating her knowledge in some fashion and learning through that (Moon, 2004).

Something that I've noticed in my own learning journey is that understanding is often not immediate. I used to get so frustrated at teachers who would expect change immediately, when I needed time to understand what they were saying and implement it physically--often a long process, especially on complex things like using my turnout or learning to turn more efficiently.

Now that I'm a teacher, I try to implement that knowledge in my classrooms. Yes, I push my students as hard as they have the physical and emotional ability for that day, but I also let them know that things are a process. It's sometimes a long process, and I expect to see them working on it, but I don't expect to see the results right away. They always seem a little surprised when I say that, but I'm trying to help them understand that improvement is a journey, and it's okay to be midway in that process, even though you're usually striving for more, more whatever it is that you're working towards in class. Sure enough, after a few weeks or months or even years, they eventually get it.

Now, reading Moon's discussion of variation, I'm realizing that what I'm giving them space for is that internal experience to shift. As they grow older/stronger/wiser, their internal experience of, say, how to support their arms from their back grows too, and they improve. It doesn't even have to do with how hard they're working; sometimes things just click. It's always a fun thing to watch as a teacher!

What has been your experience with giving students time for their internal experiences to change? Is that something you've noticed being a factor in their learning?

Accepting(?) Limits

I've been thinking for some time about limits--my own and others'. When is it okay to accept one's own limits, and when should we push forward towards being better at whatever it is? And as a teacher, where is the balance between pushing students, honoring the time of their process, and sometimes accepting that they're simply not capable of something?

For instance, I've always had almost exactly the same amount of flexibility, which isn't much for a dancer. I marvel at how I've never gained or lost flexibility in my inner thighs, whether I stretch them or not or whether I take time off dancing or not. They've always been right between 150 and 170 degrees of flexibility, which isn't bad, but not a full split. A teacher requiring that full split would probably never get it, regardless of how much they pushed me.

It's easy to see this with other physical capabilities too, like turnout; sometimes you can improve to a degree, and sometimes you're stuck with what your hips have given you. As a teacher, I know that to succeed in the very best companies, my students are going to have to have nearly perfect turnout, unless they are outstanding in every other area to compensate. But realistically, most students aren't capable of or don't desire to dance with the "best" companies, or both, and I'm very reluctant to force their bodies into positions they can't handle for the sake of an aesthetic they will likely never need.

And some things take time too; I used to get so frustrated with teachers who would give some incredibly difficult correction, like "use your turnout," and seem to expect that I would 100% use my turnout perfectly from then on and forevermore. Such things are a process. Now I try to communicate that to my students, that I don't expect them to get it immediately, certain corrections are a long process, and if they keep working, they'll get it eventually.

But then, we've all had that teacher who spurred us on to greater heights we didn't know we could reach, and every student should have those kinds of teachers in their life. So where is the balance between pushing and inspiring and letting kids know it's okay to spend time in a process of improvement (because we should never stop that process anyway) and sometimes it's even okay to accept that you'll never be able to do something as well as you'd like?

Where is that line? I really don't know. Right now I'm feeling my way through it with each individual student, and to some extent I know that's all one can do, is tailor it to each person. I can see my students improving satisfactorily, and I can also see them learning how to handle their frustration and insecurity better, which hints that I'm on the right track. But still... I'm all ears on thoughts, if anyone has them.

Imposter Syndrome

Confession time: my guilty pleasure is reading internet advice columns. If there's one thing I binge-read constantly, it's that. And one thing that's come up recently with so many people going back to school is imposter syndrome, that is, the feeling that everyone around you is perfectly qualified and knows what they're doing and you--poor, sad you--just don't cut it. Apparently this is really common. At first, I read it and thought, hm, what an odd problem to have; I can't imagine what that feels like.

But oops. That's me. I definitely feel like that too. Everyone besides me in this program clearly knows what they're doing (and are obviously 100% confident all the time). I don't feel like I do. Therefore, everyone is better than me. A perfect reflection of reality, of course.

Luckily, this upswing of worries has come at a convenient time, right as we're doing the draft for our CV/resume and job description. Mine actually doesn't look too shabby; it looks right about where I'd expect it to look for someone in my circumstances, which is very encouraging.

It's also a reality check. It's easy to get caught in all the fears and doubts whispering in our ears (my personal favorite term for them is "brain weasels"), especially when starting something new. Those brain weasels can sometimes be very persistent, but usually, when we really look at things, they're just not true. It's hard to silence them and listen to reality, but totally necessary for mental health, at least for me. What about you? Have brain weasels ever kept you from doing something you wanted to do, and how have you dealt with them?

Hidden Frameworks

In this Sunday's discussion, we talked a lot about the nature of knowledge and proof, as well as the frameworks we use to look at the world. The frameworks section was particularly appropriate, since I've been engaged over the last few years with busily deconstructing and reconstructing my frameworks. One of the things that came up during the call was how frameworks can be hidden, and we often don't recognize them until something brings them into sharp relief.

I've definitely noticed this in my own life--it seems like as soon as I think I've gotten to the bottom of the framing of an issue in my life, poof! along comes another previously hidden assumption. Unsurprisingly, that no-longer-hidden assumption leads to another assumption, and so on (and on and on).

Something that I brought up during the discussion was how I can know something intellectually but not really know it, that is, grasp it deep within the fiber of my being. The exact opposite is true too of unlearning something, like those previously hidden assumptions or beliefs. It's hard to unlearn something intellectually and learn something else when you still believe the old idea on some fundamental level. It takes a lot of time and patience until the new intellectual knowing becomes a fundamental grasping of the idea.

In my next post, I will probably start unpacking one of those assumptions and see where it takes me. What about you? What are some hidden assumptions/beliefs/frameworks that you are attempting to learn or unlearn?

MAPP Intro

Welcome to my blog, the space where I'll be recording my journey through the Master of Arts Professional Practice in Dance Teaching Pedagogy. I'm looking forward to having this space to process "out loud," so to speak, and to connect with my classmates via comments. Let's do this!