Circle: Why do projects change?

There were rumblings of discontent over circle so I tried this question without writing: why do projects change? Why should projects change?

We had a good conversation. The moments where you see a new way forward or an easier approach can keep you going. Similarly, there are moments where you see something for yourself and something that will keep you excited about continuing. All of the student insights noted the necessity of engagement. You can’t drive anything forward if you don’t care about it. Which was great.

It’s actually a trait I’m starting to admire more and more: the kids who can change the direction of their project, one that they’ve invested time and energy in, because they’ve found something better, something more powerful.

A historian sits in an archive with an idea, but if the archivist brings out a magical, untouched box, they’re going to move in a new direction. This flexibility — combined with persistence — is a trait I need to spend some time thinking about how to cultivate.

What responsibility

do students have? Do teachers have?

We began with this conversation today, mostly to return to some lingering questions about what responsibilities we have to each other and to the larger group.

After we talked through it, we had a conversation about what responsibilities the whole group has. Along with supporting each other, the question of how we might develop more leaders emerged. How do we make more leaders?

How cross country skiing explains it all

Great, short piece in the NYT Magazine.

My favorite paragraph here:

Instead of offering us distraction — the glittery melodrama of figure skating or the quirky novelty of curling — cross-country skiers lean right into a bleak truth: We are stranded on a planet that is largely indifferent to us, a world that sets mountains in our path and drops iceballs from 50,000 feet and tortures our skin with hostile air. There is no escaping it; the only noble choice is to strap on a helmet and slog right in. Cross-country skiing expresses something deep about the human condition: the absolute, nonnegotiable necessity of the grind. The purity and sanctity of the goddamn slog.