The Walls Are Where They Are

A somewhat different mindset I'm holding for the new school year ahead

Growing up, baseball was without question my favorite sport—and by the time I got to high school my position became first base. Not because I throw left-handed, but because “throwing” was far from a personal strength. (See: my career 21.00 ERA as a result of my one-inning appearance senior year.)

That said, once I got used to playing first base I quickly realized that this position was very much about footwork.

My job on most plays was essentially to prepare myself to create as wide of a radius as possible to catch throws across the infield from infielders. Recognizing this, I made myself an expert at navigating the base itself: able to find its corners with my heels almost instantaneously, without even looking; able to slide my cleats across it instinctively so I could stretch horizontally to my left or my right, depending on the throw’s trajectory; even able to use the base itself as a way to vault myself an inch or so higher for a nearly-too-high throw.

I could not control where the throws went.

So I focused on what I could control instead.

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Which is my reminder-to-self for this school year

With students arriving to the classroom on Tuesday, I find myself trying to cram far too many desks into far too small of a space yet again. Arranging and rearranging the formation to somehow create space that just does not exist.

Trying to make best use of the space that I have.

Yet at some point I do finally have to accept that the roster is what it is, the walls are where they are, and the first day of school is on the nearest of horizons.

I do the best I can, affix the desk labels, and cross off this task on the still-way-too-long list of items to take care of before students show up.

And I do this with a smile.

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The walls are where they are

Going into this school year, I am trying to be more mindful than ever of the constraints and limitations within my work as a teacher.

This is one of the blessings of being in my second decade of teaching, I think: to be much more aware of where those “walls” are and how to navigate the space afforded within them. As pretty much every educator reading this knows already, teachers are daily confronted with myriad constraints in our work: curricular requirements and resource limitations and way-too-large class sizes and pacing “suggestions” and building policies—and never, never, never enough time to successfully navigate all of these and many more constraints.

Early in my career? It felt like I was wearing a blindfold as I kept running into constraint after constraint that I had no idea existed:

• “This book you planned to teach was just banned by the school board. You’ll have to change your first unit of the year.”

• “We’re adding a fifth prep to your schedule—but there’s no curriculum for it. Good luck!”

• “Going forward, we’re going to have all of you turn in printed lesson plans for the next week to the office every Friday.”

• “The chromebook cart is already signed out for the next month by another department.”

• “The copier is broken this week—we’ll let you know when it’s fixed!”

(Little did they know with this last one that they were planting the seeds for something pretty dang cool a decade later!)

Over those first several years, I would find myself overwhelmed and frustrated—not just at myself for having run into these walls but also with the existence of the walls themselves.

Why do these walls exist? Why are there so many? What can I do to break them down?

Looking back now, a lot of energy went into those questions.

Too much energy.

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Again, the walls are where they are

Reflecting on who I am now as a teacher compared to those early years, it is not that I have found “answers” to any of those questions. Instead, I think I’ve become much better at redirecting my energy towards how to operate best within the walls I’ve been provided as a teacher—and not just the physical ones.

What can I do today to make my classroom good for students?

What can I do tomorrow? This month? This school year?

These are the questions I’m centering more than ever this year. I don’t believe in simple solutions to complex problems; I do believe, however, in making this work sustainable—and part of that sustainability is a calm, confident sense of what I can control and even more so what I cannot control.

To return to those perpetually-rearranged desks in the room that never seem to fit, I am really proud of the way I’ve tried to use them intentionally in recent years.

For me, this starts with the desk label itself, which reaffirms our classroom core beliefs by listing them on every single desk in our classroom and also offers tools for self-advocacy for students who may feel small in such a crowded room. And by attaching a number and a color to every desk, it creates a pathway for collaborative learning that get students up and moving frequently to escape, at least for a little bit, the constraints of the desks themselves.

Does this solve everything about that larger constraint of class size?

Of course not.

Still, it helps makes the best of the context I’m in—and for me that mindset is what keeps me energized and, ultimately, makes this work more sustainable.

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Making the most of the walls

Yes, there are systemic obstacles to our work that deserve conversation—and we’ve been having them all summer with The Broken Copier, from cell phone policy to improving teacher PD to artificial intelligence to assessment pedagogy!—yet I also think it is important to value the pragmatism as a teacher in mostly setting those aside once students walk in the door.

Not to mention that, sometimes, the constraint itself can be an asset once you recognize it as a constraint.

Going back to my high school years playing first base, some of my favorite moments were when I recognized that a throw was sailing too high on what would inevitably be a bang-bang play—and I would stretch my body upwards with my toe just barely attached to the base itself, gaining that extra inch-and-a-half to just barely snag the throw before the runner arrived.

Turning the constraint of a base I had to stay attached into a tool.

Walls can be tools, too.

My final ritual in preparing for the school year involves mapping out my classroom walls on the white board and brainstorming how to use space on each intentionally. Whether it’s the “Beautiful Language Wall” where we celebrate student writing or the “Octopus Wall” for students to nominate and affirm each other with (see both above), those constraints ultimately have become some of the most important spaces in our classroom.

Good things can happen, after all, when you accept the walls around you and try to make the most of them, right?

Especially since they likely aren’t going anywhere any time soon.

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Another thing I learned from baseball

Baseball is a team sport played mostly on an individual level—each player on the field responsible for preparing to optimize their chances of success on any given pitch, even if the ball is hit to them only a fraction of the time.

It is a team sport that feels far too individual at times.

So is teaching.

Going into this school year, then, I’m also reminding myself to avoid that trap: to never forget how reliant I am upon the people around me, including the students in the classroom, and also my networks beyond the school building.

Including here.

Even if there are fewer posts in months ahead as I get my “school sea legs” for Year 13, please know that the community that has formed here—in comments and shares and emails and conversations—is such a joy for me personally, and also a fuel that reaffirms my own joy and purpose in this work.

One thing I can control: being clear about my gratitude for all of you as we go forward in this work of making our spaces meaningful to students and teachers alike; and in doing so making education a lever for good as we go forward.

(And wish me luck on Tuesday as students walk in the door!)

—Marcus