Innovation is Uncomfortable.

A couple of weeks ago, a learning team of teachers invited me to sit in with them. I jumped at the opportunity because I've heard each of the three passionate teachers individually, so I thought that having all of them in one place would be exciting. And it was. They talked about interesting things they had already done and really creative things they wanted to try. They also had this great synergy in that the ideas piled up on each other. I can't wait to see how it all turns out.

They had a deep knowledge base of their paradigm (as they had done graduate work in it). So they had a specific set of terms and a shared understanding from which to draw. It was like watching skilled architects at work with the technical terminology, deep theoretical base, and creative vision, plus a mechanism for implementing their ideas too.

I found it all very, very interesting.  I threw in little bits here and there, but I was really happy to just take it all in.  One of the parts I found most interesting was something that was not intentional to the meeting.  Apart from myself and the three teachers who invited me, there were three other people present at the meeting: a facilitator, a student teacher, and a teacher (B) who was on staff with two of the other teachers, but who had not taken on the same paradigm of teaching as those two.  The facilitator was equally passionate about this paradigm.  The student teacher had gained some understanding of the paradigm from her sponsor teacher, and was content to listen to the conversation. 

I found it really fascinating to watch B the most.  She asked questions once in a while, but mostly, she was silent like me.  I'd met her before briefly about 12 years ago, so I don't know her that well.  Maybe I am projecting things on her or misjudging her entirely, but I saw a lot of discomfort.

I know that feeling.  Sometimes when teachers talk, I get the confused feeling of "I don't really understand what you are talking about."  Or worse, I get the guilty, inadequate feeling of "Man, I'm not doing any of those things," (or I am doing the exact opposite).   I don't worry about those feelings as much anymore.  It's not because I've turned into a teacher that knows and does everything; it's because I've come to realize that I don't know and do everything, and that it is impossible to do so.  (See my previous post about trying for 80%).  I came to that realization when I worked for the district and met a lot of teachers who felt the same guilt and inadequacy (which was pretty much all of them).

That kind of discomfort though is well, uncomfortable.  It is not a good feeling.  It is tremendously aggravating and unsettling.  But the great thing is this is where innovation is born.  Think of the oyster cliche.  The squishy bivalve works at that piece of grit and works at it until he gets this precious, lustery, gall stone.  If you want to make some really big changes, you are going to have to get good and unsettled first.  Someone or some thing is going to have to really push your buttons in order for you to act (especially if you are a lazy dude like me). 

I'm sure the Wright brothers were right ticked that birds flew and they didn't.  I'm sure (Monkee bass player) Mike Nesmith's mom got irritated one two many times when she invented correction fluid when she was a secretary.  I'm sure that Steve Jobs didn't have enough black turtle necks so he had to raise another billion with the iPhone. 

On a smaller scale, with the work I've been doing in my district around innovation, I've seen similar examples of discomfort leading to great ideas.  This one teacher couldn't stand the idea of kids hanging out at the convenience store or standing around smoking during breaks, so he turned his classroom into a movie club.  Now his kids have a place to go and even have a common language around the shared experiences of watching these movies.  Another teacher felt cut off from her students the way her classroom was arranged, so she enlisted the guidance of her students.  Now she has a beautiful, peaceful classroom that flows and works for everyone.  This other teacher didn't like the way her students were treating each other, so she got them to go out and volunteer in the community.  Now the students have a common bond in the services they provide, and are seen as community leaders.  A math teacher didn't like how he couldn't get to his lower students during class without boring his higher students, so he freed up his time by showing his lessons on-line in advance.  Now, he spends class time working with the struggling students while the higher students (who already watched the lesson at home) spend the time working on their "home"work. 

So my advice to B is to hang in there.  Learn from those others on the learning team or, better yet, find your own way to get over your discomfort.  Something great might come out of it. 

Necessity may be the mother of invention, but discomfort might be the embryo of innovation.

80% and the Big Idea

A friend of mine was asking me how to avoid burnout in teaching.  Despite the fact that it may look like I go overboard sometimes, especially with classroom design, I am a huge advocate in doing just enough.

I know this hockey coach, and he told me that he tells his players, "Try to give 80%."  That floored me!  What happened to "Do your best always!"  or the mathematically improbable, "Give 110%!"?  He explained to me,  "If you give maximum effort all the time, you are going to last maybe two shifts, and we're in it for the game, if not the season."  He also pointed out that if you give 100% during the non-essential times, you will have nothing left in the tank for the crunch times.

I love the 80% idea.  It is a realistic bar to shoot for.   I like the concept of leaving something in the tank for really necessary times.  It's like having an extra gear, a little boost in reserves.  Okay, okay, I admit in my slothlike ways that my 80% is like a lot of people's 20%.  Also, hockey is not a good metaphor for me.  I'm more like a sprinter or maybe a drag racer.  I go flat out for little bursts of time and then rest (or dismantle myself for cleaning), but I'm sure it averages out to around 80%.

The other way I manage is by trying to keep the Big Idea in mind.  I think I've become a better teacher by going for one or two ideas and going deeper instead of bogging myself down with the minutiae (which is REALLY easy to do).  In any project (including my own), I try to think about what is the main thing I want to accomplish out of all of this. 

Both the 80% guide and the Big Idea concept are applicable to classroom design.  Whenever I'm helping someone figure out what to do with their classroom, I apply the Big Idea question, "What do you want your classroom to do or say?"  It really helps to cut out all the distracting non-information and useless features of a classroom.  (If you want a tranquil, harmonious classroom, you might want to take down the Call of Duty posters.)  The 80% guide is great during the implementation phase.  The teachers I work with are always very enthusiastic, but they often bite off more than they can chew.  They get rid of all of their desks at the start because they like the uncluttered look it gives.  But by jumping in so drastically, they either get overwhelmed and can't continue (though they still have plenty of energy to curse me) or they implement too quickly and can't adjust to unforeseen factors: "Sure, the classroom is uncluttered with desks, but all of the students' materials are spread all over the floor because we don't have a place to store their stuff,"  or "We have lots of room to dance, but painting and writing is an issue with no desks."

I got lucky.  When I implemented the risers, because I was so cheap and inept with carpentry, I only had enough materials and time to create one set of risers.  This great restrictive accident let me implement the risers slowly and the first set turned out to be a great prototype.  I was able to see the mistakes I had made and the changes I needed to make for future incarnations.  If I had jumped in and made all of the risers in one go, I wouldn't have learned that I needed to make the lower ones wider (to allow for kids' backsides and feet to co-exist on the same surface) or I would have learned it too late after I already made all of them.  In Matthew Mays' book In Pursuit of Elegance, he talks about how the best designs have something missing.  Gradual implementation with  room for customization is key to this kind of prototyping.

My advice to avoid burnout in teaching in general, or in taking on something like classroom design, is to focus on what is necessary (the Big Idea) and to do as much little as you can so you can clearly see what is making a difference to students' learning.


Oh, one more thing.  Want to keep a little clarity?  Write a journal or a blog (but don't necessarily make it public), but only for 12 minutes (use a timer) at a stretch.  It will help you vent and when you read back on early entries, you'll see how far you've come or remind yourself of how you tackled things in the past.

Ultra Boy

I loaned my friend, Ben, that book, A Whole New Mind, by Daniel Pink.

I previously blogged about the book as one of the books I've taken along on my design journey (here).  Pink describes that we need more creative, holistic thinkers, (like my friend Ben), and talks about the kinds of skills right brainers have such as symphony (bringing disparate elements together) and story (putting together facts into a cohesive, contextual narrative).  I do think it is time for the Right Brainers to take over. The left brainers can only take us so far and seem to do it without conscience.


Ben was talking to his wife, and they wondered if I am right brained or left brained, and couldn't figure which one I was.  I understand their confusion.  I am different things at different times. 

I used to read comics as a kid. I liked the Teen Titans because it was this legion of young superheroes. Superboy (young Superman) was a member, but things seemed too easy because he had all these great powers all of the time. How could he possible fail?  There was not tension or interest in that situation. 

There was this other teen, Ultra Boy. He was like Superboy, but he could only use one of his super powers at a time, (e.g. he couldn't fly and be invulnerable or be strong at the same time). He had to consciously decide which of his powers worked best in each situation. 

I feel like that kid. I have a bunch of talents. I say that with all humility because the problem is I can't use them all of the time, plus the talents are not super strong individually (e.g. super smell, super funny, super sensitive, etc.), plus I have no control over which one I get to use, plus sometimes they just don't work.  For example, I have an exact memory of what a co-worker was wearing the first day we worked together 20 years ago. How useful is that?  Another time, I could tell who was getting on the elevator four floors below because of their perfume. (Supersmell is not a great ability to have in an elevator).

So if I had to label myself,  I guess I am involuntarily multi-brained. My principal once did these profiles on us which were plotted on this circle, and my two dominant styles were on opposite ends of the wheel which doesn't happen much. It's a constant struggle with me. I like to be creative, but my analytical side doesn't see the use in it. I see the big picture, but get mired in details. I like people, but not crowds.  I guess that's why I like blogging.  I can use my creativity when the ability and inspiration present themselves to me which is a schedule I can't predict. 

In terms of the classroom, students are like many versions of Ultra Boy.  They have all of these talents but have to make a conscious decision to use them.  The problem is that they have NO idea of what those talents are.  My job is to help bring those talents out for them to recognize so they can use them (for good, not evil).  The best way I know to do this is to present them with a variety of experiences so they can show their best selves.  The classroom environment plays a key role in that.  If I just give them the same routines everyday, they may never get to see their hidden talents.  Some of my kids are great at sitting in a desk and doing what they are told.  A whole bunch of my kids are not, and the variety of my classroom environment helps them explore the circumstances where they have talents and how they should use them.  Just like Ultra Boy.



p.s Ben sent me this link about stand up desks.  http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/25/us/25desks.htmlEnjoy
and my wife and my friend Lisa coincidentally sent me the same link of a blogpost on classroom design
http://teachwellnow.blogspot.com/2012/01/classroom-design.html

The Stockholm Syndrome: the Perfect School Design?

My friend H sent me this article about the "school of the future" in Stockholm.
http://www.architizer.com/en_us/blog/dyn/37250/vittra/


Our future? I actually hope not. It is a beautiful design to look at, but anytime we have a huge open space, it reminds me of the open areas of the 70s. Sure the 70s had great designs: big bell-bottom pants, the AMC Pacer, and mutton-chop side burns.  And this school may be great in theory, but difficult in practice. Perhaps our way of teaching had evolved to make it work better, but just the noise level alone would drive me bonkers.
Imagine a kindergarten room during centres. Now multiply the students and space to accommodate an entire school. Now increase the ceiling height and remove anything soft (like walls and furniture) to harness the sound. This is how I imagine the Stockholm school to be (which reminds me of the library in the newest school in my district).
Yeah, Stockholm isn't Canada. Sure we have a lot in common: cold weather, great looking people, and Ikeas all over the place; but looking at this design suggests we have different needs.  Those cold Swedes. Not like the huggable Canadians.


I didn't realize how choosy I've become in my design.  Though I have misgivings about the Stockholm school, it does have a lot of merits: spaces for congregating and working together, sleek design elements, a non-traditional look, and kid-friendly fixtures. 
 
And it gets me thinking what my own idea of a perfect school would be.  Off the top of my head, one element I would like would be wall sections that slide on tracks.  It would be like the Japanese idea in terms of flexibility (yes, the F word) so that we could transform spaces depending on need.  I would NOT make them out of paper.  It seems so weird to have walls that are paper thin (and made of carbs?) because I'd want less noise transfer.   
 
 
I still like the idea of the campfire, the watering hole, and the cave.  People need a "campfire" area to gather in large groups.  Think: theatre or hall.  We need a forum for our whole community to meet.  They also need a "watering hole" to gather in partners or small groups.  Think how people gather around the watercooler, coffee machine, buffet table or even a non-food area.  Think of how many great ideas that have sprung up in such informal networking places.  The "cave" is extremely important.  Sometimes, creative people especially, need to hole up and seclude themselves from others, free from outside distractions.  Think of how kids will sit under their desks and tables to get away from others when they need to get something done.  Students are always burrowing under the risers or behind rolling shelves in my class.  I get that, and I am looking for more ways to accommodate them. (I think this is why iPods are so popular.  We create an artificial force field of sound that separates us from people on the bus, the noise of the street, our parents, etc.).

Hmmm.  I've gone from classroom design to school design.  Isn't one revolution enough?

You Can't "Focus Group" Innovation

I'm not sure what I'm having more fun doing, going on my little design journey or exploring other people's innovations.  It is funny how my own path lead me to other people's great ideas.  I've posted before about some patterns I've witnessed in innovation (the playfulness, the slight subversive quality of going against the grain, the happy accidents, etc.).

The one I want to focus on here is the one referred to in the title.  You can't focus group for innovation.  Sure it is good to have a big group of minds to spur on some new ideas, but most times people will regress to the mean.  They will revert to what is known and comfortable.  The thing about true innovation is that sometimes the idea really comes from left field.  When you think about great innovations, they give us things that we didn't know we needed until we had them.  If you told me 30 years ago that I could keep my entire record collection in my pocket, I would have asked you, "Why on Earth would I want to do that?"  (And that was the 80s when I was wearing those weird parachute pants, and I probably could have kept my collection in my pants).  I didn't even like cassettes back then, so keeping my music on an iPod was far, far beyond the scope of my understanding.  (Now the flying car, that's a different story.) 
<><><>

 

from http://thediscoverystores.com/store/images/ipod-touch-4th.jpg



http://www.alivemag.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Alive-Blog-1980s-parachute-pants.png

When I mention some of the innovations I am seeing around the district, people ask, "But what does the research say about it?"  That question always confuses me.  If the idea is new or ground breaking, then conceivably there should be no research on it.  Study on innovation can only happen retroactively, unfortunately. 

And usually those innovations only occurred because a series of random acts just happened to happen.  I believe in evolution.  Why? Because of cake.  Not monkeys.  Cake.  Each time I bite into a piece of cake, I think to myself, how did someone invent this?  How did it go from a bit of wheat that goes back centuries to this two layered, chocolate ganache bit of heaven?  After a hard day of working on the wheel, some caveman happened to chew on some grain and thought, "Hmm, maybe if I take the outside off, it will taste better."  It did.  Then some other caveman ran it through that other invention, fire.  Along the way, someone decided to grind it to a powder.  Someone else decided to add something to sweeten it.  Someone (a really brave someone) decided to mix that stuff with this thing that shot out of the back end of a chicken.  And so on.

This is what I am thinking about when I eat cake.  The evolution of things.  We look back on the things we have today and it all seems so obvious: these things would have all been invented sooner or later.  I am not so sure.  There seems to be a certain randomness that has to click in order for things to happen, and they usually happen in unexpected ways.

That's why I think we can't focus group innovation.  We can't foresee the random events that have to click to make things happen.  Focus groups are usually comprised of a committee of average people which is why you get average(d) results.  However, if you want to increase your chances and create innovation in a group, put together these kinds of groups:

• wacky thinkers because they will stretch the boundaries.
• people who tick us off.  They push us and irritate us out of complacency.  Or at least we will come up with ideas as fast as we can so we, the ticked, can get away from them, the tickers.
• connectors.  They take ideas from unexpected other domains and put them to use for our purposes.  
• kindergarten kids.  They have all the above groups.

All of these groups seem to operate better with cookies.  Or maybe cake.

from https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJTd3DYiM875Pe7qjs47QvckSsHTZ_ObKQZ6yh9a9NITiA8AmoyQiBfz4vIQxtYNRg8TJkItqzxr2T7Y-W7vyfzlu1xs3FqxnYpuzeGYSEFsuzVTWP9Y7XssZ68m3SHTKc4CR2/s374/cake+-chocolate_cake_recipe.jpg