Grit, Growth and Cojones

Growing up, it was always clear to me that “being smart” was not about coming from a certain family background, a specific side of town or even being “born with brains.” I couldn't tell you specifically what it is that my parents said to me that made that knowledge so clear. If I’m being honest with myself, I'm not entirely sure that it was something they said. There was no ubiquitous slogan or pop psychology quote that stylised my upbringing. Actually, “being smart” was always a multi-faceted concept in our household. My mum has Dyslexia and has always struggled terribly with writing, spelling and reading. Deciphering her shopping lists was always (and continues to be) a cryptic and worthwhile challenge: “ballonas saws,” “sawsajis” and “bride”, otherwise known as Bolognese, sausages and bread are but a few of my favourites. My brother has ADHD and has always found mainstream schooling difficult. Few of my family members have attended sixth form or university (I was the first on my mum’s side to do either) and ‘intelligence’ is not as a result something I judge by a person’s qualifications on paper.

Ultimately, my parents put their emphasis on “trying” rather than “achieving” and it soon became clear that the “being there” was never quite as important as the “getting there” part. It was all about being, what Duckworth dubbed, a “gritty learner:” a learner who was resilient and determined. For me, this meant that growing up, I had one talent. Could I write? No. Was I great at sport? No. Could I draw or problem solve? No. My talent was determination. I could write, do sport, draw and problem solve because with determination I knew I could become proficient in any arena I wanted. I’m not saying that I am gritty in every aspect of my life and I think a growth mindset is more multi-dimensional then simply having one, or not. That is to say that you could have a growth mindset in English but not in Maths, and in the Gym but not in the Workplace. But certainly, my mindset, wherever it is on the spectrum of fixed to growth and however this changes in the different arenas of my life, has left me in a position where I regularly question my actions: “Could this have been done better? How? What are you going to do next time?” It has made me reflective.

And so, I’m left questioning how can I promote a growth mindset in my students when realistically, I know that I am not a “perfect model” of this thinking (not that ‘perfection’ is at all what a growth mindset is about), when I cannot pinpoint the exact origin of my “reflectiveness” and where I know, to a large extent, this was something fostered by my parents and not my schooling? If anything, school provided a platform on which to extend my “reflectiveness” not a host for its formation. Realistically, there is no clear answer.

This is where “cojones” come in. I know you were all wondering how this Spanish vernacular found its way into my educational musings.  The cojones of my post title refers to my Lenten challenges.

In trying to foster “grittier” learners I will (for the duration of lent):

1. Ring home. 3 students. Every week. Not to praise success but to praise effort in my lessons. A small step for man…and so on…

In trying to foster a greater “growth mindset” in myself I will (for the duration of lent):

2. Not complain about work. Find something good to say about my day. Every day. Even the bad ones.

And finally, in trying to become a more competent and confident crossfitter, I will (for the duration of lent):

3. Use open gym sessions at the weekends to practise kipping.

Let’s face it: it takes courage to embrace challenge, to be open to criticism and to be “gritty” in the face of failure. It takes cojones (the metaphoric kind!) to be a good learner!

(This TEDTalk is my inspiration for this post and well worth the watch:)

Learning to Lift, Lifting to Learn?

I do Crossfit. Three times a week, I walk into the "box" (a crossfitter's playground) and look at the whiteboard in utter despair: "He wants me to do what?!" 

It was only the other day, that I thought of my box as the classroom in which I am the student and not the teacher.

I walk in; look at the whiteboard and my body sags as I read the WOD for that day. Negativity sweeps into my mind and uncertainty makes me question my ability to a) not look like a physically incompetent idiot and b) actually complete the task!

Or at least, this used to be the case because after a few sessions it became clear that my body was more capable then I realized, that trying and failing to RX an entire WOD was more powerful and fulfilling then not, that the community would cheer you on and praise your efforts regardless, that my progress was my own and that, shouting out in pain was sometimes OK. So, three times a week I walk into the box, look at the whiteboard and think “Today, I am going to be awesome, this WOD will test me and I will BEAST it.” It is not easy and it is something I must remind myself of throughout the workout.

After a session this week in which I was KIA (unable to complete a workout within the time cap), I was left feeling sore and disappointed. My coach told me “Be mad, get even, revenge is in order!” It was with these words ringing through my head that I fell back into teacher-mode and began to consider: how can I replicate this sense of challenge and achievement in my classroom, this determination in my students to BEAST a lesson?

I want my students to understand that learning is difficult, it hurts and at the end of a session you may just want to fall on the floor with exhaustion (as I often do after a killer WOD). BUT…that trying hard in my lesson is more powerful and fulfilling (for my students) then not, that the classroom and their peers provide a safe and supportive environment in which to fail and succeed, that progress isn’t just a word and concept that teachers own, but something the students take charge of and that yes, shouting out in pain is sometimes OK.

Simply put, I want my lessons to provide challenge and I want them to offer opportunities to succeed. But mostly, I want to present opportunities to fail because it is only through such opportunities that we learn. I want my students to walk away from my lessons surprised at what they are capable of when they do well, keen to get revenge (to “own the topic” – not to genuinely harbour bad feeling) if they don’t and ready to BEAST the next one…