The anticipation.
The countless hours of behind-the-scenes preparation.
The rehearsing of mini-lessons and logistics.
All the work that goes into creating 1 Professional Learning meeting...can be dashed annihilated crushed ruined in an instant.
The Fail
The Blended Learning preview that was created, honed and pitched to the HS faculty 2 weeks ago will go down in infamy for its crash-and-burn HyperDoc and mismanagement of timing. Imagine, if you will, that you have put every waking moment (outside of a full-time job, having a family and juggling a grad class) into designing and coordinating this self-proclaimed amazing opportunity for your teachers, only to see it asphyxiating on its own hyperlink within 2 minutes of launching the first rotation. Can you feel that crawling sensation across your shoulder blades, coupled with the feeling of walking on your stomach because it has dropped to the floor, that brings a slightly manic edge to your smile and a self-deprecating bite to your verbal acknowledgement of the failure of your activity? It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth even as I write this 2 weeks after the fact.
This is one of those truly ugly moments that people don't talk about when you enter an ITS program. It's not all amazing collaboration and growing experiences, where your faculty stands in a circle, links arms and sings your praises. Trust me, nobody was singing any praises at that meeting. Even though it is bringing a slightly green hue to my cheeks as I remember that embarrassing hour-and-a-half of my life, I know that it is something worth noting.
Can I survive this?
It hurt. Oh my goodness, how it hurt. Walking out of that meeting with my head still, somehow, attached to my shoulders and a (semi-manic) smile plastered onto my face was one of the hardest things I have done. Harder yet was walking back into school the next day. I buried myself in building BreakoutEDU boxes (a great task for whenever you feel the need to hyper-focus on something and simultaneously throw heavy locks around your office) and refused to acknowledge the pain. The embarrassment. The slimy guilt of feeling like I didn't deserve to be in the position I was holding. Imposter syndrome kicked in the night before, and it had my heart in a chokehold. But I had to shake it off for a planning session with a colleague whom I respect for his open and honest critiques. After we discussed some new packaging for a writing lesson, I took a deep breath and asked the question, "so, how bad was yesterday's meeting?" He didn't pull any punches, and he confirmed some of the errors that I myself saw. As he walked away, I pushed myself out of my chair and literally looked down at the floor. I was still in one piece. He spoke the truth, the same truth that was bubbling away at my lungs and making every breath sear in my chest. And I survived it. I remember giving myself a little shake, pushing it away, and striding out of my office into our media center thinking "well, that sucked, now move on."
I will survive this.
While I am still mortally embarrassed when I think about the specifics of that meeting, it doesn't hurt as much as it did when it was fresh. Like a bone bruise, the pain lingers when my mind drifts to particulars from that meeting, and my optimism feels tightly wrapped in a sling, but I know that I need to push through it. Refocusing has been my mantra as of late, and I am doing my best to look each of my colleagues in the eyes when I see them in the hallways and face my failures head-on; if I could do it with my students when I botched a lesson, I should darn well be able to do it with my peers.
Two weeks later, I feel like I am in a better place to reflect on what happened and recognize that while I had good components to the session, the delivery and logistics were too rushed and out of my control (regardless of how in-control I felt before the meeting). I learned a very valuable lesson: planning a session for teachers like I would have planned an activity for my students will not work because there are so many more variables that are beyond my control. If it was my classroom, all the iPads would already have had the proper apps downloaded and ready to go; all the students would have been taught my procedures, and they would have known which apps to sign into and which to access from Chrome; they would have been familiar with my flow, that I need a minute after they sit down (during which they know to login) before I will provide their directions. Once. And, most importantly, they would have felt comfortable brain-storming with me how to troubleshoot the mayhem once it started, rather than shutting down and pointing fingers.
So, where do I go from here?
On, of course!
Emily