![]() ![]() But this time, I have the memory of all those amazing times at Woodlawn when the beautiful outcome always turned out to be so worth that scary leap in the end.Įven as we move forward, the past can be such a comfort. I find myself hesitating on the side of the pool again. Now here I am at a new school with new wonderful colleagues and new wonderful students, and I’ve got big ideas. I learned over time to always, always jump. The quality of our endeavors - and our students’ experience - usually surpassed what we had first imagined. We all had faith and willingness, so projects grew and branched off into other fascinating projects. I made a choice I jumped, too.Īnd it was magical. Their certainty - just like my dad’s voice from the pool when I was a kid - won my trust. It’s not a sure bet.īut my colleagues were always all in: throwing floaties into the wind, jumping straight off the high dive. Was the new integrated project we were discussing too big, too convoluted to pull off? Could we really pull together the portfolio presentation we were envisioning? Would all the pieces really fall into place for the film festival we wanted to put together? Every cell in my body told me the answer was no. My first year at Woodlawn, I remember having a healthy dose of skepticism about any new undertaking. ![]() One of the most revolutionary, for me, was the willingness to jump into the deep end. As I carefully set up my new classroom last week in preparation for the dozens of bright kids I knew were coming, I repeatedly found myself reflecting on the gifts my previous school, Woodlawn, gave me. One nice thing about moving forward so quickly these past few weeks (marriage, a new city, a new job) is how it has inspired me to look back. I’m still that same overly conscientious kid in some ways, but in other ways, I’ve changed considerably. Maybe you were actually one of those kids who threw yourself willy-nilly into the deep end of the pool with ne’er a thought for your safety, but I was the kid above: paralyzed, carefully evaluating my chances of success before moving an inch. What if you slipped right through your dad’s hands? But again, here was your dad’s voice, full of certainty. Every cell of your body knew, instinctively, not to jump into the deep end of that pool. Do you remember standing on the side of the pool with floaties wedged onto your skinny upper arms, weighing the life-and-death decision before you? Your dad, who you’d always been able to trust, was now holding his arms out and asking for a huge leap of faith. ![]()
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