Start by noticing: Slow down and bring back the joy of schooling

In the past two months, I've had more educators ask me, "What should I do first?" than at any other time in the past decade. They remember that question from the first moments of my class, Start by Noticing, and they repeat it back to me. They want to rush headlong into "making up for lost time" or "plugging in gaps from unfinished instruction" or "getting academic achievement back on track."

So what should they do first? They should slow down. They should notice. And they should focus first on bringing back the joy of schooling.  

Years ago, these same leaders experienced the opening of my course. Many of them are now superintendents and principals in districts across the nation. Now they are the ones at the front of the room.

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The second hand is silently sweeping upward as I move to the front of the room and get ready. I notice my hands shaking slightly as I prepare to start—this is a group I know I will come to love.  My mind is racing as I try to take it all in. I’ve spent the past half hour welcoming those who arrived “early,” trying to learn their names and something beyond their bio. Before I begin, I need to know how they are doing and then guess at what they can handle.

It’s a group of school leaders, half from the district and half from charter schools. I don’t have to wonder if that causes tension in this district. It does. But have they stormed through that yet, or is their polite love for each other still blocking their progress after three months? I learned that one principal stole another principal’s best teacher. A third has had to lay off staff, in a school where staff is family, because enrollment is dropping. And some in the room think that’s just fine, because that’s what charter school competition is all about. Have they talked about this yet? Are they ready to? I probe a little to see what issues are ripe and which are still dormant.

As they check me out, I wonder if I’ve done enough homework. As for them, as expected, I see some books with pages full of sticky notes and a few with crisp, unbroken bindings. The latter group may be more frustrated than the former, as they’ll be starting behind the curve.

With 15 seconds left I try to decide: Do I open gently, hard edged or somewhere in between?  I take what I’ve observed and make my best guess. At exactly 9 a.m. I write, “Start by Noticing” on the board.  

I pause, turn around, smile to take some of the edge off, and after an uncomfortably long silence, I ask, “So. What should I do first?”  

This is the question they will face every day as school leaders, whether they are taking over a new school or restarting in-person instruction. Then I wait, silently, because I’ve judged they can handle that. And I get ready to pivot in case I was wrong.

This is deeply unsettling for some, especially in a graduate course at a business school, where learning comes in neat course packs and tight PowerPoint lectures. Some ask for objectives. I point to the syllabus. Some ask me to prove I’m qualified. I ask if they’ve read my bio or checked me out on LinkedIn. Some need an indication that I’m personally invested. How might I try to show that? Some want, at the very least, not to be bored. I start writing these “factions” and their “values” up on the board.

Throughout the first 40 minutes or so, I try to satisfy and disappoint each faction at a rate they can stand. I’ll point this out, at some point, as something they’ll have to do as school leaders. And then more than one of them will nod in recognition, finally seeing that I wasn’t just wasting their time at the beginning of class.  

As I do this, I try to find out more: how are they, really, and what can they handle? Again, I pose the problem I am facing: “You all want different things from this opening, all at the same time.  So what should I do first?”  

After a long, frustrated pause, somebody offers, “It depends.” This makes me smile wide.  Nobody’s ever said that before in this program, and I can’t believe they haven’t. Because it’s the right answer. I respond joyfully, as if opening a Christmas present!

“Yes! Yes, it does. It depends. Great!” Long, slow, joyful pause. “On what?”  

She keeps to the short, great answers, smiles, and says, “On everything.”  

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Your school community—its teachers, staff, parents, and students—will all want different things from you. They haven’t even begun to reveal the effects of this pandemic on each of them, individually, or on all of them, collectively. Do your homework. Be curious. Notice. Probe. And notice some more. Make a small move based on your best guess. And be prepared to pivot if you get it wrong.  

Find out all you can about the effects of the past 18 months, where people are, and how much they can handle. Make sure your teachers are doing the same. And don’t mistake the first answer for the truth.

For the first six weeks, if you do nothing else, focus on bringing back the joy of schooling. Focus on this hard, with immense love and grace and compassion and rigorous expectations for academic achievement. Make your school a joyful place for all who touch it, especially for yourself.

What should you do first to bring back that joy? It depends. On everything.  

So start each week, each day, each hour and minute—by noticing.