A lifetime of excellence
Elsewhere, earlier this year, I responded to a poll about homeschooling mistakes. Mine? Well...
In the beginning (and that was more than a decade ago)...
I'd work the day. In other words, I'd parent, teach, and write/edit on Monday, and it was good. And I'd parent, teach, and write/edit on Tuesday, and it was good. And I'd parent and teach on Wednesday, and it was good enough. And I'd write and edit on Thursday, and it met the deadline.
You get the idea. For those first couple of months, although I had an unwavering commitment to and clearly articulated philosophy about the family-centered learning project, I was working day-to-day. "That was good. That was good. That was pretty good. That was good. That wasn't, but there's tomorrow." This was my fundamental mistake.
Superficially, no, there's not much wrong with it, but when I finally read Marva Collins for the first time about a year into our homeschooling adventure, I realized I was going about our days all wrong.
Collins writes:
And it is utterly doable. It really is. If I refuse to lower my expectations but raise them, instead. And then exceed them. If I refuse to whine or complain or yield to more self-indulgence than the occasional bookstore coup. If I teach. Lead. Coach. Motivate. Inspire. Give my students the best that I have to offer every. single. day. My goal, then, became a lifetime of excellence, not a day or two here and there. A lifetime.
And it all began with raised expectations -- for me and for my students.
And don't for a minute think that this means we marched through the aisles of Jewel chanting Latin declensions (although we did that -- just twice, though). Or that the children are all bound for Harvard (they're not). Or that we drill endlessly or read only leatherbound Great Books. Anyone who reads my M-mv entries knows none of that is what we're about here.
But we do arrive at every morning seeking the moments of learning, discussion, synthesis. We're never (well, rarely) "off." Each and every day is about learning more, doing more, thinking more, writing more, drawing more, discussing more, connecting more -- all with a clarity of expression that approaches excellence. Every. Day.
Bird by bird is an sound approach for dispensing with projects, but it will not help one live each day with excellence. Do you see the difference? Each day is a fresh page, sure, but I'd prefer that the pages that preface it represent my best work at that time.
We tend to let ourselves "off the hook" too often for trite things, and then, when the big events arrive, and we're unprepared -- mentally, spiritually, organizationally.
Excellent for a day is pretty easy. Excellence over the course of lifetime? Difficult. But doable.
Just. Do. It.
Follow up
After making that post, someone inquired: "How do you make each day an excellent learning day and keep up with your deadlines?"
Simply put, by fitting the work into the interstices that parenting and teaching permit. And that often means going to bed late and getting up early. My current gig does not require any 9-5 contact with clients or sources, so I haven't had to deal with distractions of that nature since, hmmm, late 2002, I think. (More about that near the bottom of this post.) I write about fitting it all in here: It all begins with me.
And here, too: Fine Art Friday (with its related and long aside).
And in a series of posts in which I worked through Linda Hirshman's polemic about women and work, I discuss how I squeeze it all in (and how important my work as a writer and editor is to me):
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
I was also asked, "Did you cut back on your writing/editing after reading Marva Collins?"
Believe it or not, no. I actually took on more work. First-born. What can I say? But if you can believe my luck, my key contact was an older man who arrived at work at 6:30 a.m. or earlier each weekday. When we needed to meet, we did so at 6 a.m. We dispensed with our telephone conferences before 7:30 a.m. The rest? Email worked well for us. And I attempted to make email work well enough for anyone else, including writers who were contributing to the newspaper, for example.
When my "boss" on that large project (a weekly publication, quarterly newspaper, and all of the literature associated with an ambitious capital campaign) left, I only lasted another eighteen months with that client. I then took a two-year break -- writing only articles (with, admittedly, mixed results -- I think I only placed eight pieces during that period). A few months after our relocation, though, I scored my current gig, which I love. Collins simply shook me out of complacency. Okay or good isn't really good enough. Not for me, anyway.
In the beginning (and that was more than a decade ago)...
I'd work the day. In other words, I'd parent, teach, and write/edit on Monday, and it was good. And I'd parent, teach, and write/edit on Tuesday, and it was good. And I'd parent and teach on Wednesday, and it was good enough. And I'd write and edit on Thursday, and it met the deadline.
You get the idea. For those first couple of months, although I had an unwavering commitment to and clearly articulated philosophy about the family-centered learning project, I was working day-to-day. "That was good. That was good. That was pretty good. That was good. That wasn't, but there's tomorrow." This was my fundamental mistake.
Superficially, no, there's not much wrong with it, but when I finally read Marva Collins for the first time about a year into our homeschooling adventure, I realized I was going about our days all wrong.
Collins writes:
Many of us can be excellent for a day, but we find a lifetime of excellence to be just a bit difficult. Good teachers leave their egos and problems at the door each morning. They become so immersed in the children they teach that they forget time, problems, who they are, or what they can't do. They believe that they exist for their students. They hear with their hearts, they see with their souls, and they teach with their conscience.I realized with an unsettling all-at-onceness that I didn't want to be good (or good enough) for a day. I wanted to be excellent most of the time. And so far? I wasn't even close.
And it is utterly doable. It really is. If I refuse to lower my expectations but raise them, instead. And then exceed them. If I refuse to whine or complain or yield to more self-indulgence than the occasional bookstore coup. If I teach. Lead. Coach. Motivate. Inspire. Give my students the best that I have to offer every. single. day. My goal, then, became a lifetime of excellence, not a day or two here and there. A lifetime.
And it all began with raised expectations -- for me and for my students.
And don't for a minute think that this means we marched through the aisles of Jewel chanting Latin declensions (although we did that -- just twice, though). Or that the children are all bound for Harvard (they're not). Or that we drill endlessly or read only leatherbound Great Books. Anyone who reads my M-mv entries knows none of that is what we're about here.
But we do arrive at every morning seeking the moments of learning, discussion, synthesis. We're never (well, rarely) "off." Each and every day is about learning more, doing more, thinking more, writing more, drawing more, discussing more, connecting more -- all with a clarity of expression that approaches excellence. Every. Day.
Bird by bird is an sound approach for dispensing with projects, but it will not help one live each day with excellence. Do you see the difference? Each day is a fresh page, sure, but I'd prefer that the pages that preface it represent my best work at that time.
We tend to let ourselves "off the hook" too often for trite things, and then, when the big events arrive, and we're unprepared -- mentally, spiritually, organizationally.
Excellent for a day is pretty easy. Excellence over the course of lifetime? Difficult. But doable.
Just. Do. It.
Follow up
After making that post, someone inquired: "How do you make each day an excellent learning day and keep up with your deadlines?"
Simply put, by fitting the work into the interstices that parenting and teaching permit. And that often means going to bed late and getting up early. My current gig does not require any 9-5 contact with clients or sources, so I haven't had to deal with distractions of that nature since, hmmm, late 2002, I think. (More about that near the bottom of this post.) I write about fitting it all in here: It all begins with me.
And here, too: Fine Art Friday (with its related and long aside).
And in a series of posts in which I worked through Linda Hirshman's polemic about women and work, I discuss how I squeeze it all in (and how important my work as a writer and editor is to me):
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
I was also asked, "Did you cut back on your writing/editing after reading Marva Collins?"
Believe it or not, no. I actually took on more work. First-born. What can I say? But if you can believe my luck, my key contact was an older man who arrived at work at 6:30 a.m. or earlier each weekday. When we needed to meet, we did so at 6 a.m. We dispensed with our telephone conferences before 7:30 a.m. The rest? Email worked well for us. And I attempted to make email work well enough for anyone else, including writers who were contributing to the newspaper, for example.
When my "boss" on that large project (a weekly publication, quarterly newspaper, and all of the literature associated with an ambitious capital campaign) left, I only lasted another eighteen months with that client. I then took a two-year break -- writing only articles (with, admittedly, mixed results -- I think I only placed eight pieces during that period). A few months after our relocation, though, I scored my current gig, which I love. Collins simply shook me out of complacency. Okay or good isn't really good enough. Not for me, anyway.
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