For most of us, the term traveler evokes imagery of journey and voyage, but as the etymology of the term viator clarifies, it simply means someone who travels along road systems. One such teacher, Grace, embodied the spirit of the traveler in her teaching; she was willing to set out on a journey to reach a destination, following roads and pathways set before her by adventurers past. As she trekked along, she realized that unexpected obstacles might force her to detour, but she had the skills to navigate around, over, or through any obstruction that she encountered. Grace was excited about the traveling, and she realized that many of the most divine moments happen unexpectedly. She was not unaware of the possible dangers that awaited her; she did not seek out unnecessary risk, but neither did she let her fears stop her from making progress.
The marrow of humanity drove Grace’s passion for the road. She saw beauty and creation in the people she met along the way. The works of humankind are often worthy of marvel and sometimes gut-wrenching, yet Grace saw all that lay around her and knew she must continue on her journey. She could not stay for long at one site of wonder or one place of despair, for she had to arrive at her destination. As she navigated through unknown lands, immersed herself in new realities and experienced humanity in all its forms, she reflected continually upon her own understanding. Grace followed the roads laid before her, but once on the path, she always kept her eyes on her surroundings so she could enjoy the beauty around her. When necessary, Grace referred to a compass; she was an exceptional teacher.
Well, let’s just say I am not Grace . . . in any form. The reality of being a traveler on the educational road sometimes makes me feel like I misunderstood the guidebook and lost my way. Don’t mistake my momentary sense of panic as a lack of passion for teaching, however. I’m simply admitting that teaching, like travel, can be hard. Such a small word, hard, catches quite well the feelings of uncertainty and fear that teaching can sometimes bring. Like traveling to an unknown place, teaching often pushes my own perceptions of my ability and demands that I grow in both mind-set and skill.
I have always thought of myself as a traveler, and have become accustomed to enduring the not-so-pleasant moments of travel. Waiting in a bag-check line in the Nairobi airport only to find out that it is the wrong line, getting lost on the back roads of Mexico, sleeping on cold airport floors, accidentally offending the local German storekeeper . . . these are the realities of travel. The list could go on. For travelers, these incidents weave themselves into the memories of the journey and even become highlights of the story. Those who travel despite these realities, do so because they love the experience. I believe that teachers are like travelers; they love to teach regardless of the hardships.
In my classroom recently, I have purposely been putting myself through a tough journey of discovery and challenge. Embracing the paperless movement and incorporating Chromebooks and Google Classroom into each of my classes has been hard. For many reading this, my little anecdote of struggle may seem quite trivial, but I assure you, for me this has been harder than being on a Kenyan highway with a full bladder. First, I teach middle school. If that is not enough to scare you away, please keep reading. Second, I teach in the middle of nowhere, by which I mean the high desert of central Oregon. So field trips are not part of my program, unless by field trip you mean actually walking out the back door of our school into a field. I am the first teacher in our small rural school to embrace the paperless movement and implement Chromebooks in every class, for every activity, every day of the week. In response to this shift, I have encountered mixed responses from students, including concern that I may have become a vegetarian. Of course I could have, perhaps should have, taken the tourist route and waited for someone else to guide me through this new experience, but no, I jumped in headfirst with very little grace.
As is true with any great trip, I have had some amazing moments, and I have also had moments when I wanted to run back to the safety of the paper mill. However, as I have been traveling along this uncertain and uncharted path, I have discovered my students in a new way. Students who didn’t feel that they had a voice are now finding ways to become part of their learning community through online discussions. I am able to give feedback at a pace that I thought was reserved for the Olympics, or at least for teachers like Grace. Students are sharing their work with their parents. I know! That’s amazing isn’t it? Great travel experiences are not without bumps, but the incredible moments along the way have compensated for some of the bumps in the Chromebook road. Those of my readers who have already begun to embrace (or at least experiment with) this new digital reality already know the path I am describing; perhaps you have forged it yourself. I am grateful for your spirit of educational travel.
I am by no means the educational expert regarding flipped classrooms, not do I even remotely know all the possibilities that are just waiting for my students a few mouse clicks away, but I have chosen to follow this trail nonetheless. Some might ask: why? Why would I want to take on more responsibility, a new system, a rather daunting task? Well, I am already crazy; remember, I teach middle school, and I am a traveler and I want to see what is new, what is wonderful and, more than anything, I want my students to come along with me.
My students drive me to try new curriculum instead of shoving it to the back of a closest. My students drive me to learn all the possible ways I can to help them understand the importance of history in their lives. They drive me to push them to listen to poetry, to read more, to learn about other cultures and to embrace change. Often, my students come from backgrounds that don’t encourage open-mindedness, which drives me even more to want to invite them to see all the wonders of God’s world along the pathway to learning. My knowledge of their potential continues to drive me to take on more, to do more and to learn more . . . even going paperless. I don’t travel down the path of teaching because it is always a great and fulfilling experience; I do it because they are counting on me to make the journey with them and to put my all into it every teaching day.
Like all travels, it seems like some days my journey is meant to be. Everything is working and my students and I are fully engaged and full of energy, connected; we think like one, we move like one, and then . . . there is that other kind of day. Most mornings, I begin my day inundated by students from the moment I walk through the door until I close the door to my car at the end of the day. I am constantly making last-minute changes to my lesson plans, drinking coffee, plugging the Chromebooks back in, repeating the directions (fifth time’s the charm), drinking coffee, asking Zac to sit down, asking Drew to quiet down, asking Suzy to calm down, and reminding them all to turn in their work. On those days, there is no alignment of the stars; I am lucky if there is alignment of the tables, and I am tired—dog tired. I go home and reflect on how I should have tweaked that lesson just a bit more, or how I should have been more patient with them, shown more grace, and I plan how tomorrow will be different. Each day I take on a new stretch of road, and each day I don’t know how I will do. I keep going, and not just in the off chance that it will be a day full of flow, as Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi would put it, but because in each of those normal, routinely tough days my students are there waiting. I step onto the road and there they are, looking up at me and trusting that I can help guide them as travelers on their own unique and sometimes daunting journeys.
Work Cited
Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly. Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience. New York: Harper and Row, 1990.
Andrea Nelson is a middle school teacher in eastern Oregon. She also is a doctoral student at George Fox University in Newberg, Oregon.
