A month ago, a blog I follow posted this article about daily writing. As an educator, I immediately agreed with everything it said. As soon as I began writing reflections about education (which would soon become the basis for this blog), I recognized how valuable it was. It soon became a goal to have my students reflecting on their own education as much as possible in a daily journal, as well as constant, continuous reflections on everything, myself. Reflections will be a huge part of my classroom--questioning and critical thinking and metacognition!
But reading the article as a blogger, I realized how infrequently I had actually been writing.
Why?
When true reflection is done, it takes immense mental work. It takes honesty, a sincere heart, an ability to admit mistakes and submit to being wrong. It takes an ability to show vulnerability and weakness. It takes the patience and sincerity to examine experiences, ask, "Why?" and explore trains of thought. It takes a reasonable and rational attitude and mindset.
It takes time. It takes patience. It takes work.
And frankly, sometimes I don't care enough to force myself into what it takes.
Okay, recently it's been a lot of the time. Okay, most of the time. Little ones are a lot of work, and a lot of the time it's hard enough just to keep my eyes open, eat some nominally nutritional substance, and fall into bed at the end of the day.
What's happened to me? Have I diverged from the path of Innovative, Insightful Teacher that I once tread pridefully? Or have I just become lazy? There have been several things I've been wanting to write about, but somehow I "just haven't gotten around to it."
Obviously I know how important reflective writing is. I want to write, and I want to care. Part of it is just that I've been under even more stress than usual lately with buying a house, applying for a new job, and preparing for my first summer of Montessori training. Another part of it, I'm sure, is lack of habit, as Leo Babauta would be the first to tell me.
So, with these thoughts secured by the act of physically typing them out onto the screen, let's see how I move forward.
