A few days ago while scrolling through a social media site, I noticed that a student I teach had posted a photo with, what I consider to be, an offensive … Continue reading Language of Hope
Here. I took a step over the property line and stood on the driveway a while. I heard the radio tuned to CBC, the static from the old machine offering … Continue reading Home Stories
tacked the wheels
stick in gravel
we blink, blink
against summer stinging
time ticks on, somewhere
The students I live alongside set a challenge, to write about the past/future. They set the challenge so I would finish a piece, put pen to paper, stop sitting in conversation so long with each of them, and step up to the mic. After all, we headline in a month.
The future. The past. The future. Tricky business these places.
This week marked meetings with our administrators to review our Profession Growth Plans. I am serving in a large composite high school this year and don’t get much face to face time with my principal. The time to chat were nice.
After we talked about my plan, my administrator commented, “I don’t really know what to call the work you’re doing, with Project 104, with Jane* & Mark, its like you’re creating a space they take with them.”
“I know what to call it,” I said. “Storying.”
I chatted a bit explaining the process and the rationale of sharing our stories of experience as a way to find a sacred space that we carry within. Storying.
What i was really feeling, however, what was breathing and whispering all around me, were student stories of experience, my stories of experience, and the giddy like a pre-schooler work of attending to stories of experience that has been my thesis journey.
The phenomena of storying.
No longer only theory, no longer teachings pulled solely from my Dad, bits understood from the Circle of Courage, its philosophical and its connectiveness underpinnings. No longer was this the methodology of narrative inquirers, sharing stories of experience.
Living storying. Messy storying. With puzzles unfolding and much uncertainty and bursting with the interloopings, the weavings, the complexities of potential.
My Dad would say, there is a teaching there.
Today, I understand the name of this sacred space.