This newsletter is the second of a 2-part series of how to simplify and embrace less.
Remember the teacher, Rachel, from last week? I found her in tears because the snowmen she needed for her class's annual winter performance were missing. Of course, it wasn’t about the lost snowmen. It was about the overwhelming pressure of “too much.” Today, let’s focus on how to actually start simplifying. We will start with a few key considerations to guide you in deciding what should be pared down.
Simplify. In education, our math is one-sided— we tend to add without subtracting. To fix a problem, we adopt a new resource, launch an initiative, add a training, complicate a system. Rarely do we say, “Might this problem be solved by making it simpler?”
Understand why we got here. If teachers are scrambling to do too much, we might ask ourselves why. Are they trying to meet expectations that are coming from the principal? From the district? From themselves, or colleagues, or parents? Make sure your staff knows that you trust them to make the right decisions for their students, but you don't want them killing themselves to meet unrealistic or misunderstood expectations. And for heaven’s sake, let’s not hang on to something just because we’ve always done it.
Peel away what you don’t need. There is unnecessary bulk to everything we do. Think of it like an orange. Oranges are great, but you can’t eat one in its entirety. The rind is tough, bitter, and tastes nasty. Imagine the stomachache! But when you peel that away to the easy-to-eat segments, you’ve discarded the non-essential and have only the nutritious, delicious, and beneficial meat of it. Paring things down to what you need eliminates the bitter, stressful parts. This applies to our processes just as much as our curriculum. As an English teacher, I used to have my students write five-paragraph essays every single week, far beyond what they needed and far beyond what I wanted to grade. I should have cut that expectation down to just one a quarter. The students would have learned everything they needed, and I wouldn’t have spent all year buried under papers to grade.
Don’t eliminate the fun. Please, let’s not make school miserable. Swinging back to Rachel’s quandary with her winter performance, I knew it was a longstanding and beloved activity for her students. When I talked with her, we both knew she had to cut something because it had become too stressful. Not the performance, she insisted. It’s so fun. The kids love it. Fine, I told her. Let’s keep the fun. Let’s look at what we can eliminate that isn’t fun. After all, if you’re miserable creating the fun, it’s not fun.
Use data. In this, I do not mean analyze data, make data-driven decisions, or monitor progress. We all know how to do that. Instead, what data are you collecting that you never view? What assessments are given whose results aren’t used for anything? Look for data you aren’t using and cut the tool that creates it.
Ask others. If you identify something that doesn’t have value anymore, you don’t want to take an ax to it without asking others what they think. Note you’re not asking them to make a final decision— that is the job of the leader— but you’re looking for things you might not have considered: What would be the effect of elimination? Instructional coaches, teachers, paraprofessionals, colleagues— a room full of people with experience on that thing will have big insight on what would happen without it.
Be brave. It is so hard to abandon something that used to work, or, more likely, still works in some way. There are people who love it, people who have done it for a long time, people who will be angry if it’s gone. Still, if there is not value left, it needs to go. Leading the process takes courage— no doubt about it. But if your outcome is clear and your process is transparent and sequential, summoning that courage will not be difficult.
Okay, but how do we actually do this? Let's consider a streamlined and sequential decision-making process for paring down.
A 6-Step Process for Paring Down
Identify a goal. In any “lessening,” you’ll want to clearly articulate your intended outcome. Do you want to lessen anxiety and stress for teachers? Eliminate over-saturation of resources? Save money? Time? Increase direct instruction?
Identify “Influencers.” Who is immersed in this work? Is it all teachers, just a certain grade level or department, or a small group? Gather these people together.
Brainstorm and propose. Once everyone knows the intended outcome, outline the pros and cons of a change and develop a proposal with specific steps—in sequential order and with clearly identified timelines. Identify who, exactly, will be responsible for necessary actions, research, and communication.
Implement. Take the leap: 'Okay. We’re ready. Let’s go.”
Get feedback. Through meetings, a survey, or regular check-ins, capture the responses, concerns, and experiences of anyone affected by the change.
Adjust. If, upon implementation, feedback reveals something critical was lost or is missing, use your influencers to determine if it's an actual loss or merely a perceived one. If it is real, think of other ways that missing components can be filled. Be cautious not to add more work, more time, or a more cumbersome process that will take you back to the place you started— or worse.
Let’s put these steps into action. A couple years ago, I worked with a district that had been giving a particular writing assessment for the past 25 years. It had been a very good tool and had served the district well. All teachers were trained to administer it to all students both in the fall and in the spring. It was so well known and so accepted that it felt part of the district’s DNA.
The drawbacks, though, were significant. For one thing, it required one-to-one teacher proctoring that took several weeks to administer. It delayed instruction— and caused behavior issues— because while the teacher worked individually with one student, the rest of the class was asked to read or stay busy with worksheets. Third, the data it created was… slippery. Results were used in conversations with parents, but it tended to create more questions than answers; teachers would often either elevate or soften the results to avoid awkward conversations or pushback from parents. I mean, who wants to tell a parent their child is reading three grade levels below expectation? And who knows for sure, anyway, on a subjective, human-proctored assessment? And what good did it do to announce such a thing? Why not just be specific about what strategies and instruction were being provided?
“Have you considered eliminating the assessment?” I asked the administrative team.
“Oh, we can’t,” they said. Their justification was sensible and true: We’ve done it for such a long time. It would be a hassle to find a new, better, faster, more accurate assessment. Training all the teachers would be a heavy lift. We know this one, we like it, and besides, we have all the kits!
Yes, but. There were too many drawbacks to ignore, so the principal implemented the steps in this way:
What was their goal? Eliminate an outdated assessment.
Who were their Influencers? The Literacy team, which represented all reading and writing teachers.
Did brainstorming lead to a proposal? After much conversation, a few members of the literacy team pointed out ways they were measuring the exact same skills in another online screener they were using. “Maybe we can abandon this entirely,” they suggested, “and not replace it at all—?” They decided to eliminate and not replace.
How did they implement? At a beginning of year staff meeting, with the principal leading, the team explained that the assessment would be eliminated and pointed to other assessments that would give teachers the necessary information.
How did they get feedback? In subsequent staff meetings, the team checked in with teachers and listened to their experiences. The principal had individual conversations during post-observation conversations.
Were there adjustments? Teachers felt they gained immeasurable hours of time. There were, however, a few components, such as parent conferences and instructional planning, that were adjusted to account for the elimination of the assessment data. The principal checked in with the literacy team often to make improvements.
The teachers positively exulted in realizing they’d lost nothing in terms of knowing their students as readers and writers. And guess what? The data points they did use showed students lost nothing, either.
Remember last week when I talked about the snowmen that our teacher, Rachel, couldn’t find? And how stressed she was about her winter performance? In the end, Rachel evolved in big ways by simplifying and improving. She eliminated the Giving Tree, the fake snow, and the film crew. She streamed a scene of falling snow on the projector and added a few holiday tunes to get the ambiance she wanted. “Better than ever,” everyone told her as they streamed out of the theatre afterwards. And the things that had been eliminated?
No one even noticed.
Let’s stay curious—
Jen
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