Psychology students would very well understand Maslow’s hierarchy. And though we may not verbalize it enough, we all know how fortunate we are that our primary concerns lay atop it. We’re thankful our safety and basic needs are met, and our greatest challenges lie with love, belonging, esteem, and living to our full potential. Without tritely dismissing the bounty of material sustenance available to us, I find it’s helpful to be thankful for these other things, for the top of the hierarchy challenges, for what refines and remakes us, for what grows and pushes us, and for what punctuates and spins us.
I’m thankful when I see students like Ryder come in after school to work a bit ahead, to ask questions, not to complete a worksheet or for marks, but to internalize and to conceptualize, to ask why and to ponder. I’m thankful when Cindy keeps going and grinding when her computer program isn’t quite right, trying to comprehend the logical structure, and reaching those satisfying aha moments when it clicks. I’m thankful to see Ms. Jellema’s science students work through intricate collaborative debates and when they keep talking about it after class. I’m thankful when I see students in Ms. Boland’s and Mr. Bendl’s global studies class push back and question. When Eva or Alex or Emily are not satisfied with a simple, surface solution, it’s heartening to see they want to delve deeper into an issue. Marks and fancy university acceptances are all fine and good, but the patient, bit by bit thinking and turning ideas over in the mind is the heart of it all. It’s reminiscent of the long hours athletes or musicians put into basic drills. Sure, the competition and the performance are what audiences see and applaud, but the unseen, unglorified background work intrigues and inspires me the most.
I’m thankful for Ms. Point’s invitation to teachers to join her to help at the intergenerational march. Among the many meanings of the day, to hear a residential school survivor share deeply and truly was both uplifting and heartbreaking. As valuable as reading and learning about the past is, meeting someone and hugging them in flesh and blood carried an added and wounded poignancy. We’re not thankful for horrors, but we’re thankful for what flows from it, for resilience, for example, for truth, for how we can –and must– do better. I’m thankful to be reminded that lulled complacency can be uncaring, and being uncomfortable can be a good thing, a prod for something else.
I’m thankful when Rachel suggested “What is your humblest moment?” as a question for my board. When I saw the student responses, some detailing poor assessment results, it made me keenly aware of my own foibles. Maya and Kevin might have had some tough times in courses, but so have I. There are times I’ve made a mistake during a lesson, or when students correct me when I’ve written an incorrect answer. Some of the stuff we teach and learn is pretty freaking hard, but I’m thankful it is what it is. I’m thankful students desire to learn complex, difficult, and complicated content, because it makes us all think that much harder. It makes us more confident we can tackle and solve technical issues, that we are capable of writing languid and lucid essays and reports, and that we are willing and thriving when confronted with the involved, the esoteric, and the demanding. Struggling with comprehension is a large part of learning. The journey is beauty. It’s not as fun when it’s easy, plain, or simple.
I’m thankful seeing Edward, Calvin, Henry, Caitlin, Kevin, and scores of others run VYMUN. Many people don’t have experience running large projects involving hundreds of people and lots of moving parts, but these teenagers were doing exactly that. Bigger may not always be better, but sometimes expanding on something small, and growing it results in something unforeseen and new. Dreamers may get stuck on what it looks like in the end, but on the ground growers focus on the patient expansion, the adding on, the sticking a bit more of this and that, the ‘hey let’s try doing this idea’s, and before you know it, something beyond what any one person can hold is there. I’m thankful for big events and big projects, because watching something grow and develop is a thrill.
When we’re drained and weary, the easy paths can be alluring and appealing. And there are times when we need those well-trodden, familiar ways. But other times, we are called for something harder, for something that pushes us a bit further than we think can go. It’s true, we can fail. It’s true, we may have to backtrack. It’s true, we may give up, at least for the moment. But it’s also true we can emerge a little stronger, a little louder, a little bit more than who we are. Robert Frost wrote, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.” I’m thankful for those divergent choices, for the hard choices, for the out-of-your-comfort-zone choices, for the putting-myself-out-there choices, and I’m most thankful for the ones that made all the difference.