There was a marked increase in the number and variety of birds at the beach today. This delighted Pluto. He was able to cover a significant number of kilometres chasing them, racing in circles.
It made me think of rhythm, of cycles.
Their presence marks a change, it’s a shift from the norm; its novelty made me pause and let the moment wash over me. I wasn’t really thinking. If someone had come up to me then and asked me to describe and reflect my responses would have been half-formed.
I hadn’t had the chance to make sense of it yet. I was in the moment, open to what it offered.
And yet, I wasn’t passive either. My focus was drawn to particular things: the arc of the birds’ flight; the distance it took between them and Pluto to cue lift off.
I couldn’t intellectualise these things. But they were interesting.
And then, I was done. I moved on.
But that moment stayed - maybe in stopping I had given it the time it needed to reach into me and settle somewhere. Things began to surface: lines of thought; connections to other times, ideas.
I could process the experience without pressure.
The walking - unrushed, solo - helped. So did Pluto, with his regular ‘Isn’t this awesome!’ check-ins.
(Yes, Pluto, it is, and you’re a good boy.)
Are there clues in this about how we can help learners learn?
I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Perhaps we could let a discussion about this evolve over an unrushed, undetermined period of time :)
I've always found that beaches exist outside 'normal' time. They're timeless. That idea of not going anywhere pre-determined by anything/anyone I like. I think I am maybe a bit like Pluto in class. When a student senses that belief in them and what they're doing, it broadens a horizon or 2.
I've always found that beaches exist outside 'normal' time. They're timeless. That idea of not going anywhere pre-determined by anything/anyone I like. I think I am maybe a bit like Pluto in class. When a student senses that belief in them and what they're doing, it broadens a horizon or 2.