Gathering at Work After So Much Time Away
Welcome to the Construction Zone
Back to school is fraught. Here’s how one community decided to own it.
A few months ago, I got a phone call from a former high school classmate of mine, Elizabeth Dean. Elizabeth is now an instructional coach at our alma mater, and asked if I’d be interested in speaking with a group of her fellow administrators who had been tasked with planning the school’s first in-person meeting for 190 faculty members after 16 months apart.
Over a Google Hangout, the administrators shared the complexity of the moment: some teachers and administrators had been on-site throughout the pandemic while others had not; there were disparate experiences across the faculty and different levels of comfort teaching in person; new teachers who joined during the pandemic still hadn’t met their colleagues outside of Zoom squares; everyone was exhausted. How might they connect the staff after so much time away, and after so much having happened?
As we spoke, they shared an interesting detail: James Madison High School — the physical school building itself — is under construction. Renovations to the building’s facade began during the early months of the pandemic. As teachers and students re-enter, they will be navigating through sheetrock, exposed wiring, plastic tarps, and physical destruction.
The administrators felt badly that, on top of everything else, the building looked so disheveled and incomplete. And then we realized — what a powerful, physical metaphor for this moment. Because right now, we are all under construction. What if they embraced the reality in front of them?
Here’s what they did.
On a hot Friday morning in August, the principals welcomed the faculty members into “the construction zone,” both as a metaphor and physical space. They wore white construction hats, wrapped the building in caution tape, and handed out stress balls in the shape of hardhats printed with the school’s logo. “It was funny, we could no longer tell what was actually construction,” Dean said. In their invitation ahead of time, they told the teachers that they would be doing three things together:
Reflecting on the past 18 months of their individual and collective experiences during the pandemic
“Building” their school of the future together
And imagining how they will begin to (re)build relationships with each other and students over the coming weeks
After teachers entered the gym and settled in, the principals kicked off the meeting with a “How Are We Doing?” embodied activity. As the following prompts appeared on the projector screen, faculty would stand or sit (as they were able) based on whether the statement was true for them, personally:
Stand … if the last year was the most challenging year of your career.
Stand … if you were reminded about what is really important in life.
Stand … if you missed building connections and relationships with students.
Stand … if you missed coming into the building and seeing your colleagues.
Stand … if you worked from your pajamas at least one day last year.
Stand … if you took your laptop with you in the bathroom at least one time last year.
Stand … if you left your camera or mic on when it shouldn’t have been.
Afterwards, teachers broke off into groups of six. For 10 minutes, they constructed miniature “schools of the future” using Post-It notes, paper clips, decks of cards, stickers, and other craft materials. They then presented their ideas: A flexible communal space! Unlimited snack room! In true high school fashion, they ended the gathering with a performance from the drumline, and then got some time alone to re-enter their own classrooms for the first time.
Why did the construction zone gathering work so well?
They created a simple, collective mechanism to acknowledge all they’ve been through. The prompts created a simple opening ritual that allowed for joy and grief and humor.
They allowed disparate experiences and didn’t force sameness. Through the simple use of well-crafted prompts, they created a collective witnessing that let each faculty member reflect on their own experiences, while also looking around and seeing others’.
They provided an onramp. The purpose of this gathering wasn’t an “update meeting.” It didn’t focus on logistics. It wasn’t something to get through. The administrators realized that this gathering would be their team’s re-entry, so it would be important to make it about re-entering.
They asked questions instead of handing down answers. They shifted from hosts who have answers (which they don’t), to hosts who create space for questions (which they all carry in abundance). What is your school of the future? What do you want to build? And in doing so, they invited teachers to be fellow builders, rather than (only) constituents.
People need a release valve. And when there isn’t one, they create a different (often angrier) form of one. In a moment of deep complexity and with emotions running high, these hosts shifted from keeping their people out to inviting them in.
We’re in a weird moment. Better to own it, name it, and use it to figure out — together — what next to construct.
In Case You Missed It
How Should We Meet? And Who Decides?
Last week, I published this New York Times op-ed on the death and rebirth of the workplace. How should we meet? And who decides?
How to host meaningful gatherings — without stressing yourself out
I shared some of my favorite hosting tips with NPR’s Life Kit. Whether a book club or dinner party, every gathering needs a specific purpose, a carefully considered guest list, expectations set ahead of time, and a host who practices “generous authority.” What is “generous authority,” you ask?
I recently appeared on the podcast Hurry Slowly to discuss how to figure out the purpose behind your gathering, how to build trust and intimacy in virtual spaces, and how to infuse your gatherings with enough risk to keep them exciting.
Inspirations
Remote Learning and School Reopenings: What Worked and What Didn’t.
In July, the Center for American Progress (CAP) released a report titled “Remote Learning and School Reopenings: What Worked and What Didn’t.” Throughout the 2020-2021 school year, CAP has been tracking key trends across remote learning and school reopening efforts and looking at these trends through a racial equity lens to see how different communities have been affected.
Created by artists and grief workers as a response to the COVID-19 pandemic. Each card displays an original artwork and a “grieving prompt” described as “a gesture, a tiny performance, a movement, an act of mindfulness” to be performed in memory of a loved one. It’s gorgeous and moving and I love it.
Allée Gathering by Jean Shin is currently on display at Art Omi, a not-for-profit art center in Ghent, New York. To create the piece, Shin used salvaged timber from Storm King Art Center's historic allée to create a monumental picnic table. Since its installation in May, the center wrote on Instagram, “it has become a favorite haunt of Camp Omi campers, picnickers, and visitors looking for a moment of respite before continuing on their journey through the Park.”
