Rhoda Bernard, Ed.D.

Everywhere I look these days, I am confronted with yet another example of the destructive power of our drive to simplify. I know that our brains are wired to make things simple by classifying them, labeling them, and embedding them into the structures of our understanding (a Piagetian view, to be sure, but one that has been borne out time and again in brain research). So biology certainly plays a role in all of this. I get that.

But at the same time, it seems like we never learn. Must complexity terrify us to the point that our world view becomes myopic? Must we be paralyzed by the simplicity that we strive for?

As one example, I am reading Diane Ravitch’s new book, The Death and Life of the American School System: How Testing and Choice are Undermining Education, where she brilliantly examines various waves of education reform and education policy in this country through the lens of the simple systems and models that dominate various movements and discourse: the accountability movement, the business model for education movement, and the choice movement. Each of these movements has appeared in various forms throughout the history of public school in America, and each of them has failed to live up to its promise. And each of them has been considered by policymakers, scholars, and educators as the panacea, the simple solution.

Here’s another example: Over the last several years, I have enjoyed learning about the El Sistema program of music education and youth orchestras in Venezuela. This system of youth orchestras has had a profound effect on the children, particularly the poor children, of that country and has demonstrated the power of music and music education in a new way – not only for individual students, but also for communities. I am thrilled at the success of El Sistema. However, I get very uncomfortable with the idea that all we need to do in order to improve music education in the US is to adopt El Sistema here. What works so brilliantly in Venezuela cannot simply be transposed to the US. And thinking that it can ignores the complexity of context, history, politics, educational mandates, issues of socio economic status and diversity, and much more. I know that I may be taking an unpopular stance here, because El Sistema has become a darling of many people in this country. And I see its charm and its many contributions to the lives of children in Venezuela. But I also see the complexity of the US context for music and music education, and I fear that, in the drive to find one simple panacea, many people here have ignored that complexity.

Here’s yet another one: A former student of mine recently told me that the supervisor of the arts in her school district (who is not a music educator) has just proposed that all music teachers in the district use only one method of music instruction in their elementary classrooms. This individual does not know much at all about the breadth and depth of the various approaches to music education; nor does this person understand the need for and importance of being an eclectic music educator who draws from as many possible areas as possible in order to achieve musical and educational goals for the particular students in a particular context. This person has got it into her head that this one method is the only way, ignoring the rich complexity of music education, not to mention the complexity of the ways that people learn.

In all of these cases, choosing and adopting one simple approach ends up failing many different stakeholders, but most importantly, the teachers and the students. I haven’t finished Ravitch’s book yet, but after hearing her hour-long segment on C-Span, I know that she will argue that educational reform needs to attend to the voices, perspectives, experience, and expertise of teachers and students. Maybe Ravitch can help some of us seek complexity, rather than simplicity. I can only hope.

A recent presentation I gave at the MENC Biennial Research Conference in Anaheim has clearly struck a nerve with music teacher educators. I talked about the rigidity of the field’s definition of who a music teacher can be, how a music teacher can be trained, and what kind of experience a music teacher must have. I used a small research project – interviews of alumni from our program who have what would be considered “non-traditional” backgrounds (they play music other than Western classical music and/or play instruments that are not considered part of the traditional band, orchestra, choir ensemble setting) – to demonstrate the importance of the perspectives of these individuals and the meaningful contributions that they can make to music education, as well as the narrow -mindedness of the field.

Not only did the presentation go very well, the discussion after the presentation was very stimulating and filled with energy and interest. I was walking on air afterwards.

And then the emails started. I have received a great deal of email correspondence since this presentation, with everything from ideas/questions/thoughts about the topic to calls for papers for other presentation opportunities for this material to expressions of gratitude for bringing this topic to people’s attention.

As someone whose background is non-traditional, I am heartened by the response to my presentation. And I’m working on figuring out what the next steps are. Clearly there are more presentations to give. And probably at least one publication. And some expansion on the study. And some more literature review. Plenty to do – but I am excited to get started because I know that I have hit on something very important and powerful.

I just finished participating in the month-long Wellness Challenge at The Boston Conservatory (I ended up being the Individual Winner!), and the opportunity to spend an entire month thinking about and paying attention to wellness was really powerful for me.

I especially like the ways that the Wellness Challenge conceives of wellness – they go far beyond what most of us might think of when we think of wellness. The categories included:

a. Physical Wellness (physical activity/exercise, feeling well rested after waking up, limiting caffeine and alcohol intake, brushing and flossing teeth daily, avoiding second hand smoke, washing hands, and taking the stairs instead of the elevator)

b. Emotional Wellness (talking openly about your feelings, saying no without feeling guilty, and recognizing a problem and finding a solution)

c. Environmental Wellness (recycling, turning off the lights upon leaving, and unplugging appliances)

d. Intellectual Wellness (reading a book for fun, attending a program on campus, and challenging yourself to see more than one side of an issue)

e. Spiritual Wellness (exploring a new spiritual practice or tradition, taking time out of the day for spiritual growth, and practicing compassion towards yourself or others)

f. Social Wellness (going to a new place, talking with a new person, and putting aside time for a fun activity)

This broad-based view of wellness really appeals to me. Keeping all of these aspects of wellness in mind for the month of February definitely improved my quality of life and contributed to my self care.

My challenge will be to continue to prioritize wellness in all of these many forms. How do you pay attention to wellness?

Every summer, my students and I read David Tyack’s remarkable and groundbreaking book, The One Best System: A History of American Urban Education. This book is one of the core texts in a course that I teach, Foundations of Education, in which students learn about and explore the history and philosophy of education. Tyack’s big point is that the search for the one best system – the one best way to educate all students – has ill served public education in general, and particularly urban public education.

This year, my students have noticed that the search for the one best system pervades the field of education. Whether it has to do with curriculum planning, repertoire choices, teacher education, high stakes testing, or education policy, the majority of those in the field refuse to recognize that individual differences matter. Students learn differently. Teachers teach differently. Multiple approaches are more effective because they can reinforce one another, and because they can respond to context and to individual needs.

Right now, we are talking about constructivism in one of my other classes. Constructivism celebrates the individual student’s learning process by supporting and facilitating each student’s construction of his/her understanding. A constructivist pedagogy rails against the notion of following scripts from teacher handbooks, teaching from textbooks, or teaching to the standardized test. It refuses to support the notion of the one best system for promoting student learning.

Western modernist society is obsessed with the notion of the one best system, and this obsession goes far beyond the field of education. Economics, politics, history, technology, psychology, philosophy – these are just a few of the many fields that are plagued by the misguided notion that there is one best system, and our job is to find that system (or create it), and use it.

The arts are certainly not immune from this way of thinking, either, much to my dismay. In music, there are many proposed “best systems” out there – from technique-based methods for various instruments, to approaches to the interpretation of musical works, to characteristics of musical styles, to understandings of music history.

And of course, today, we are plagued by the debates over finding the one best system of health care, the one best system for deficit reduction, the one best system for economic recovery, and so on.

How can the paradigm beneath so many feet and structures be shifted? How can we move away from this obsession with the one best system to a much more productive and meaningful perspective that celebrates individual differences, diverse approaches, and multiple modalities?

Leadership has been on my mind quite a bit lately. I have recently read a stack of books about leadership and communication. I have also attended several sessions on leadership as part of a training course being offered at work.

What has stood out for me in this exploration has been the many ways that leadership and teaching resonate with each other. Both leadership and teaching take place through relationships.

Effective leaders lead through their relationships with those around them. They establish trust and safe communication with the people with whom they work. They communicate effectively and facilitate conversations so that all involved feel valued and have the opportunity to contribute. They make judgments about when they must make decisions unilaterally, when they can solicit input but be the person who decides, and when decisions can be made by group consensus.

Much the same can be said for effective teachers. Teachers must establish trust and safe communication, particularly in their classrooms. They must communicate effectively with students, administrators, community members, and parents. They must facilitate discussions in their classroom (when appropriate). They determine how decisions get made in their classrooms.

There are some critical differences in the ways that relationships play out in leadership and in teaching situations. Leadership and teaching may not both involve the learning and growth of others. While we hope that students wish to learn and grow and are motivated to do so, and we know that a teacher’s job is to help students to learn and grow, not all adults who are led wish to learn and grow. Some are threatened by change, either for themselves or for the organization.

Leadership and teaching both take place within a context. And while teachers can have a tremendous influence on the culture that is created in their classrooms, leaders operate within a larger institutional culture that (often) they have a smaller role in creating. And, of course, teachers are only one part of a larger school culture, as well.

Of course, while relationships are a key, there are other elements to leadership and teaching, such as skill sets that leaders require (working with forecasting, strategic planning, budgeting, etc.) and teachers must possess (subject matter expertise, pedagogical content knowledge, etc.).

But from my perspective, the power of an effective leader lies in his or her ability to create, nurture, and sustain effective relationships with superiors, colleagues, and those who report to the leader. And the true power of an effective teacher lies in the relationships that he or she creates, nurtures, and sustains with students (first and foremost), parents, colleagues, and administrators.

At my massage earlier this week, my masseuse and I got to talking about the importance of taking the time to take care of ourselves. I have several recurring and annoying back/shoulder issues. I have learned that my body responds really well to heat and massage, so I have made it a priority that I get at least one professional massage a month, and I supplement that with a heated neck wrap and a couple of plug-in massage pillows whenever I can.

At times I feel guilty about all of the attention that I give my back (feeling good about taking care of myself is such a challenge for me), but mostly I really enjoy how relaxing and soothing it feels. I was delighted to learn at my massage this week that the self care has been paying off – my persistent shoulder issues (including pain and weakness) have healed to the point that they are barely a factor in my daily life, and they are barely noticeable by a masseuse. I credit the various forms of self care with making these changes possible.

Another way that I try to take care of myself is through paying attention to what I eat and exercising every day. Given that I have the metabolism (and the genes) of a Russian peasant, if I don’t work at staying the same size, I will balloon to a much bigger one. I know – I have been there. I do let myself splurge occasionally in the food department (about once a week, except during the holidays, when it’s more often), because I feel strongly that inflexible deprivation does more harm than good and that most things in moderation are not that bad. But when I splurge, I immediately return to my more mindful habits so that the splurge is contained and becomes more of a blip in an overall healthy eating pattern.

I recently learned that this form of self care has benefitted me in a number of ways. I began working with a new primary care physician, and she ran a full battery of blood tests and physical tests. The results were excellent across the board, even in areas like total cholesterol, where I have a family history of issues. We discussed that paying attention to what I eat and exercising regularly certainly played a role in these areas of my overall health.

Rather than feel guilty about self care, I am going to take a new tack and be proud of the ways that I am good to myself. I am also going to look for new ways to be good to myself. All of this will make me healthier, stronger, and better able to give my best to others.

It’s New Year’s Day, the time when many of us make resolutions for the coming year (or sometimes for the rest of our lives). I used to be part of the resolution bandwagon. Every year, I would think about and write down my resolutions, all of the ways that I wanted to better myself and all of the things that I wanted to work harder at. It was easy to come up with resolutions, and it was easy for me to keep them.

Recently, I have determined that, like most things in the world, resolutions don’t work for everyone. And they don’t work for me. But not for the reason that you might think. Unlike other people who have abandoned resolutions, my reason for doing so is not that I end up breaking the resolutions, anyway, so why bother?

In fact, the reason that resolutions don’t work for me is that I am too good at resolving and following through. And being too good at this is hazardous for my sense of balance in my life and my mental and emotional well being.

I am a very disciplined person who spends a lot of her time (too much of it, frankly) trying. Putting effort into things. Much of my life has been a series of instances or periods of time when I have grappled with  learning to let go. Being a “try-er” by nature, I have had to learn repeatedly that in nearly every case, I am better off when I let go rather than try. The trying part comes naturally – I will try when trying is appropriate (which is much less often than I think it is). What is much more challenging for me is letting go when letting go is appropriate.

So many of the ways that I spend my time, from singing to playing the piano to swinging a golf club to teaching to leading discussions to running meetings to managing people to directing programs to social interactions to staying healthy to relaxing to just living in this world consist of a delicate balance of trying and letting go.

Resolutions are not about letting go (I guess they can be if one resolves to let go, but that feels like an oxymoronic resolution). They are about trying – the determination to do something differently, to stop doing something, or to start doing something, and then they are about following through towards meeting a goal. I need less of this way of thinking and being in my life, not more.

So I refuse to resolve this year. I am letting go of resolutions.

I have been on a baking kick for a while now, and it has been a really wonderful addition to my life. I try to bake something from scratch at least once a week. I have tried several new recipes, including a whole lot of vegan recipes so that my lactose intolerance is not an issue. I have also gathered numerous recipes from friends and have been able to try some of them, as well.

I gain great satisfaction from baking. Metaphorically speaking, the process of baking is yet another teacher for me of a lesson that I seem to need to keep relearning: often letting go yields far greater benefits than trying hard. Baking combines trying hard (getting the recipe right, assembling the ingredients and equipment, following the instructions) with letting go (putting it into the oven and letting the oven “do its thing”).

The other day, I made my friend Christine Koh’s granola recipe, and it was delicious. David, my fabulous husband, asked me what was it about making granola that was better than buying it in the store. The answer to that question has so many layers to it that I had a difficult time expressing myself adequately. I think I said something like, “Well, I can make the granola with exactly the ingredients that I want. It’s healthier because there are no preservatives. And it’s greener because there is no packaging.”

But that’s just the tip of the making-it-from-scratch-satisfaction iceberg. In a world where it’s too easy to purchase things, to have other people make things and do things for us, we lose sight of the rewards of creating something ourselves for our own use. Each time I grab a bowl of this luscious granola, I am reminded that I made it. I put the time, effort, care, and attention into creating something delicious for myself and my husband. I used my own hands, my own materials, and my own abilities to bring this granola into our lives.

OK, granola itself may not be so profound. But the process of making something for ourselves that we use and enjoy is. I know my limitations – I am not going to start making furniture or clothes anytime soon – but I also know that I derive satisfaction, joy, and delight from making and sharing certain things (edible ones at this point) for myself and others.

One of my students noted last week that she learns best when things are laid out for her very clearly, in a structured way. She admits that her learning style affects the way that she teaches. She teaches in the way that she needs to learn.

This is all well and good, and probably an unconscious tendency of most teachers. But this student of mine recognizes, thoughtfully, that her teaching style may not work for all of her students. Not everyone likes structure as much as she does. How can she develop an understanding of what kinds of approaches her students most need? How can she nurture the flexibility in her teaching so that she can give her students what they need from her in terms of her teaching style, rather than what she needs from a teacher? These are very important questions to ask, and graduate school is the perfect time to explore such questions (better put, to begin to explore them, since these questions don’t have easy answers and probably remain open for decades, if not one’s entire career.

As I think about my student’s questions, I am reminded of one of the “golden rules of relationships” that I developed when I was in college (at the time, I was stuck in a very unsatisfying relationship with a boyfriend from high school). The golden rule was: We Give What We Need. In other words, when we are in a relationship, we treat our partner in the ways that we wish to be treated. We show affection in the ways that we want affection shown to us. We care deeply in the ways that we want to be cared for. We listen in the ways that we want to be listened to. And so on. One of the big challenges of lasting love is to learn how to put aside our own needs when we are giving to our partners, and instead give what our partner needs. That is loving in its most true, authentic sense.

And giving our students what they need is teaching in its most true, authentic sense.

I was at a leadership training workshop recently. This was part of a six-session course about leadership. The theme of this particular session was that the most important quality in a leader is trustworthiness, and that the most important thing a leader can do is establish and nurture trust. While there are other important leadership qualities, to be sure, according to this training session, trust rises to the top.

Going to this session got me thinking about leadership and the various ways that it plays out for us, the different ways that each of us understands and experiences leadership. And I started to wonder: if I asked a hundred people at random what was most important to them about their leaders or about themselves as a leader, how many times would trust come up? Do all people frame what is important to them about their leaders or about leading in terms of trust? How else do they talk about it?

This is not a research project that I necessarily want to undertake. My point is that effective leadership probably looks quite differently to different people, based on their backgrounds, experiences, and personal proclivities. Can all of those differences be reconciled under the umbrella of trust?