The Dude Abides

The Dude is a character from the film ‘The Big Lebowski’: a man mountain, a chilled and peaceful guy who likes bowling.

We couldn’t be more different. I don’t have a beard, for a start.

As I sit here thinking about the next 1, 3, 6 or 20 years and all the things that will or won’t happen, what could go wrong, what could go well, waking up at 3am and wondering if the DFE will ever learn to not release things over our holidays, The Dude would be chilling, drinking White Russians and telling me not to stress.  

Over the last 18 months, I’ve observed the way those I admire, look up to, work with, and support me, act. I’ve watched and listened to how they interact with others and the way they appear so calm in some of the most challenging or stressful situations. These are the people that you find quietly beavering away, running the most challenging schools, working in some of the difficult jobs in education, or have vast swathes of experience acquired from many, many years of hard work.

While still very much finding my feet and always trying to improve the way I work, I have noticed some themes.

Reflecting

Even when things haven’t gone to plan, they look at what they would do differently. They accept failure is a part of the process and don’t beat themselves up publicly. They tend to take the positives and negatives in equal measure and collectively ask how things could be done in a better way.

They don’t play the ‘what if…’ game

They deal with what’s in front of them. The curve ball is seen as a challenge, not a set-back. They don’t lay awake wondering ‘what if…’ and they don’t worry about something if it hasn’t happened yet.  

Everything is best practice

If they do something, they do it to the best of their ability. They refine and dig deeper, they check things over and over again, making small tweaks to improve their practice, and have an ability to take their foot off the gas and chill in order to ensure it’s having an impact before making any drastic decisions. They will pool their best experiences and listen to those around them, they don’t always think ‘they know best.’

They are always on hand to support

Despite the crazy, busy jobs we all have in education in one form or another, they always find time to help others. They share their experiences, offer decent advice, point me in the direction of someone who could help, or simply tell me not to worry.  These little acts of kindness have had a huge impact on me personally, probably without them realising.

They laugh, a lot - at themselves, with others, but never at people

We work in the most ridiculously wonderful places. No day is the same, everyone is unique and you’ll be collecting the stories and experiences that you’ll be repeating over dinner for years to come. They’ll regale you with a wonderful tapestry of disaster, joy or triumph, even in the darkest of days.  But, that’s just my opinion, man.

So, as we enter 2019, and we look at where we were last year and how the next 12 months of our life stories will play out, I’ll be drinking a White Russian, with my new rug that pulls the room together, because really, we should all be a bit more Dude.

No man is an Island

"We don’t do that anymore."

"We don’t go there anymore."

"They don’t visit anymore."

These are some phrases I've heard, repeated over and over again.  The closing of the door, the raising of the drawbridge.  The ease of the insular. The closing of the gates. Beauty and the Beast, Edward Scissorhands, The Secret Garden all demonstrate this beautifully. 

Shying away, feeling ugly, withdrawing from society.

A struggling school has the ability to go off the grid. Hide away and lick its metaphorical wounds for a while. But what if it wants to hide away forever? 

With small, timid steps, asking for help and opening the doors can be transformative.  In the early weeks of being SLT, a volunteer (and staff member from years ago) turned up at our office. “She wanted to know if she could come back, she heard we needed a hand,” someone said. 

My instant reaction was “Yes! Of course.” 

The church warden called. “Did we want to start using the church again for some services?”

“Yes. Of course.”

 A local Headteacher called and asked, “Do you fancy a coffee and a chat about arranging some cluster moderations?”

“Yes. Of course!” 

For months, the school had become an island. No meetings, no visitors, no workshops, no help. When you feel like the failure, like the one letting everyone down, it’s so easy to become your very own elephant in the room; everyone knows you’re there, but no-one wants to talk about ‘it’.

Slowly, the light was filtering in, and suddenly, it didn’t feel so lonely. We didn’t feel like an island.

I’ve always been the person that asks the questions, seeks the information. I'm probably far too open and honest at the best of times, but asking for help? It's something I've learned to do, and wow… there are some wonderful people in our profession, ready with resources, advice, tips, tricks and hard lessons learned, never to repeat again.

Our school is lucky to be in a very close academy group. Friendly, supportive Heads and staff, who want us to succeed, to share good practice, to celebrate achievements. Over the last 18 months, I’ve seen many, many schools, visited lots of people for advice, attended workshops, conferences and have welcomed lots of visitors to the school. The doors are firmly open for anyone to visit us at any time; we are proud of the school we have become and hope to repay those that have helped us.

So, open the windows and lower the bridge. People are there to help, to support and to encourage.

Let the light in.