A Yellow Journal.
Each year I begin the year with a list of questions, curiosities, and wonderings. A few intentions for practice and ideas I hope to explore with the children, sure, but more than anything I begin with my own inquiries. And, ever since last year, all of these questions—and my journeys toward answering them—are recorded in my Teacher Journal. I carry it, and a pen, always and everywhere during my time with children. Without it, I feel naked in a way, unprepared.
Indeed, each of the past few years I have made it my intention to begin with a few questions, jotted down in any variety of places—virtually on this blog, in a Google Doc (or, honestly, in many), or in pen and paper in a notebook.
Having a place to pursue these inquiries, to pursue my inquiries related to teaching and childhood, is invaluable. I love having a place where all of the post-its, paper scraps, and thoughts can find a home—I love having a place.
A place where my notes from the books, articles, and studies I am reading can be connected to anecdotes, quotations, and stories from my time with children—and in real time.
A place to take notes on conversations (with children and colleagues) and reference them repeatedly, quickly and at any time.
A place where I can chart my own paths of curiosity until they lead to others (as they often do), or stop (as they also often do).
A place where my children can see me, amidst them, engaged in the intensive but engaging processes of construction, inquiry, and exploration into which I encourage them daily.
For me a journal is a constant reminder of the role of teacher as both researcher and inquirer into and alongside the many childhoods they encounter daily. It is an invitation to take both a micro- and macroscopic view of childhood.
This year, the yellow Leuchtturm in a color they artfully call “Rising Sun” is my companion to begin the year. Sturdy, with numbered pages and bookmarks, it is a little more intense than last year’s clearance Moleskine in a textured denim cover. Nonetheless, the journal itself matters less than that is invites curiosity, reminds us of the depth of the work we are doing, and of course, that we actually use it.
My questions to begin the year, you might be wondering?
More on those soon!
Cheers,
Ron