The Telephone Game
Apr. 14th, 2007 08:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947Did you ever play the game, Telephone? A person whispers a message into the ear of another, and that person repeats it to the next person, who repeats it to the next, and the next, and so on. Through this series of verbal transfers, the message is inalterably changed as it travels from person to person. The final communiqué contains only the barest traces of its original sentiments. A similar process occurs to me whenever I drive long, tedious distances, especially traveling on the freeway. I will begin the journey with one thought, and then, after a series of mental twists, turns, roadblocks, and detours, wind up at a completely different idea. On a day I was driving to Staples Center to meet Prisa for the Pac – 10 Basketball Tournament, I experienced one of these circuitous, cerebral telephone games, which resulted in an enlightening epiphany about work.
It began with a simple memory:
I recalled the day in May, 2005, when my District Superintendent told me that I was being transferred to MASH Middle School the following July. Even though the Superintendent had questioned me earlier in the year about career options and school preferences, this news came as a complete surprise, and it was hard to accept. I had spent 10 years as principal of Shangri-la Middle School, and could not envision myself anywhere else.
I fell in love with Shangri-la Middle School from the moment I first laid eyes on it. Hidden away, in a verdant, tree lined, residential enclave in the mid-San Fernando Valley, it looked like middle schools were supposed to look, solid and timeless. Its architectural style was pre-World War II, although it was built after the war. Three, two-story, brick buildings housed the Administration and Humanities, Sciences, and Physical Education departments. It also had 4 freestanding, one story buildings, the Cafeteria and Dining Room, Industrial Arts, Auditorium, and Band Room. All of these building revolved around a grassy, central quad area, bordered by rows of leafy, Chinese Elm trees. It was a beautiful and idyllic place. I was assigned there in July of 1995.
Sandwiched in those ten years, were some of my best and most difficult experiences as a principal. I met, hired, and worked with teachers who would become lifelong friends, or respected colleagues. I encountered some individuals who committed thoughtless or unethical acts that caused me major periods of grief and anguish. I learned how to admit making mistakes, trust teachers and staff members, and ask for, and receive, their help on many occasions. I allowed myself to be silly at that school. I even had some successes in increasing student achievement, attendance, and intellectual development. In those ten years, I mastered the practice of school leadership, and I became a competent principal.
It was only after a concerted effort by my Superintendent, and the then-principal of MASH Middle School, that I begrudgingly resigned myself to the transfer, but I had very mixed feelings about it. I was depressed and saddened at the prospect of change, and I was scared of leaving a comfortable position, and people I knew and trusted. At the same time, I was proud and flattered by the confidence exhibited by my Superintendent at placing me in a high profile and challenging school. However, the biggest hurdle was the instruction to keep the news of this transfer secret.
This request (order, really), posed a moral dilemma for me, because I shared all school news and information with my two assistant principals. We had worked, suffered, and celebrated together for 10 years, and I trusted them completely. We were partners in the running of the school, and partners need access to all relevant information. Even though we had different personalities, working styles, and problem-solving approaches, we were an excellent and talented team. These two women complimented my strengths as a principal, and mitigated my weakness. No matter how intimidating the problem or emergency, I knew that by sharing it, we could vanquish it. However, this secret wasn’t a problem, it was an order. I even saw the logic and need for the secrecy, I just didn’t like it. Against my better judgment, I agreed to tell no one, except my wife.
Keeping that secret knowledge had the strangest effect on me. I was suddenly, the only person at school who knew that I would NOT be there in two months. I found that this knowledge gave me a wonderful sense of freedom, and changed how I viewed and treated people and interactions, and how I was making decisions.
The first thing I noticed was that annoying and troublesome people did not irritate me as they did before. Whining and complaining simply became styles of communication or behaviors, not personality traits. I listened, accepted, or ignored what they had to say, without judging them. I recognized what they DID as teachers, sponsors, or people, and not what they DIDN’T DO. I accepted them for who they were, faults and all, and not for who they weren’t. I found that after 10 years of rubbing each other the right and wrong way, we had become like the smooth and rounded pebbles I find on the shore of a river.
I also noticed that my interactions and encounters with people only had a PRESENT; I no longer worried about future ramifications, or consequences. I was meeting people whom I might never meet again, and listening to issues on which I would never have to act. I would discuss things that I might never have to judge. Therefore, all contacts had to be weighed in terms of NOW, the present. There might never be a tomorrow with these people.
This unique perspective also affected my decisions. I found myself reluctant to make long-term, strategic decisions, unless they HAD to be made NOW. If I could not avoid a decision, I found myself emphasizing its quality: was it the RIGHT thing to do NOW, without considering tomorrow? It was a liberating feeling, realizing that I did not have to worry about the CONSEQUENCES of these decisions. I would not be around to see the results. I felt DETACHED and FREE to make the best decisions I could, without anxiety, or second-guessing. It was wonderful – for a while, anyway.
I loved the detachment and freedom my secret gave me, but I hated the isolation of keeping my knowledge hidden. After one week, I finally broke down and told my two assistant principals about the transfer. My detached liberation from perceptions, interactions, and decisions ended when I shared my secret.
I wondered about that experience, on my drive to Staples Center, and its effects on my attitude and behavior. While keeping my secret, during those last days at Shangri-la, every encounter, interaction and decision was my last. That realization heightened their importance and increased the need for RIGHTNESS in each. Is that what it feels like to live your days as though they were your last? It must come close.
Other ramifications of this theory struck me as well. I existed, for a period, in a state of personal freedom and emotional detachment, created by my (secret?) knowledge of “limited permanence”. I knew that I only had two remaining months at Shangri-la. I am now coming upon my last two years (or less) in my job at MASH Middle School, before I retire. Can I live these last two years as I lived those remaining weeks at Shangri-la? Can I treat every personal encounter and human interaction as though it were my last? Can I make decisions based only on “rightness”- taking action based on fairness and compassion? Those last weeks gave me the chance to savor Shangri-la Middle School, before I left. I absorbed the people, students, buildings, grass, trees, and murals. I took it all in, before leaving. It was a gift. I hope I can savor my time at MASH Middle School with the same love and longing as Shangri-la.
It began with a simple memory:
I recalled the day in May, 2005, when my District Superintendent told me that I was being transferred to MASH Middle School the following July. Even though the Superintendent had questioned me earlier in the year about career options and school preferences, this news came as a complete surprise, and it was hard to accept. I had spent 10 years as principal of Shangri-la Middle School, and could not envision myself anywhere else.
I fell in love with Shangri-la Middle School from the moment I first laid eyes on it. Hidden away, in a verdant, tree lined, residential enclave in the mid-San Fernando Valley, it looked like middle schools were supposed to look, solid and timeless. Its architectural style was pre-World War II, although it was built after the war. Three, two-story, brick buildings housed the Administration and Humanities, Sciences, and Physical Education departments. It also had 4 freestanding, one story buildings, the Cafeteria and Dining Room, Industrial Arts, Auditorium, and Band Room. All of these building revolved around a grassy, central quad area, bordered by rows of leafy, Chinese Elm trees. It was a beautiful and idyllic place. I was assigned there in July of 1995.
Sandwiched in those ten years, were some of my best and most difficult experiences as a principal. I met, hired, and worked with teachers who would become lifelong friends, or respected colleagues. I encountered some individuals who committed thoughtless or unethical acts that caused me major periods of grief and anguish. I learned how to admit making mistakes, trust teachers and staff members, and ask for, and receive, their help on many occasions. I allowed myself to be silly at that school. I even had some successes in increasing student achievement, attendance, and intellectual development. In those ten years, I mastered the practice of school leadership, and I became a competent principal.
It was only after a concerted effort by my Superintendent, and the then-principal of MASH Middle School, that I begrudgingly resigned myself to the transfer, but I had very mixed feelings about it. I was depressed and saddened at the prospect of change, and I was scared of leaving a comfortable position, and people I knew and trusted. At the same time, I was proud and flattered by the confidence exhibited by my Superintendent at placing me in a high profile and challenging school. However, the biggest hurdle was the instruction to keep the news of this transfer secret.
This request (order, really), posed a moral dilemma for me, because I shared all school news and information with my two assistant principals. We had worked, suffered, and celebrated together for 10 years, and I trusted them completely. We were partners in the running of the school, and partners need access to all relevant information. Even though we had different personalities, working styles, and problem-solving approaches, we were an excellent and talented team. These two women complimented my strengths as a principal, and mitigated my weakness. No matter how intimidating the problem or emergency, I knew that by sharing it, we could vanquish it. However, this secret wasn’t a problem, it was an order. I even saw the logic and need for the secrecy, I just didn’t like it. Against my better judgment, I agreed to tell no one, except my wife.
Keeping that secret knowledge had the strangest effect on me. I was suddenly, the only person at school who knew that I would NOT be there in two months. I found that this knowledge gave me a wonderful sense of freedom, and changed how I viewed and treated people and interactions, and how I was making decisions.
The first thing I noticed was that annoying and troublesome people did not irritate me as they did before. Whining and complaining simply became styles of communication or behaviors, not personality traits. I listened, accepted, or ignored what they had to say, without judging them. I recognized what they DID as teachers, sponsors, or people, and not what they DIDN’T DO. I accepted them for who they were, faults and all, and not for who they weren’t. I found that after 10 years of rubbing each other the right and wrong way, we had become like the smooth and rounded pebbles I find on the shore of a river.
I also noticed that my interactions and encounters with people only had a PRESENT; I no longer worried about future ramifications, or consequences. I was meeting people whom I might never meet again, and listening to issues on which I would never have to act. I would discuss things that I might never have to judge. Therefore, all contacts had to be weighed in terms of NOW, the present. There might never be a tomorrow with these people.
This unique perspective also affected my decisions. I found myself reluctant to make long-term, strategic decisions, unless they HAD to be made NOW. If I could not avoid a decision, I found myself emphasizing its quality: was it the RIGHT thing to do NOW, without considering tomorrow? It was a liberating feeling, realizing that I did not have to worry about the CONSEQUENCES of these decisions. I would not be around to see the results. I felt DETACHED and FREE to make the best decisions I could, without anxiety, or second-guessing. It was wonderful – for a while, anyway.
I loved the detachment and freedom my secret gave me, but I hated the isolation of keeping my knowledge hidden. After one week, I finally broke down and told my two assistant principals about the transfer. My detached liberation from perceptions, interactions, and decisions ended when I shared my secret.
I wondered about that experience, on my drive to Staples Center, and its effects on my attitude and behavior. While keeping my secret, during those last days at Shangri-la, every encounter, interaction and decision was my last. That realization heightened their importance and increased the need for RIGHTNESS in each. Is that what it feels like to live your days as though they were your last? It must come close.
Other ramifications of this theory struck me as well. I existed, for a period, in a state of personal freedom and emotional detachment, created by my (secret?) knowledge of “limited permanence”. I knew that I only had two remaining months at Shangri-la. I am now coming upon my last two years (or less) in my job at MASH Middle School, before I retire. Can I live these last two years as I lived those remaining weeks at Shangri-la? Can I treat every personal encounter and human interaction as though it were my last? Can I make decisions based only on “rightness”- taking action based on fairness and compassion? Those last weeks gave me the chance to savor Shangri-la Middle School, before I left. I absorbed the people, students, buildings, grass, trees, and murals. I took it all in, before leaving. It was a gift. I hope I can savor my time at MASH Middle School with the same love and longing as Shangri-la.
