Toward a Generosity of Time
Why the clock works against our better instincts as parents and teachers
Our relationship with time is at the heart of our struggles as parents and teachers. And perhaps it’s a gateway toward change as well.
It hit me on the most average of pre-pandemic mornings. I was pinballing around the apartment, getting ready to go to work. Going through my mental checklist—laptop, coffee thermos, all the usuals. One eye was on the clock, tracking when I needed to leave to catch my train. Mentally I was already an hour ahead, thinking about my to-do list for the day. Then, just as I was ready to go, my 5 year old daughter had a meltdown. Right at the front door.
The first thought that came to mind was not my wisest moment as a parent: it was a frustrated, “I don’t have time for this!” Luckily I didn’t say it. But I acted like it. I sat down to find out what was going on with her while at least half of my mind was anxiously wondering if I could run and still make it to the train. In my time-stressed mode, her needs felt like an obstacle. Not for the first time either.
That phrase — I don’t have time for this! — rang in my ears. It felt wrong, and it felt very familiar.
In a classroom, how often do teachers have to ignore the potentially rich learning of a social or emotional situation, because they feel already behind in their curriculum?
At home, how often do parents give up on important learning moments, like teaching your child to cook dinner with you, because time is short and you need to get something done quickly (i.e. by doing it yourself rather than inviting a child into the process)?
As school leaders, how often are valuable activities dropped because of the demands of "seat time" for certain subjects, or the fear that we're running out of time to prepare our students for whatever level of education comes next?
Our relationship with time is at the heart of our greatest challenges as teachers or as parents. And perhaps it’s a gateway toward change as well.
Many of us live with profound time anxiety, almost as a default state in the modern world. And we pass it on to our kids. We chop their day up into arbitrary fragments and constantly shuffle them along from task to task, class to class. In doing so we teach them to be passive, by virtue of having such constantly managed and fragmented schedules that they never have time to lose themselves in their own interests, or even discover what those are. I could go on, but let's turn the corner.
How might we become generous with time? Here are a handful of ideas, some wilder than others, proposed as experiments:
How could we make peace with time for ourselves first? I was struck by Cal Newport's book Deep Work, which argues compellingly for the need to simplify our fragmented schedules and find ways to grant ourselves longer stretches of focus. Granted this is an act of privilege in many ways, but no less valuable an aspiration. I was particularly struck by his argument that long stretches of uninterrupted focus, apart from letting us be more creative and do more important work, are simply more pleasurable.
What if we gave our family a break from "clock time"? I could imagine experiments where, say on a day off with friends or kids, you agree to pay no attention to time, if possible even to remove watches or other devices which might remind you of the time. Just to try it out. Especially during an experience you want to savor.
What if we saw precision as a warning sign? When class times start at 1:21, or students have a 4 minute passing period, we're talking about the kinds of times that can be programmed into a computer. These are not human rhythms of time. Excessive precision with time is a sign that we're in poor relationship to it. What would it look like if periods in school schedules started on the hour, or every other hour?
What if we gave kids enough time to eat and socialize? Research shows that in many schools, kids eat poorly because their lunch periods are simply too short. It's not unusual to have only 20 minutes. They may understandably prefer to socialize if that's their only time to hang out with friends. Or with only a tiny bit of time to eat, they may eat whatever is quick and easy, like a bag of chips, and not something more nutritious. What if we gave them 45 minutes or an hour? Time to eat, play, and socialize? As a former school principal, I see the many obstacles to this idea, but if I had to choose an extreme, I'd rather have a schedule with an hour lunch versus 20 minutes.
Could we integrate natural rhythms of time in our family or school lives? One of the remarkable things about modern life, at least in suburbs and cities, is how little nature intrudes. Sunrises and sunsets are barely noticed. Temperature changes outside don't affect us 95% of the time. Rhythms like the phases of the moon are far from our minds. What if we purposefully included natural rhythms in our schedules? This could mean including seasonality in the school year, timing terms around it, or festivals or events to acknowledge the seasons. Or orienting classes to study what's happening now, like learning about pollination when it's springtime. Or challenging students to follow a natural rhythm, like the phases of the moon, in daily journaling. I haven't seen research on this, but I would bet that feeling more aware of and connected to natural rhythms would have an anxiety-lowering effect.
Could we release the notion that productivity is a function of time? I know this is a tall order—this notion is deeply embedded in our culture. But the pandemic has shaken this up, and there have been some fascinating public experiments recently in which companies have reduced their workweek without seeing a decrease in productivity (and they do see an increase in happiness and employee retention).
While we're at it: could we release the notion that idle time is dangerous for kids? One of the saddest examples of how little we trust our kids, and how often we curtail their creativity out of our fears, is the old notion that "idle hands are the devil's workshop." Don't we adults need idle time, when the mind can wander, we can rest or play, or enjoy a book or a game? Everyone needs this. And adolescents have schedules as busy or busier than many adults. If we want them to become more independent, to tinker toward discovering their own passions and interests, they need idle time. For further inspiration here, check out a wonderful book called The Idle Parent.
Back at my front door that morning, sitting next to a sobbing five year old, it was all too clear that my relationship with time was out of whack. It would take me many, many more such moments to find more clarity. Finally I realized that the school I had co-founded and was leading contained a profound design flaw. For all that we had built an extraordinary school, creating deep learning experiences every day for our students, many of the adult roles were just too much. I routinely worked 60+ hours per week as a school leader, as did many faculty and staff. This is not ok.
If we’re going to design better schools, ones that can draw out the innate wisdom, kindness, and capability in young people, then we might start by making them healthy places for the adults to be. And if we’re going to be the kind of parents we aspire to be, we’ll need to start with our own well-being. We can do this. Let’s begin with time.
A few other things…
Talking of teacher well-being: I recently wrote a piece for Education Reimagined talking about teacher and student well-being, called How to Transform Schools: Put Wellness at the Center.
Book update: Since the Kickstarter campaign for Finding the Magic in Middle School wrapped up a few weeks ago, I've been busy working with my wonderful editor and book manager, revising and refining the manuscript. I honestly expected this step of the process to be a bit painful, maybe because I never loved editing as a student, but it's been surprisingly creative. The book is about to head off to the copy-editor, meaning that the text is just about finalized (gulp! Does any author feel totally settled when they have to stop fine-tuning their text? This one does not). But onward it goes, and after copy-editing it will go to a typesetter, designer, and indexer each in turn. I can’t wait to get this book out to the general public in September!
Advisory Training: This summer, through Argonaut, I’m co-leading a two-day teacher training on SEL Advisory Facilitation. It’s July 28-29 in San Francisco. We have a fantastic crew of teachers from all over coming together, and a few open spots remaining. Details here!