Why be kind anyway?

Stepping off the train, somewhere on London’s Central line recently, I noticed an advert asking the community of underground commuters to submit their stories of kindness on the Tube.

The request, I later discovered, comes from artist Michael Landy, a man determined to celebrate what he calls ‘everyday generosity and compassion on the Tube’ by collecting and sharing these tales of hope as works of art.

Here’s an example:

“I was going through a difficult time and I was crying on the train from Victoria to Clapham Junction. A girl offered me a tissue from a hand-made little cotton purse. Her grandmother made it especially for her to hold hankies. I couldn't tell her why I was crying or stop. But the care that purse was made with and the love it represents, somehow made things a little better.” (Anonymous)

The project got me thinking: What’s the point of kindness anyway?   What is the relationship between kindness and risk?  And, perhaps the most difficult question of all, is there still a place for random acts of kindness in a world where altruism tends to be treated with curiosity and suspicion?

In 2009, psychologist Adam Phillips and historian Barbara Taylor published a book entitled, On Kindness.  Their key question: Why do we ‘generally see independent people as strong and charitable people as dumber or less developed’?  And how did we ‘get to a place in human history in which … we interpret small acts of random kindness as suspect – as a repressed need to be recognized, as a sign of an overly submissive nature, or even as a symptom of mental illness’? (Psychology Today)

Phillips and Taylor conclude that, in contrast to the Enlightenment view that we are all naturally greedy (Hobbes), there is, in fact, something out there called ‘kindness’ – a way of being that reaches beyond our self-obsession and embraces risk and vulnerability for the sake of others.

In short, the girl on the tube who took a moment to offer the stranger a tissue from her grandmother’s purse was taking a risk, making herself vulnerable and doing something intrinsically good and creative.

That makes sense to me.  

Far away, in another land across the sea, a group of people sat in a room and tried to come up with the top-10 reasons why people look beyond themselves and give (make donations) to schools.  I never once heard kindness mentioned.  But increasingly I’m convinced that people give because, in the end, its right – it's a risk, an act of generosity, that throws up new and creative opportunities for everyone involved.

So who will smile because of you tomorrow?

Climbing out of the cave of school admissions

Some ideas are worth playing with, just to see what floats to the surface.

For some years now, I’ve been fascinated by the question of how we come to know the Truth.  What are the conditions, in other words, in which people suddenly see meaning amidst all of the white noise and find that everything makes perfect sense?

Plato was one of the first to kick this conversation off.  For him, the pursuit of Truth involved looking inwards and simply remembering what was innately present within the human soul.

Most of us will recall his allegory of the cave, illustrated below.  You’ll notice the captives.  They are the poor, helpless unenlightened ones (the majority) who think they are seeing things clearly.  In fact, though, they are faced the wrong way and only watching the projected images of the cave-dweller higher up the cave.

Coming to know the Truth, says Plato, is a journey in which the captive rids herself of her ties and begins the long and lonely ascent up out of the cave into the sunlight.

So what has any of this got to do with school admissions?

Here’s my thinking.  What if we replaced the word ‘captives’ with ‘prospects’? 

Doesn’t this somehow capture the desperate and unenlightened state of so many families as they seek the truth of what school is best for their children?  Oftentimes, these families are led to believe that the images they see are ‘real’.  We know, however, that these websites, brochures and social media platforms are only the projected images of the marketing team who hide behind a wall a little higher up the cave.

And yet, despite the darkness and the flickering reflections, a family will often make that choice and begin the lonely ascent towards the first day of school.

So does it end there?  Absolutely not!  The route, these days, is treacherous and fraught with danger along the way.  Even the more resolute will become exhausted by the number of forms we ask to be completed.  Not to mention the ever-present peril of life of a waiting list.

Of course, none of this is true.  I’m just kidding.  Playing with an idea that was never intended for this purpose.

It does make you think, though, doesn’t it?

Defining the future of school admissions

In his book, Where Good Ideas Come From: The Natural History of Innovation (Riverhead, 2010), Steven Johnson examines how and why innovation occurs. 

Addressing this question from an environmental perspective, he is particularly keen to explore the spaces that have historically led to unusual levels of creativity in individuals and organizations.  Change your environment, says Johnson, and there is a chance that what begins as a ‘slow hunch’ will connect with other ideas and, in time, provoke the start of something completely new.

Seven years ago, a group of admissions professionals from schools in Central and Eastern Europe had a hunch that they should sit around a table and begin to talk about their craft.  At a time when there was very little by way of professional development in this field and even less allocation of funds towards those wanting to be trained in this area, this certainly seemed like a good idea.  Surely no one around that table could have imagined, however, how determinative this ‘hunch’ was to be for the future of international school admissions across Europe.

Seven years later, to cut the story short, another group of admissions professionals came together in Brussels for an event entitled ‘Admissions Job-a-Like 2012’.  This time, though, one table was not enough as nearly 70 representatives from over 40 schools across Europe and beyond packed the conference room for a two day symposium on ‘The State Of Our Art’.

Hosted by the International School of Brussels, there was plenty to talk about as conversations focused on some of the most pressing questions of the day: How do we define our role within a learning organization? What kind of policy and protocol will support the work we do? How do we manage and make sense of the data we have to manage?  When and how does admissions connect to the Advancement Office?

“The thing that I’ll take away from this event,” said Kathy Messick from the American School of the Hague, “is the fact that this kind of gathering keeps us strong and cohesive.  Another person’s challenge may also be ours and this is an opportunity to support each other and come away with real strategies.”

So is it simply the case that 70 people sit in a room together, share the ‘pain’, hope to have good ideas, and shape the future of international school admissions?  Whilst it might be true to say that the wisdom is ‘in the crowd’, it is almost certainly a little more complicated than that.  And one of the most exciting aspects of this year’s gathering was the support offered by the events sponsors, bringing a new perspective to the various conversations.  Finalsite spoke about the emerging role of digital technology in telling the story of our schools, as well as linked up with the event organizers to develop an online collaboration space to keep the conversations going.  Similarly, Faria Systems were there to listen to the needs of admissions professionals as they develop a range of new, supportive software applications in this field.  Perhaps most significantly, however, Jean Vahey, Executive Director of ECIS, was also present and spoke of the historical lack of good professional development in this field and the ways in which ECIS will be looking to support this critical function in the future.

At the beginning of this gathering, an idea was dropped into the conversation.  Admissions, it was suggested, is akin to the maieutic art of bringing people to the moment of decision, understanding and choice.  In short, the role of the admissions professional is, contrary our misperceptions, a critical educational function within our schools, not simply a secretarial point of information.

So what’s the future of school admissions?  None of us have a crystal ball, but there’s a ground-swell of opinion out there and a bunch of questions that are not going away about the relationship of this function to the story of the school and the need for some kind of certification for those who are just getting started.  The conversation from this year’s Job-a-Like is almost certainly going to keep on growing and they will be demanding new kinds of spaces in which to share, learn and reflect together. 

So if your school was not involved this time around, it probably should have been.  Watch this space and look out for the ideas that begin to come from it.

Some people have all the luck

Once upon a time, a large rock stood next to the sea.  Not even the force of a hundred men could move it.

Then, one day, a man known to be carrying the evil eye remarked upon the stone, whereupon it immediately cracked in two.  Such is the power of the evil eye, at least according to Turkish tradition.

It is for this reason that the Nazar amulet, still today, can be seen all over this region of the world, dangling from the bumpers of taxi cabs, pinned to the clothes of babies, built into modern office buildings, guarding doorways and worn as earrings or necklaces.  Turkish people remain convinced that, with it, they are protected from bad energy around them.

Walking through the woods on a sunny spring afternoon, a hundred million miles away from where this tale first began, two seven-year old philosophers were heard talking about luck.

It was international festival day at their school, a huge celebration of cultural diversity, tradition and, critically, extremely good food.

The day had begun with a visit to the Irish Stand.  The luck of the Irish may be famous, but on this occasion the ‘lucky dip’ did not impress.  Personally, though, I wasn’t sure what they expected for 50 cents a go.

It was gift of a Turkish eye at a nearby stand that really caught their attention this year.

Back in the forest, the conversation was now in full swing between Juliette and her philosopher mentor and friend, the little girl from just a little further down the street – who also just happened to be Irish.

I listened in with interest.

“I got this from the International Festival today.  It is supposed to bring you luck,” Juliette explained.

The little girl glanced at the amulet hanging around Juliette’s neck and replied that she too had one in her bedroom.  However, she added, the luck in hers had all run out.

“What do you mean ‘run out’?” Juliette asked.  “Do you mean like when a printer runs out of ink?”

“Exactly!” her friend replied. 

I could tell that Juliette was intrigued with the idea and wasn’t about to let it go. 

“Perhaps it hasn’t run out entirely,” she pondered.  “Perhaps it still protects you when you go to sleep?”

The girls walked in silence for a moment.

“I don’t think it does protect me when I sleep,” her friend declared, at last.  “because I don’t believe it works at all when I have my eyes closed.”

As the Spring sun shone through the trees and illuminated our path, I thought how lucky both girls were to have this opportunity to talk to one another and consider questions that, in the end, probably none of us can answer.

All aboard the (broken) family train

The train from London Paddington left from platform eight.

By the time I reached the station, I knew that I’d be one of the last to alight and, as usual, the choice of available seats was limited.  Bags in one hand and coffee in another, I politely asked the woman in the corner if the seat next to her was free.

Apart from the fact that her coat may have needed to be laid out flat, it was clear that no one was occupying this seat.  The combination of her frown and audible expression of frustration made it clear, however, that she was far from happy with my ‘intrusion’.

As the train pulled out of the station, I could feel the tension and hoped that the next station would give me an excuse to move and find another spot. 

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the vibe.

Twenty minutes later, I was woken by a tourist trying to pronounce our first destination stop.  After years of observation, I have to conclude that our friends from the US find it hardest to announce their arrival in a place named Slough.  Nine times out of ten, it comes out as ‘sloff’ or ‘slew’.

I smiled to myself and then remembered my neighbour.  I bet she wasn’t smiling, I thought.  But I could hardly dare to look.

Then, all of a sudden, she tapped me on my shoulder.  My heart sank and I prepared to defend my position.  Except that, when I turned towards her, I saw a kindness in her face that wasn’t there before.

‘I just wanted to say,’ she said, ‘in case you were getting off here that I’m sorry for how I was with you before.  It is just that I am about to have a really bad weekend and I took it out on you.  Please forgive me.’

It wasn’t at all what I expected her to say.  Not this side of sloff, anyway.

I quietly said that it was okay.  I was sorry she was going to have a bad weekend, I added.

This was her cue to tell me her story.  Her parents were recently divorced and this weekend she would be visiting them in Oxford for the first time in separate houses.  She explained how hard it was for her to make sense of what had happened.

I smiled sympathetically and went back to my book. 

If only she knew, I thought to myself.  I’ve been on this journey for years now, a divorced dad aboard the train of modern family life; trying my best to keep travelling closer towards those I love most in all the world; sometimes struggling myself to make sense of having children in separate homes – in separate countries.

As the train reached its final destination, the American family, I noticed, were busy gathering their things and excitedly debating how to pronounce Magdalen College.  I wanted to turn to my neighbour and let her know that it really was going to be okay; that even a broken home can provide a homecoming.  I wanted to tell her that I was trying to make sense of everything too and that I truly believe that, in the end, these things will all be well.

But before I had a chance to say anything at all, I noticed that she was already on her way.