I first encountered the idea of mindset, at least as presented in this book, less than a year ago, at a day-long district meeting (those of you who know me in the real world know that such meetings are typically my kryptonite). Much of the afternoon on this day focused on the ideas of growth mindset and fixed mindset in the context of teaching. In a nutshell, a growth mindset is a belief that some degree of learning and progress can be made as long as the learner is willing, and hopefully eager, to put in the work required. A fixed mindset is a belief reinforcing the idea that a person’s abilities or intellect are more of a constant, and little to no significant growth is possible because of that. I’m oversimplifying this, but that covers the idea.
For example, imagine a student who has been scoring 25% on spelling tests for years. They don’t see any reason to study because they’re sure all the studying in the world isn’t going to change fact that they’re a bad speller. That would be the fixed mindset. A similar student with a growth mindset would consider why they were failing, think about what needed to be done differently, and follow through on a plan that would help them be more successful. Maybe they wouldn’t become a spelling bee champ overnight, if ever, but they likely would see results following the effort they put in while working toward that goal.
A lot of this rang true with me, and reinforced a belief I’ve held about teaching for decades: Effort and attitude are far greater indicators of student success than intelligence and ability. In fact, I included that on my list of twenty-four things I’d learned from teaching just months ago. (Click here to see that list.)
When my school had our own shorter inservice on the same topic this past spring, it got me thinking about how I could take advantage of these ideas in my instruction. The presenter gave us the name of the book mentioned above as a starting point. I bought a copy for myself and one for my teaching partner, since she was also interested in seeing what could be done. I kept a highlighter nearby as I read, collecting the passages I thought could be useful and making a list of the ideas I was thinking up along the way.
However, as I thought more about these ideas, it felt like a hollow exercise if I wasn’t going to examine my own mindsets, both in terms of my instruction and in my personal life. What successes could I claim that had benefitted from my approaching those areas with a growth mindset? And what about my failings, those areas I don’t want anyone to poke at because I’ve already poked them raw myself? If I’m being honest, how many of those things resulted from my determining success was beyond my reach? (And isn’t it already an indication of a fixed mindset if I refer to those things as “my failings?”)
To protect myself from having to admit too many uncomfortable truths online, and to keep from coming across as a raging braggart, I’m going to discuss only one example of how each of these mindsets has somehow figured into my life.
FIXED MINDSET
It’s no secret I’m not a fan of the philosophy behind “data-driven instruction.” In fact, I think that phrase has been reduced to a lazy buzzword label representing nearly everything wrong with 21st century education. Data-guided? Data-informed? Sure. Fine. Data has a purpose. Data DRIVEN? No. Just no. That’s too much. I have a hard time reconciling the amount of professional time, effort, and discussion that goes into quantifying the intelligence, ability, and potential of the students I work with. I’ll still fall into step with the idea if I’m expected to as a part of my job, but I’m not putting much more enthusiasm into it than I would any other hoop I’m required to jump through.
All of this goes a long way in explaining why I hate spreadsheets so much.
Spreadsheets are the bane of my professional existence. The tidal wave of collected data that rolls through each school year demands organization, and spreadsheets are the most logical way to sort results according to student. Now, I know a little bit about how spreadsheets work, really just enough to create the necessary cross-references. But there are just so many features and formats and formulas involved that I never bothered to learn anything more than the bare minimum needed to get the job done. All of these features, which I’m sure give tiny endorphin rushes to people with a better understanding of how spreadsheets work than me, seem like an overwhelming amount of detail to master.
Could I get better at spreadsheets? I’m sure I could. I’m reasonably tech savvy, and I already know a little bit about them so it’s not like I’d be starting from Square One. If I made it a personal goal to become an absolute spreadsheet jockey by the end of the coming school year, I’m sure I could do it. But it’s not important to me to develop that kind of fluency, so I’m not motivated to put in the necessary work. My mindset is fixed. If effort and attitude are greater indicators of success than intelligence and ability, then whether or not I COULD learn how to use spreadsheets won’t matter much if my effort and attitude aren’t there.
GROWTH MINDSET
It’s also no secret that writing is a big part of my life, and it really has been since childhood. But that doesn’t mean it’s never been frustrating.
For years upon years, everything about my writing was a hobby with a dream that seemed impossibly out of reach. I’d write stories I was proud of and shared them with a small number of trusted and encouraging people, who were never very critical. I tried sending a few manuscripts to publishers before deciding the odds were insurmountable, then put the stories I was quietly proud of back on a shelf to collect dust. I would read other books and marvel at the voices of authors writing at levels I was certain I’d never be able to achieve. Absolutely a fixed mindset in action here.
But all along I kept doing the work, and slowly I was getting better. Which brings us to a topic that has become so recurring here on the blog that I probably should create a label for it — agent love.
I got to a point where my writing was being taken seriously enough to earn some literary agent requests, and one offer. When Following Infinity convinced my agent, Carrie, to represent me and my work, it was validation on a level I never expected to see. Everything about the week we were putting together our agreement was rainbows and Skittles, and I couldn’t wait to see what would happen next. Then she sent me my first round of professional revision notes.
I was stunned, thinking, “But…I thought she LIKED my manuscript…why does she want me to get rid of this character, and that whole chapter, and add all of these things, and take out this section I love so much?” And so on. I was expecting she’d want a few tweaks here and there, but she was looking for changes far more substantial. Of course she also identified the things about it that she loved and wasn’t shy about telling me, which helped, but I was still facing a lot more work than I had expected. It didn’t occur to me until well afterward that her agreeing to represent me had as much to do with the potential she thought I had as it did with what she had already read.
After I got over the initial surprise of how far I still had to go, I told myself, “Well, okay. This is how it works in the big leagues. So suck it up, get to work, and show why you belong here.” After a few intense months of planning and revising, I had a new version for her, which she reviewed and responded to with a “Wow.” And then she sent more notes, because there were still ways to make it even better. That’s been our pattern for the past two years as we’ve set the groundwork over two separate manuscripts: She’ll review what I’ve done and give me things to work on (and usually she’s frustratingly dead-on with her notes), then I’ll take her suggestions and either meet, or sometimes even surpass, what she was hoping for. All of this back and forth work is about taking away every possible reason potential editors might consider passing on the work once its submitted. Going through all of that has pushed me into not only becoming a better writer, but also believing in myself as a writer more than I did before. Now when I submit something to her, I want to get notes back as soon as I can, because I crave that challenge. I want to see what I can learn, and build on, and do better than I did before. Working with her has pushed me into a growth mindset.
I feel like reflecting on these aspects of my life has given me a good strategy for starting the school year. I know each student I work with will come with their own combination of growth and fixed mindsets. If I can identify how they’re approaching new learning, I’ll know if they’re in a place more like me hating spreadsheets, or if they’re anxious to dive in and find out what they can still learn, like I am with writing.
Once I know that, I’ll have a better idea of how to modify my instruction and support them more effectively. Then I'll figure out what comes next, and give them opportunities to focus less on their intelligence and ability, and more on their effort and attitude.
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