The Spoiler-Free "Stranger Things" Binge

I’ve done several “kind-of” television binges over the past few years. For me, this involves watching somewhere between two and four episodes of a show per day until I’ve finished the season or the series. I typically save this behavior for when I’m on a break from school and have time to waste, because the hardest thing for me about ever doing a real binge of intentionally watching one episode right after another would be eating up so much time. I usually can only go a few hours at most before I start giving into the feeling that there has to be more important things for me to be doing other than just slowly wearing out my recliner. Today, however, was an exception.

I’ve been hearing and reading a lot about the excitement surrounding a new show on Netflix called "Stranger Things." I purposefully avoided learning what it was about, other than how it was billed as a type of throwback series similar to some of mildly-to-somewhat scary childhood adventure movies that those of us who came of age in the 1980s loved so dearly, like "The Goonies," "Poltergeist," "Ghostbusters," "Back to the Future," "E.T." or even "Big Trouble in Little China" — stories that put ordinary people (often kids our age) into fantastical situations. I decided if "Stranger Things" measured up to even half of the hype it was getting, it would be worth a day of television watching. Luckily there were only 8 episodes, and each of them came in at just under an hour. That added up to way more TV than I would ever accidentally watch in a 24-hour period, but it seemed manageable. 

When I woke up this morning knowing I planned on devoting the better part of a day to watching TV, I actually felt a little trepidation about it. In fact, even though I was up way too early for a Saturday, I started the day by finishing off a book I was reading, working through a chapter of revisions, and doing some house-cleaning, all so I hopefully wouldn’t feel like I had more important things to do. I gotta say, it worked like a charm. Even though I worked in breaks between most episodes, I pretty much watched the entire series straight through. 

I won’t spoil anything about it because I think it’s best to go into it knowing as little as possible, but I will say the tone was reminiscent of some of the movies I listed above, and it captured the time period in which it was set (the early 1980s) very well. Happily the whole show was also structured like a book, so each episode picked up right where the one before it had left off. In a lot of ways it was more like a seven hour movie than a series, or even like not so much listening to an audio book, but watching a video book. For me that’s usually a characteristic of a good show.

I can remember a handful of times from high school when I would get home from seeing one of those classic '80s adventures in a theater, and I’d still be pumped with creative fuel that needed burning off. Too often though, because there were some big high school dry spells when I wasn’t writing much, I never had the outlet I needed, and I’d end up lying in bed with my head too spun up for me to ever fall asleep. Today I got to take advantage of that same buzz, and hurried into the office to do some revision work after the episodes that left me with something in mind I thought I could use. 

If you haven’t seen "Stranger Things" yet and think you’d enjoy an adventure thriller focusing on kids (and some adults who seem to know less about what’s going on than the kids do), you should give this show a try. 

Maybe you won’t have the time to watch it straight through, but I think you’ll probably wish you could. 

Reaching for the Growth Mindset

One of the books I’ve read this summer is Mindset: The New Psychology of Success by Carol Dweck. The ideas it discussed were fascinating. Here’s what it looks like, if you’re curious:

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. 

The Music of Friendship

A couple of weeks ago, I met up with my friend Dax in Nashville to attend a pair of concerts. This was the annual “Morsefest,” when Neal Morse, one of our favorite musicians, puts on special concerts over a weekend for the fans who are die-hard enough to travel all the way to Nashville (from Minneapolis and Seattle, in our cases) to see them. Normally I wouldn’t go to such lengths for a concert, or even two, but this was an exception. Neal’s former band, Spock’s Beard, was staging a once-in-a-lifetime reunion with every person who had ever played in the band, to perform their double album “Snow” in its entirety, something that had never been done before and likely won’t ever happen again. Since “Snow” could very well by my all-time favorite album, this was definitely worth the trip. 

“Snow” was being performed the second night. The first night was Neal and some other musicians he’s played with over the years putting on an acoustic Storytellers show. I knew all of the other musicians except one, a guitarist in Neal’s current band named Eric Gillette. His acoustic guitar playing was so smooth and skillful that I looked him up when I got home and downloaded his solo album. I was surprised when I heard it since it was more hard rock compared to what he’d done at Morsefest, but he still played with the same level of virtuosity. By the time I was halfway through the album, I knew I’d be listening to it a lot this summer, and would likely get to know the songs on it pretty well. 

When I realized this, it occurred to me that listening to and getting to know a new album or a new favorite song is a lot like starting a new friendship, since you’re willingly building an emotional attachment to something you’ve invited into your life. You start out by making first impressions and learning more about the person, or the music, as time goes on. People have different characteristics that don’t always surface until you get to know them better, just like a piece of music has nuances that might not be noticed right away. The more time you spend with people or listen to music gives you more opportunities to learn about them, finding out things that might be pleasant surprises, like a deeper sense of humor, or a harmony you hadn’t isolated before. Of course this also means you might discover some more off-putting traits too, like a cruel snarkiness the person tries to hide, or a trite lyrical passage in an otherwise good song. In either case, you have to consider all of the positives and negatives together to decide how important that person or that music will be to you.

The more I thought about it, the more connections I saw between friendships and music. Just like it can be easier to get to know a person when they're introduced to you by someone you trust, you might be more willing to give an album a chance if it was recommended by someone who shares your musical taste. Favorite songs from long ago can bring back a flood of memories the same way catching up with an old friend can. We’ve all had people we’ve become close friends with very quickly only to have situations change when someone moves on to a different chapter of life, just like a new album can be overplayed when you first get it but then eventually fades out of rotation.

I suspect a lot of people have relationships inside their circles of friends that fulfill different needs, just like songs or albums might: friends we can talk to about anything, friends we know will always be there for us even if we haven’t seen them in years, friends who are liked by everyone and are always up for a good time, friends we connect with on deeper levels, friends that we probably wouldn’t have ever gotten to know if not for just accidental proximity, friends who are important to us even if we don’t always realize or acknowledge it because they’ve been around for so long.

During the first night at Morsefest, Dax spotted the bass player and the current drummer for Spock’s Beard sitting in the audience just two rows ahead of us. As we were leaving after the show, he acknowledged them with a friendly nod and said, “See you guys tomorrow night.” The thing was, we were far from the only people to see them. They weren’t disguised in ball caps and sunglasses or anything, but nobody at the show was making a scene about them being there, which is saying something when you consider this was in a venue filled with fans enthusiastic enough to travel from other time zones to see them play. 

I think because we all knew their music so well and it had been such a companion for so many of us over the years, we viewed them with a comfortable familiarity. Inside of that, it was enough to respectfully acknowledge them and let them enjoy their night.

They may not have been our friends themselves, but they had at least introduced us to some important ones.