I suppose it is the controlling part of me that does this: prioritize, scrutinize, finalize; expect, predict, and adapt. Progress.The enthusiastic, lets-do-this part of me just tags along, usually with an inexplicable grin.

While preparing this post, I kept thinking what a massive mistake it was not to write individual articles on the sessions I’ve given, and in a timely fashion – but, let’s face it, I simply couldn’t put myself in the process. Perhaps it was my troubled state of mind that kept me from blogging. When I actually sat down to blog, I feared the blank page in front of me would deter me further, only to discover that it all felt very comfortable. I had forgotten how deeply I cherish blank pages.

Still, there were things to be written. I dug out my conference notebook from the conference backback (yes, I do have a specially dedicated notebook and backpack for conferences). It took about an afternoon of reading through until the pattern emerged; feedback. Feedback. F E E D B A C K. And things rolled off in their unstoppable manner.

I separate the sessions I give in two broad categories: ELT & Non-ELT; the first being any form of sharing with language educators, and the second including all the professional, corporate trainings and fund-raising sessions. That’s how they appear in my GDrive, and even though there’s quite a lot going on in those folders that requires cleaning up, it’s unmistakable:

I still don’t have one solid way of 1:collecting feedback and 2:modifying practice accordingly. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though. Can we keep one form of receiving feedback on what we do and share? I think not. Can we adapt our practice following one specific route for everything? Not really. It might be helpful (easy?) to have a go-to list of tick-boxes, but I’ve found those boxes can multiply alarmingly fast and very often lead to a “far too much to tick” scenario.

And as I might have mentioned before, I truly detest lists.
Others simply adore them. Crazy people.
Now, I’m sure I read somewhere that people, teachers even, get off (oops) on ticking the unticked…I’ll find that research and update the post accordingly. You know, we get our self-assuring and heart-warming gift of completing a task, and it means more to us than the task itself… which, practically, means nothing. Honestly.

I don’t want a list of to-do’s. Or one of not-to-do’s. The list I might comply with would have to include the inevitable queries, and whether they were answered, somehow.

I long for the on-the-hop feedback. The sideways looks when my forced, getting-to-know-you joke just flops. The quinchy eyes when the slide on my crucial presentation point just squeezed itself on the bottom corner, of its own accord, and everyone is leaning forward, to make sense of it.

There are ways, yes. During my time serving for the Tesol Greece Board, the young and restless joining us had plenty to share. All done through your smartphone, with two or three clicks. I mean, even that bothered me. Perhaps I’m older than I wish I were. Or maybe we have decided to call things that hinder our practice, breakthroughs.

Nothing, nothing, beats your connection with your audience. And it takes work, hard work, to know them. To anticipate their reactions, to see through their needs. To catch a glimpse of the one sitting at the half- back, inevitably going through some social media platform, and call them out.

Maybe I have become too harsh in my quest for feedback. Maybe, just maybe, I ask too much? Or is it that those listening are simply there because they suppose they must? To keep their job, to keep their ego moderated, to keep their employer satisfied that they’ve done their bit?

I do use several online platforms for feedback. Polls, surveys, boards. It gives up the numbers. But true feedback is physical. Eyes, limbs and stances. I think.

I haven’t found any app to measure those (if you, reading through this, do, oh please let me know!).

And though a dissection seems inevitable, I opt for the quiet, where-did-this-lead-us result. I ask it, openly. And I must say, I get answers.

Are we too fixated on revered previous practice maybe? Have we left ourselves out of the process?

Here’s me, the little mind working in questions.

There is (must be) more coming.

Sit still.

Time is an odd structure. I’ve always had difficulty in dealing with it, understanding it. I suppose it was my reinvent-the-wheel moment when it occurred to me that time is what you make of it.

We’ve spent a year in lockdown, our nation of people. We’ve been afraid, cautious, angered. And determined. We’ve been everything we used to be, and also someones we would never dream of being.

I, for one, couldn’t have imagined myself staying indoors for more than twenty-four hours. And yet, days and weeks have gone by, while I went about chores, lessons, office hours, teaching, learning and studying. All within four walls. I won’t say it’s been horrible, because it hasn’t. I’ve caught up with those little things that are always swept away – until there was enough time. I’ve kept in touch with the people that matter most – and to whom I thankfully matter the most in turn. I have crafted. I have cooked. I have written. I have kept my practice (my dream?) going forward.

But.

I cannot lie. There is one thing I’ve missed: physical contact. Actual, face-to-face contact. The smiles and grunts of my students’ faces. The hugs with my #RP group at the start of every meeting. The hugs with my family. I’ll admit to being a very literally, seriously touchy-feely person. It just means so much. And I’ve been deprived of it, to keep us all safe. I wasn’t sure I could cope, but, hey, we have so far. Which made me think harder about what actually works for me best: is physical contact a necessity? Or am I rebelling against principles? Yes, I’m told what to do and what not to do. Is that my issue?

Seeing as I couldn’t come to a conclusion on this, I turned to my companions – a peculiar term in our case, perhaps, but how would you call those who share your journeys in equal measure of awe? Our meeting was awkward at first, being confronted with the screen and all the usual online bits and pieces. After having ensured we could all see and hear each other, the moment of truth came with vengeance: we were supposed to initiate a discussion on translanguaging – perceptions, undestanding and maybe practices; but we didn’t. We couldn’t. We looked at each other, hopeful, expecting one of us to just say the words: we can’t deal with this.

Iliana sent a message, a smiley face. And I smiled back at my screen, watching all seven of us follow suit. It takes one, doesn’t it? Well, ladies, let’s talk rebellion.

And we did. It didn’t really matter that our day topic was instantly rejected, put in the bin both online and offline. That might have been our topic on a normal day. But these days are anything but normal. So we rebelled against ourselves, our every day teacher-selves. We each brought our coffees and teas to support us, next to our keypads. And we began our #RP cycle at carte blanche. Our fears, our struggles. Our successes. Us.

Isn’t it nice to simply begin anew sometimes? Don’t people feel invincible when in the company of like-minded peers? I did. I felt empowered. I deeply and sincerely felt the proof that no matter what you have planned, there is always something you could not have foreseeen. And I truly love those moments.