November 9th

Our staff drafted this letter and all of us read it to our first period classes today. I choked up right around "Most importantly".

And remained more or less choked.

The storm of emotions within me today is mirrored in my students and colleagues. I am stunned. Afraid. Confused. Hurt. I feel stupid and naive and small. 

The first stage of grief is denial, manifested in me by spastically refreshing my news feed every 8 seconds expecting different results to appear. 

I've been zombie-like.
Ineffective and inefficient.
Defeated, deflated, and weary.

I knew this would be the case when I woke up and didn't want to come to work today. I wasn't sure how I'd face a room full of students looking to me to help them understand.

But at the same time. With them is the only place I could imagine being.

Tomorrow we dive back into the literature.
Reading closely and critically.
Unpacking the characters and conflicts and themes from all angles.
Learning about ourselves and our world.
The values we grapple with and the choices that make us who we are.

And this work. 
There's honestly nowhere I'd rather be.

Lifelong Runners

The New York City Marathon is today. When I lived there I considered it my favorite holiday.

I would spend most of the day cheering and watching zillions of people triumph through such an enormous feat, and it was always the most inspiring experience.

Eventually it inspired me to train and run it.
That was five years ago.

I can't feasibly describe how difficult it was. The time commitment was enormous. The physical pain was real. And it was the only endeavor I had ever undergone where I was truly unsure of a successful outcome.

I mean, college was really hard, but I knew I would graduate.
But this? I was giving it my all and there was no guarantee that it would be enough, that I would cross that finish line.

I did.

In the process I learned that I am capable of more than I ever credit myself. I met one of my best friends. My love for NYC deepened. I learned about the power of a ten-minute ice bath.

And most of all, I solidified a lifelong love of running.

+ + + + + + + +

This year I coached our school's Cross Country team.

Some background:
- I never ran Cross Country.
- I have never coached Cross Country.
- I have never really coached any sport.
- What is a Cross Country?

I approached this the only way I know how: Show up. Bring energy. Learn a lot.

Our squad is small but fierce. Every week I watched these kids pushed themselves to new levels. They ran hills and sprints and practiced strides and checked their form. They pushed through injuries and did funny-looking stretches in a group circle.

And their personal records improved.

This weekend four of them participated in the State championship meet.
They pushed themselves even harder.
They were inspired and intimidated by the stronger competition.

And began planning for next season.

Me too.

I'm excited to build this program with them. To nurture their love of running and the pursuit of personal challenges. To be on their sidelines and to see how far they'll go.

+ + + + + + + +

Riding the running high of this weekend, today I signed up for a half marathon in March.

I'm going to do something I've never done for myself before: set a time goal.
It's what the kids would want me to do.

I rushed through the clicking on the registration page.
Before I could talk myself out of training through the cold, dark winter.

The twisted love continues. Here I go.

Birthday. Taking stock.

I celebrated my birthday last weekend. 
With this poorly-lit restaurant bathroom selfie and other adventures.

I'm pausing to take stock.
To think about growing up. It looks different each year.

+ + + + + + + +

I'm working on confidence.

I used to feel like I was only pretending to know what's going on, and this year I've learned that:
a.) everyone's doing that.
b.) I usually do know.

I bought into fake it 'till you make it and didn't notice when I stopped faking it. When I wasn't paying attention my job turned into a career that I not only love, but am actually decent at most days. The kids tell me so, and teenagers are harsh critics and lousy liars.

I sell myself short. Mostly to myself.
And I feel like I have to prove things.

Who knows, maybe I will.

+ + + + + + + +

I live with my favorite person. 

We love being married and talk all the time about what it means.
And how many roles we're asking the other person to fill.

It's an impossible amount of person to be.

We make each other better, even when it's harder.

We laugh ourselves silly.

Our littlehouse doesn't have a dishwasher, which is the worst, so we spend most evenings washing and drying and listening to music in our tiny kitchen, which, even though it's the last thing either of us wants to be doing in the moment, is the best.

+ + + + + + + +

I'm really good at alone time. 
As in, I rarely feel lonely.
Even when I miss my people.

The people I'm closest to don't live nearby.
I miss seeing them and having my tribe, and I don't make a great effort to fix that.

I have one friend who uses a telephone. She calls me and we chat and it's wonderful.
Sometimes for a few minutes. Other times for a lot of them.
She's usually the one who dials.

It's not complicated.
It doesn't require a ton of effort.
It's an obvious win.

I can learn from this.

+ + + + + + + +

Most days I think, Dang, this is everything.

With fleeting thoughts of: Dang, is this it?

+ + + + + + + +

My mom is the happiest person you'll ever meet.
It takes practically nothing to bring her exquisite joy.

She's also the most grateful person I know.

These are undoubtedly connected.

She taught me the same.
And it really is everything.

Larissa Ignites

I work with incredible educators. Check out this talk by my amazing colleague in SLA's English department about Philadelphia schools and why we do the things we do. It's worth it.

Instagram Collaboration with T2T

I was so excited when the lovely folks at Teacher2Teacher reached out and asked me to collaborate on the T2T Instagram page. This fall I'm sharing about my classroom, my teacher feelings, and the self-care tidbits that keep me afloat in the tougher parts of the school year.

Read about my bright pink door at the end of the hallway and follow along for more in the coming weeks!

In My Brain // 13

I'm in the belly of the October whale. It kills me that my favorite month is so wholly consumed by schoolwork. Here are some goodies I've managed to think about with my remaining brain cells:

To The First Lady, With Love // Four essays (from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Gloria Steinem, Jon Meacham, and Rashida Jones) about Michelle Obama.

Jolene at 33 rpm // This slowed-down version sounds amazing.

City Of Women // Everything Rebecca Solnit writes is solid.

I want to go to there // The secret apartments of the New York Public Library

I used to remain politically neutral. Not so much in 2016.

This is what I'm currently reading (besides student essays) and loving so far.

September, Again

Every year, those of us in the schooliverse are violently jerked out of an extended span of unstructured time and expected to function normally in a tightly rigid schedule with limited bathroom breaks.

And every year I start hearing from my kids who graduated in the spring about where and what they're learning. Some grammar jokes, some book recommendations, some heyyyythatrandomthing.

And every year I wonder how I could possibly have a better year than the one before it. How will I ever be able to love these new kids as much as the old ones?

And then I do.

Like the Grinch. My heart just grows.

So here we go.

Classroom Color Inspiration

I'm starting the school year in a new classroom, and I decided to go all out and paint the space before moving into it. I get silly over things like this. I'll share some photos of the overhaul soon.

Choosing paint colors was pretty tough, so I decided to look through my collection. Yes, I collect pictures of colors and combinations.* I realize this is kind of weird, but it was definitely interesting for me to look back through the images to see that I'm apparently attracted to the same ones over and over.

For now, here is some color inspiration for your weekend!

*Images linked to sources

Your books: I want them.


You read.

You've shelved novels and essays and memoirs and nonfiction texts. There are so many titles that were picked for your book club, that came up at dinner parties with your friends, that you recommended to your family members.
Maybe your home is full of them. Shelves and shelves and shelves of ideas loved and consumed. From classics to new releases, intellectual challenges to beach reads.
Here's what I'm thinking: You should send them to me.

I don't want them for myself. I want them to fill my classroom. I want my students to be impossibly compelled to read them, to have that irresistible urge to READALLOFTHETHINGS -- the one I get when faced with the bookstore's beautifully organized table collections: "Books Everyone Should Read" or "Summer Reading" or "Staff Picks" ... every. time.

I don't have specific titles or types in mind. My students are as diverse as the bookshelves you can imagine. They grapple with complex ideas. They care about important issues. They're curious and thoughtful about the world we all live in. They read at high school and college levels. 

I'll take one or ten or a hundred books.  

Will you do it? Will you send an envelope or a box my way
(Will you remember that media mail is awesome?) 

Tell me how I can help.
Then let me thank you.

In My Brain // 12

I'm excited to share some of the things I've been reading and watching and nonstop talking about this summer.

OJ: MADE IN AMERICA // I cannot rave about this documentary enough. It's phenomenally done and incredibly thought-provoking. It will challenge your critical thinking skills in the best way, and the relevance of this roller coaster of a story is so valuable. It would be great if everyone could watch it so we could talk about it in great detail.

THE ARRANGEMENTS // This short story by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is told from the first person perspective of Melania Trump, and it's brilliant. I know it's fiction, but it weirdly feels like the most realistic or precise thing I've read about the Trumps. Adichie nails it (duh).


YELLOW BLUE YELLOW BLUE // My friend Steph Opitz wrote this essay about living in Kyrgyzstan. She's fabulous, and so are her words (mostly the English ones).

REVISIONIST HISTORY // Malcolm Gladwell's new podcast gives an interesting framework through which to think about and interpret our world. I know it overly simplifies and waters down complex issues and ideas, but it's still interesting and enjoyable (and worth exercising those critical thinking muscles).

Challenge Week // Art Is The Center of the Real World

It’s impossible to walk around Philadelphia and not catch a glimpse of Isaiah Zagar’s work. His large, colorful mosaics cover hundreds of walls, and his distinctive style has become a hallmark of our city.

When our students saw images of Zagar’s mosaics in class, they recognized them immediately. They began naming intersections, storefronts, and buildings in their neighborhoods and from their adventures in the city where they had seen similar works.

Then came the questions.

What is it made out of? How long did it take? What does it mean? Why does it look like that? How many of these are there? Are they only in Philly? What’s Isaiah Zagar like?

Inquiry is where we always start.

- - - - - - - -

My colleagues and I had never done a project quite like this. The four of us stood before the packed classroom, eager -- and a little nervous -- to see how something of this scope and scale would play out.

We were spearheading Challenge Week, a new school-wide initiative where all of SLA’s students would work in groups to participate in interdisciplinary projects that impacted our community beyond classroom walls. It was a massive undertaking that our staff agreed could have awesome outcomes.

We formed groups. Mine was comprised of three other teachers who taught a common group of 9th graders:

  • Melanie Manuel, who teaches students Spanish, is a long-time public art enthusiast. She came up with our project idea and built our collaborations and relationships around the city.
  • Erin Giorgio, who teaches students Math, is an expert at organizing the masses. She’s often the first to step up to tackle problems and make emergencies disappear.
  • Carla Johnson, who joined our staff this year as a History teacher, gave students lenses through which to view the messages and contexts of the art and our community. She carries a positive energy that never runs out. 

Together, we brainstormed project possibilities. We found common ground and came up with the bones of the project.

Our goals for Challenge Week would be to:

  • learn about Isaiah Zagar’s work
  • team up with the Philadelphia Magic Gardens (the nonprofit art space in South Philly that is the home base for sharing and preserving Zagar’s work), and then
  • work with 60 ninth graders to create a large public mosaic of our own

You read that correctly. 60 ninth graders. Six zero.

In the months leading up to Challenge Week, we spent a substantial amount of professional development time plotting and planning how to make this work. We needed to develop a timeline, procure materials, delegate roles, and determine how to make this experience meaningful for all students.

                                                        My rockstar colleagues carrying supplies through the city

But first, we needed to learn how to make a mosaic.

- - - - - - - -

In a fortunate alignment of calendars, I was the one chosen to attend a Mosaic Workshop with the artist himself. The workshop took place a couple of months before SLA’s Challenge Week, so I would have time to process some insights that would help give shape to our project.

Over two beautiful sunny days in April, I, along with the other workshop attendees, collaborated with Isaiah and his team to cut glass, break tile, mix grout, choose colors and designs, and implement it all onto a wall in South Philadelphia.

It was magical.


Mosaics are really cool.

The artist, though, is a treasure.

Isaiah Zagar is boundlessly loving and kind. The weekend was full of hugs and kisses and smiles. He possesses a true artist brain, always making and creating and seeing. He seemed to love showing us around his studio, which is entirely covered in mosaic, inside and out.

He has built immense shelving structures to store more of his works, and he has more projects on the books than he can reasonably get to in the foreseeable future.

It’s cool to be living among an artist in the city whose contributions are being valued in his own time.

It wasn’t always like this. His trajectory as an artist is really interesting.

Isaiah spent three years in the Peace Corps in Peru during the 1960s. He met his wife there, and together they returned to Philly to continue working as artists. He worked on beautifying and revitalizing the South Street neighborhood. After mosaicking the entire interior and exterior of his studio space, he eventually excavated tunnels and grottos in the neighboring empty lot, which altogether became the future site of the Philadelphia Magic Gardens.

Our students loved learning about his life in their research. They were especially intrigued by his drive and his passion.

Why does he have zillions of these mosaics in this same style?

They learned that the artist struggled with depression and had attempted suicide. He started to make mosaics as a kind of therapy, placing one tile at a time, making something beautiful out of broken and fragmented pieces.

During the workshop, Isaiah always demonstrated for us each step of the process himself, and did not turn instruction over to his helpers until everyone’s hands were already dirty. His apprentices are always learning from him, too, and with so many mosaics under his belt, his way really is the best way.

Mosaicking is cool like that. Anyone can do it, sure, but there’s undeniably an art and skill behind it.

Isaiah works quickly, placing tiles sort of blindly. He told us to never look into the bucket, but to just reach in, grab one, get it sticky, and put it on the wall.

Throughout the weekend, he was wholly involved in every step. He made the decisions, he drew the lines, he tiled, he grouted, he polished, he cleaned up. Reluctantly he would let his apprentices drive his van or lift a heavy bag of sand for him. He’s 77, after all.

Here is the finished mosaic with the workshop crew:

My favorite detail is the tiny clown figure in the bottom left. It’s based on a graffiti doodle Isaiah saw earlier in the day. It amused him, so he incorporated it.

On the final day we went out for a late lunch to celebrate a finished job. Isaiah left a bit early to return to the studio while the rest of us lingered over our margaritas and ceviche. I eventually got myself up and made my way back to my bike, aching, exhausted from the sun, my clothes and body flecked in colorful grout; I couldn’t wait to get home to shower and lay in bed for the rest of the day. As I passed the studio, I noticed the back door propped open and decided to stop back in to say thank you and goodbye. Isaiah did not have his feet up like I imagined he would; he was already mixing in buckets and gathering materials for the next project.

He doesn’t just love the work; he is the work.

You can imagine how it would be a bit tricky to spin this workshop experience with the artist himself into a meaningful learning adventure for a busload of teenagers.


Fast forward to June.

Challenge Week took place in the days following the closing of the district gradebook. Those school days are historically weird; since the quarter is already over, there can’t be any graded assignments, and teachers often scramble to think of stakes-free ways to keep students engaged.

We would have four days to bring our project to life. Here is how we broke it down:

Having started our inquiry earlier, we took the students on a field trip to the Philadelphia Magic Gardens, where they promptly lost their minds.

In the best way.

They were floored. The scale alone is breathtaking.

They asked their questions and formed new ones.

Among them: Can we start now? Do we have to wait until tomorrow?

We met in a classroom at SLA and began discussing the process for our mosaic. Students broke up into groups and drew sketches for the mosaic based on our school community, their lived experiences, and the inspiration they gathered from Isaiah Zagar’s work. We talked a lot about the weekend's tragedy in Orlando.

Some common ideas emerged from the groups’ discussions: Unity. Art. Spirituality. Equality and peace among people of all backgrounds and genders. Our shared humanity.

Some students took ownership of the design process, incorporating lots of the smaller groups’ ideas into a few larger options. We openly discussed the outcomes.

Yaara, one of Isaiah’s helpers (whom I was lucky enough to meet and learn from during the workshop) came by to offer support. She showed students how to cut mirror into rectangles.

And how to break tile into mosaicking chunks.

And once we had buckets full of pieces, how to arrange them onto our wall.

It was a bit chaotic with 60 students on the sidewalk, but by the end of the day, our mosaic was fully under way.

It was awesome to arrive to walk past our half-done mosaic on the way to school the following morning. With our tiles adhered to the wall, it was time to mix the grout. This was, by far, the messiest step.

Students didn’t seem to mind too much that their clothes and shoes were temporarily ruined by this process. They transformed the wall into various shades of pink and purple for hours.

While the grouting crew was elbow-deep, other groups of students took on different tasks. One group prepared speeches for the next day’s ribbon-cutting ceremony. Another group functioned as ambassadors to the community, creating invitations for local residents and business owners to attend. Some students began writing thank-you cards for all of the people who helped us bring the project to life. Others pulled together the photographs and the documentation to craft a blog post about our project for the school website.

At the end of a very long day, we were ready to present.

All of it took a lot longer than expected, and some students stayed well after the normal dismissal time to see the job through.

To a very full house (err, sidewalk), the students ran the show in welcoming guests and introducing the finished mosaic. They spoke of the inspiration behind the project and explained the details of what was on the wall.

A student wrapped up the speeches before the ribbon-cutting:  

I just want to thank everyone for coming out to support our students. They’ve taken the time to really show everyone who walks by this mosaic that Philadelphia truly is the center of the art world and that art is the center of the real world. That has to be true because because there’s no place realer than Philly. We as a school want people to look into the mirrors on this wall and and see more than themselves. We want them to see that anyone can create. Anyone can can take something like broken glass or broken tile and makes something beautiful like what we at SLA did here this week.

Cars on 22nd Street slowed down or pulled over or honked.

It was awesome.

Lots of photos were snapped.

Walking back into the building, I overheard some students talking about how they would definitely take their prom photos in front of the mosaic when they’re seniors.

And my heart melted a little.

We returned to the classroom and debriefed. We gave each other shout-outs and thank-yous. We talked about our favorite moments and our biggest challenges and the final outcomes.

- - - - - - - -

These same 60 students had been in my English class all year. Working on a project like this made me see many of them from a new perspective, completely apart from our usual four walls and books and documents. Engagement shifted. Leadership roles were different. Some students stepped up, and others stepped back. Some were totally in their element, and others pushed themselves to make the most of a challenging new experience.

It’s a powerful opportunity to teach and learn outside the regular parameters of school. I’m not sure how Challenge Week will play out in future years at SLA, but I think we’ve all seen the value in exploring a new avenue for learning. That school doesn’t really mean any single thing. That the work and world of high school is the real world.

Perhaps, even, with art at the center.