Reframing Achievement in Education

Hello everyone. Thank you for joining me today. Over the next 40 minutes, I'd like to invite you into a conversation about learning, one that has challenged my own thinking and continues to shape my work as an educator. Together, I'd like for us to explore whether some of the spaces that we've created in education are drawing our attention towards what is most visible and measurable while unintentionally pulling away from other dimensions of learning that are just as important. Rather than asking only how students achieve, I want us to consider what it means to cultivate learning that honors identity, relationships, community, culture, and place alongside that academic growth. I would like to begin by acknowledging the many indigenous territories which I have lived, learned, played, and worked as an uninvited guest throughout my life on Turtle Island. These acknowledgements are not separate from today's learning. They are part of it because at the heart of this presentation is a simple idea in that learning is relational. I've also created a resource guide with references and additional materials connected to today's presentation. So, if you'd like to continue exploring these ideas further, feel free to scan the QR code. My hope is that this conversation doesn't end after this presentation. Please note that what I share with you today is shaped by my own journey as a parent, an educator, a researcher, and lifelong learner. I don't offer these ideas as universal truth, but rather I am offering them as questions that have emerged through my own experience. And perhaps the most important question has been what does education actually make possible in human life. My understanding of education has been shaped by the places that I have lived, the people that I've learned from, and the classrooms that I've had the privilege of entering. As I moved and lived from one country to another, I expected each education system to be fundamentally different. In many ways they were different languages, different cultures, different curricula. But beneath those differences, I kept encountering the same tension. Students were busy learning, yet many were quietly losing their curiosity and love for learning. Teachers were working tirelessly, yet often felt constrained by what mattered most. Families wanted the very best for their children, yet success was increasingly defined by grades, performance, and outcomes. And it made me wonder, had we become so focused on measuring learning that we had stopped asking what learning was actually for? And that question changed how I understood education. When I first began teaching, I thought of education as something fairly linear. Teacher to student, expert to novice, knowledge to learner. But over time, I started listening differently. I became more attentive to the stories that learners carried with them. I realized that relationships weren't something we added to a curriculum. They were the curriculum. And slowly my understanding of education shifted from seeing it primarily as a transmission of knowledge to understanding it as a process of becoming. So that brings me to the question I want to explore today with you. What is education and what are we educating young people for? And perhaps even more importantly, what are schools for? I don't think that these are simple questions, but I do think that they are questions worth returning to. So today, I'd like to invite you into an inquiry with me. I'd like you to picture a child that you care deeply about. It could be a student. It could be your own child, which in this case it is mine, a grandchild, a niece, or a nephew, or perhaps even yourself when you were younger. And then I want you to ask yourself, what do you hope that this person becomes? Not what grades they receive, not what universities they attend, not what careers they enter, but what do you hope that they become? You'll find that usually when we answer that question, we don't often begin with achievements. We often say we want them to be kind, to be curious, to be courageous, to be compassionate, to be wise, to be responsible. someone who contributes meaningfully to society, someone who cares for others. And this is where my inquiry begins because if these are the qualities that we hope education cultivates, then shouldn't they be the one that also shape what we mean by educational success? That's really the tension that I want to explore with you today. As an educator, one of the things that I have always loved about teaching is the power of stories. Stories help us to understand ourselves. Stories help us make sense of the complex ideas. And sometimes stories help reveal truth that are difficult to see directly. So I'd like to explore this tension through one particular story that many of us know today. Most of us know this Lorax as a story about environmental responsibilities. But I want to suggest that it's also a story about achievement. About what happens when growth becomes separated from responsibility and what happens when we become so focused on what we can produce that we stop asking what our production is doing to the relationships around us. Now, after reading the Lorax on multiple occasions, I realized the story isn't simply about protecting trees. It's really about the kinds of choices that we make and the tensions we live with every day as individuals. The more and more I reflected, the more I saw three tensions that don't just exist in the story. They actually exist within our educational system as well. The first tension I come upon is ambition versus responsibility. It asks us this. What happens when our drive to achieve begins to outpace our sense of responsibility? You see, the onesler begins with qualities we often celebrate. Creativity, innovation, initiative, possibility. None of those are the problem. The problem is that his ambition gradually becomes so disconnected from reflection. He stops asking who is affected, what are the consequences and what responsibilities come with this success. Now without those question, ambition slowly becomes extraction. The second tension we see come upon is stewardship versus exploitation. We begin to wonder when does growth stop being about flourishing and start becoming about taking. The Lorax in the story reminds us that we all belong to an ecosystem. That our actions always ripple outwards. Yet the world around the Onsler keeps rewarding more production, more expansion, more performance. Notice how the question shifts quietly. Instead of asking should we, we begin asking how much more. And I can't help but wonder whether our education system has also made that same shift. The third and last tension may be the one that speaks to our education system most directly. Connectedness versus individualism. What happens when we begin to see success as something individual rather than relational? You see, the forest reminds us that everything exists in relationships. The onsler believes that his choices affect only him. But the story remind us something different. When relationships disappear from our decision-making, our decisions become disconnected from the very communities that they shape. And that's why I think the Lorax matters so much for education. The question isn't whether achievement is good or bad. Of course, we want our young people to dream, to create, to innovate, and to succeed. The deeper question is this: What kind of achievement are we cultivating? and perhaps even more importantly, achievements towards what and at what cost. Now, I'd like to invite you to simply sit with this image for a moment. What do you notice? At first glance, it may seem a little exaggerated, but in many ways, it represents the educational model that many of us have inherited. A model that has emerged during the industrial revolution and was designed for efficiency, standardization, predictability, and progression through predetermined stages. In many respects, children move through our school much like a product on a conveyor belt. They progress from one grade to the next. They encounter different specialists along the way and they pause at regular intervals for quality control checked better known as tests, grades and standardized assessments. These are predetermined. They are they these are actually determined whether they are meeting that expected standard. And then there's the family standing behind the conveyor belt. As parents, we all want the very best for our children. Many families make extraordinary sacrifices, whether it's financially, emotionally, or personally, to provide opportunities that they hope will lead to a successful future. But I often wonder, how often do we stop to ask not how well the system is working, but what kind of education are we actually investing in? Now, I want to be very clear. This isn't a criticism of educators. If anything, educators are often the people working hardest to humanize the system they did not design. Every day they remind us that children are far more complex than any standardized process could ever capture. The question isn't whether educators care. The question is whether the structures itself reflect what we know about how human beings learn. Because children are not standardized products. They arrive with different histories, different identities, different relationships, different interests, strengths, and ways of making meaning. So perhaps the challenge isn't simply how we improve the existing system. Perhaps we need to ask a more fundamental question. What are we actually trying to cultivate? Now, we often use the word achievement as though it means its meaning is very obvious. But achievement is not neutral. What we choose to measure tells students what matters. And measurement can tell us something very important. But it also cannot tell us everything. A score may tell us what students demonstrated on a partic particular task. But it doesn't necessarily tell us whether they found purpose, where they developed curiosity, whether they de learned to collaborate, whether they discovered a strength, whether they became more compassionate or whether they developed a sense of responsibility towards others. So rather than asking how do we get students to achieve more, I want to ask what if we broaden what achievement itself means. Now, if we choose if what we choose to measure shapes what students learn to value, then perhaps our task isn't simply to improve performance. Perhaps our task is to rethink the questions that sit beneath performance. So, instead of asking how do we raise achievement, maybe we need to ask first need to ask what do we value? What are we trying to cultivate? And ultimately, what kind of human beings are we hoping education helps someone become? Because how we answer those questions will shape everything else. How we teach, how we assess, and what we celebrate, and ultimately who our students become. And that leads us to what I believe is the most important question of all. Perhaps though, we need to begin to see education through two different lenses. One asks us how well did the learner perform and the other asks who is the learner becoming. Not simply what they know but what they now understand how they choose to contribute and who they're becoming in relation to others. I don't believe we need to abandon achievement altogether. Don't get me wrong. Rather, I believe we need to place achievement within a larger human purpose. Before going any further, I'd like us to think about these three words we often use interchangeably. Training, learning, and education. Are they really the same thing? Educational philosopher Gert Beiesta reminds us that they are not. When we collapse these ideas into one, we risk losing sight of education's deeper purpose. You see, learning is the broadest. It's how we make meaning through relationships, experience, curiosity, culture, and community. Education is how we organize and support that learning. And then training focuses on developing those specific skills. Biesta invites us to think about each one differently. Training asks, can students perform a task? Learning asks, what have students come to understand? But education asks a deeper question. Who are they becoming because of what they are learning? And all three of these have value. But when we begin treating them as the same, we risk reducing learning to what happens in schools or simply to the skills that we want students to master. As Beester reminds us, we also need to ask not simply what students are learning, but learning for what purpose? What if learning is something much bigger? What if a school is not just a place that delivers knowledge, but a community where we learn with and from one another? If education asks not only what students learn, but who they're becoming and for what purpose, then we have to ask another question. What shapes the answers to those questions? I came to realize that perhaps the problem isn't primarily technical. It isn't simply about finding a better curriculum, a better assessment, better teaching strategy. The deeper question is what values are embedded in the choices that we make? If we say we value curiosity, belonging, compassion, responsibility and service, then those values need to be visible not only in our mission statements but in the experiences that we create because our structures teach too. And this is where my thinking began to shift from critiquing to possibilities. The work of Dr. Arash Vasley reframed how I began thinking about education. He argues that educational development is not fundamentally a technical project. It is a moral endeavor because if education is ultimately about developing human beings then improving education simply cannot mean improving techniques. It also requires us to examine the assumptions upon which our schools have been built. So as I wrestled with these questions, I found myself becoming less interested in asking what's wrong with education and more interested in asking what becomes possible. What becomes possible when learning is rooted in relationships? When curiosity is protected, when identity is honored, when community, culture, and place are seen as essential rather than optional. And it was in this exploring and it was in exploring these possibilities that I began to turning to scholars and educators who helped me reimagine what learning could be. So I began asking what if learning is not simply the acquisition of knowledge but a way of living and making sense of the world. John Dwey offers one response. For Dwey education was never a preparation for life. Education it is life itself. It emerged through experiences, through inquiry, through participation, engagement with meaningful questions. And that understanding was deepened for me through the work of Norman Denen. [clears throat] Densen reminds us that if we truly want to understand learning, we have to pay attention to how people experience and make meaning of their lives. Learning isn't simply something that we observe from the outside. It's something people live. Another scholar who helped me think beyond the dominant model is Dr. Leila June Johnson. Her work asks us to examine assumptions about progress, development, land, human relationships. But what I find especially important is that she doesn't leave us with a critique. She points toward another way of being, one that is grounded in reciprocity, responsibility, stewardship, and relationships. And that raises an important question for education. What might learning look like if we understood ourselves as part of relationships rather than isolated individuals? Other scholars such as Noah Ramor Romero, sorry, and Sandra Yellow Horse take us further into that question. They remind us that learning is profoundly relational, that it happens through relationships with people, community, culture, and land. And that challenges the idea that knowledge simply travels in one direction, teacher to student. Instead, learning happens between people. And that changes how we think about the role of the teacher. During the pandemic, I found myself back in Canada. Like many educators, I was rethinking the many assumptions I had previously held about teaching and learning. I encountered potlatches pedagogy by Sarah Florence Davidson and Robert Davidson. What stayed with me was that the book wasn't simply primarily giving me other teaching strategies. It was asking me to think differently about how learning happens. It happens through relationships, through community, through responsibility and through participation which then brings us to accept or which brings us to the concept that profoundly shifted my thinking. In the Haida language, scada means to learn and scadada relates to teaching. Rather than separating the two, they are understood as part of an ongoing relationship. Learning is shaped through stories, observations, experience, identity, community, and our relationship with one another. This expands our understanding of education from simply acquiring knowledge to participating in a community of learning. Abdul Baha, the son of the founder of the Bahigh faith, shares with us, the teacher and students are alike and should regard themselves as co-workers in a process of learning. I find this idea incredibly powerful because it challenges the notion that teaching is about delivering knowledge. Instead, it invites us to view learning as a shared endeavor, a collaborative process, a journey undertaken together. The Bahigh writings also describe consultation as a lamp of guidance. Not because one person possesses the truth, but because understanding emerges when people seek truth together. This aligns beautifully with what we've heard from Dwey from Romero and Yellow Horse from Potlatch's pedagogy. They all point towards the same idea that learning is relational that learning is collective and that learning emerges through participation. And perhaps this invites us to revisit our earlier question. If relationships helps learning flourish, then curiosity helps it grow. Abdulbaha writes, "The mind must be free to investigate the truth." What a beautiful vision of education, a mind that is free to question, free to wander, free to explore. It is an expression of human curiosity. It is how we seek understanding. It is how we deepen our relationships with ourselves, with others, and with the world. And if curiosity is central to learning, then we need to examine the systems that we have built around learning. What do they encourage? What do they reward? And what do they unintentionally suppress? Because inquiry isn't simply a classroom of techniques. It is a way of approaching the world. When we put these ideas together, a pattern emerges. Learning is reciprocal, relational and ethical connected to community, connected to actions and service and acknowledge and knowledge sorry carries responsibility. Bahala the founder of the Bahigh faith writes let deeds not words be thy and adorning. This changes our understanding of achievement. Achievement is no longer simply what we know. It becomes how do we use with what we know and how do we live with what we know? How do we contribute across the very different traditions these thinkers have asked us to imagine education as more than transmission? Education becomes a space for freedom, for participation, for relationships, for reflection and possibilities. So now the question becomes how do we translate the world view into an educational practice? We've spent time asking what is education? What have we inherited? And what might be missing? But critique alone isn't enough. At some point we have to ask what do we do differently? Sir Ken Robinson suggested that meaningful change requires three things. A critique of what is, a vision of what could be, and a pathway between the two. I think education should also expand not only our knowledge but also our consciousness, our capabilities, our sensitivities and our cultural understanding. And we can begin to cultivate these through the three interconnected practices. Virtues are who we are becoming. Inquiry is how we understand. And then application is what do I do with what I know? These aren't three separate programs. They are the three dimensions of learning. Now before we build knowledge, before we build skills, before we build careers, we build human beings. So the first question is who are we becoming? When we talk about virtues, we're talking about qualities such as empathy, integrity, courage, compassion, responsibility, justice, and humility. These aren't just extras added after academic learning. They shape how learning happens. When a student considers another person's perspective, they are practicing empathy. When they use knowledge responsibly, they are practicing integrity. And when they question an assumption, they are practicing courage. So, every learning experience is also shaping a person. In other words, learning is never just intellectual. It is also ethical. Every learning experience is shaping who we are becoming. Maria Monttoauri once said, "The greatest sign of success for a teacher is to be able to say the children are now working as if I did not exist." What a beautiful image. Not because the teacher disappears, but because learners have developed the capacity to direct their own growth. Achievement then becomes something very different. Not simply what a student produces, but who they're coming they're becoming in the process. And that naturally leads us to our second question. How do we come to understand? If virtues helps us to ask who we're becoming and inquiry asks, how do we come to understand? Inquiry begins with curiosity with noticing, with wondering, with asking. What is happening here? Why does this matter? Who is affected? And what am I not seeing yet? Because knowledge gives us information, inquiry helps us make meaning from it. Now, inquiry helps students move from memorizing to questioning, receiving to investigating, performing to meaning making. And perhaps most importantly, what is the answer becomes what is worth asking? I once read that the usefulness of our knowledge depends on the kinds of questions that we ask. That idea has stayed with me because knowledge on its own is not enough. Its value lies in how we use it. And that begins with the questions that we choose to pursue. When we teach students to ask meaningful questions, we are doing far more than preparing them for an academic success. We are cultivating curiosity, discernment, empathy, and the capacity to examine the world critically. And these are the dispositions that enable people to participate thoughtfully in a democratic life. To question assumptions, to consider multiple perspectives, and to evaluate evidence and imagine better possibilities. Because education is not simply about producing students who know the right answers. It is about nurturing human beings who know which questions are worth asking. Now, if inquiry helps us connect knowledge, real life doesn't arrive actually neatly divided into subject areas such as science, history, math, language arts. The problem our students will encounter are interconnected. So, education needs to help learners bring knowledge together, see relationships, recognize patterns, and make meanings from those complexities. Inquiry isn't also another strategy that we add to an already full curriculum. It's the way of relating to children. Think about the difference between a conversation that ends with an answer to one that opens another door. Those are often the conversations children remember. They leave feeling that their thinking mattered, not just whether they were right. And the same is true in our classrooms. Inquiry changes the role of both the learner and the teacher. The teacher no longer has to be the keeper of all the answers. Instead, they become the designer of experiences, a listener, a guide, and sometimes a co-learner. One of the greatest gifts that we can give children is the permission to sit with uncertainty. We live in a world that rewards quick answers. Yet, so much of our life asks something different from us. It asks us to stay curious a little longer, to resist jumping to conclusions, to consider another perspective and to remain open to changing our minds. That kind of learning isn't always comfortable. But it is deeply human. It is where resilience grows. It is where confidence is built. And it is where understanding becomes something students construct rather than simply receive. And once learners begin asking their own question, learning is no longer something that happens to them. It becomes something that they actively participate in. Which brings us to our final question. Once we've learned something, what do we choose to do with it? So if virtues shape who we are and inquiry shapes how we come to understand the world, then eventually we have to ask a different question. What becomes of that learning? Because knowledge by itself doesn't change anything. It is what we choose to do with it that gives its purpose. I often think of our students leaving our classrooms years from now. They probably won't remember every lesson, every assessment. But they will remember whether schools invited them to contribute, to care, to solve problems, and to believe that they could make a difference. That's why project-based learning matters. It gives students the opportunity to apply what they've learned in ways that matter to someone beyond themselves. Learning becomes connected to people, to places, and to communities. It becomes an act of contribution rather than simply an act of achievement. Seymour Peppert captures this beautifully when he says, "The role of the educator is to create the conditions for invention." Notice what he doesn't say. He doesn't say our role is to deliver inventions or to manufacture outcomes. Our responsibility is to cultivate that environment where curiosity can flourish, where ideas can be tested, where mistakes become part of learning and where students discover that they are capable of creating something that did not exist before them. That shifts our role in a very profound way. The question is no longer have I covered the curriculum. Instead, it becomes, have I fostered the conditions for students to think deeply, to act purposefully, and to contribute meaningfully? Because ultimately, the purpose of learning is not simply to accumulate knowledge. It is to use that knowledge in service of something larger than ourselves. I wanted to share a story that I think captures this idea perfectly. A friend of mine who leads a Montasauri school shared this beautiful moment with me. One of her grade 2 students became very concerned that there weren't enough trees in the park near his home. He wasn't completing an assignment. He genuinely cared. So instead of telling him what to do, she simply asked him, "What would you like to do about it?" He decided to write a letter to city counselor, city council. That became itself a literacy work for the next several days. He researched, he drafted, he revised and carefully articulated why more trees mattered and not just for the beauty, but for the environment and for his community. A few weeks later, the city responded. They thanked him for the letter, shared that they would be planting more trees in the very park that he had written about and even invited him to come and watch them plant it. That moment wasn't just about writing a letter. It was about a child discovering that his voice mattered. His learning wasn't measured by a grade. It was measured by the positive impact that he had on the world around him. So, isn't that what education is intended for? we would probably we would probably call this student very successful. Another example I have is a student of mine found something that he was very passionate about, pursued it, worked incredibly hard and published a book. Achievement was unlocked. But then something very interesting happened. He started questioning the very thing that we had taught him to value. Is productivity productivity and making money really the purpose here? And I wonder how often do our schools give students enough space to ask that question. We are very good at helping young people reach goals. But are we giving them enough opportunities to ask whether those are the goals worth reaching? Because perhaps a deeper purpose of education isn't simply to help children become more productive. Perhaps it is to help them become more thoughtful, curious, capable human beings who can decide what is worth pursuing in the first place. And sometimes learning only happens when we give them that room to breathe. So going back again and reflecting, if virtues helps who we are, if inquiry shapes how we understand, then application asks us how we live with what we know. This is where learning becomes whole. It isn't about simply collecting knowledge, but connecting it to ourselves, to others, and to the world around us. Inquiry helps us make sense of the world. Virtues shape the kinds of people that we become. Application is where understanding becomes action. Learning is no longer confined to a classroom. It becomes part of how we participate in the world. As we come to our to the end of our time together, I'd like to return to where we began. Think once again about that child. Imagine them 20 years from now. What do you hope the world says about them? That they earned high grades? That they accumulated credentials? or that they were kind, courageous, curious, wise, compassionate, someone who strengthened their community, someone who cared for their land, someone who felt the world better, who left the world better than they found it. Because if those are the things that we hope for, then perhaps they should also be the things that our schools are designed to cultivate. Perhaps achievement was never about or meant to be a destination. Perhaps achievement is simply the visible expression of something much deeper. A life lived in relationships, relationships with communities, with the land. And perhaps that is what education has always been for. So as we've explored today, I don't believe the question is whether achievement matters. Of course it does. The question is whether achievement has become our definition of learning. What if learning was just first about becoming about helping young people grow into identities, relationships, purpose, and responsibility? In that kind of education, achievement doesn't disappear. It simply takes its rightful place as one outcome of a much deeper process. So, what might guide us towards that vision? Our anchors point us forward. As we've explored today, these anchors are more than just ideas. They offer us a different way of thinking about learning. They remind us that learning is relational, shaped by who we are, who we learn with, and how we contribute to the world around us. They invite us to nurture curiosity, cultivate character, strengthen communities, and create opportunities for young people to connect learning with purpose. Perhaps our role as educators and parents is not simply to help students achieve, but to help them become. And I'd like to leave you with one final question. What possibilities might emerge if we reclaim learning as a relational process of becoming? One that honors identity, relationships, community, and culture and place alongside academic growth. Thank you for joining me today. I have uh created um a Google doc form that you are welcome to scan this QR code. There's one for parents and one for educators. And if you'd like to continue this conversations and moving from ideas to practice and here are some of my um places that you can reach me at whether if it's through Instagram, LinkedIn or email. And I do have a website as well. So feel free to reach out in any way with any further questions.