A few years ago, I started a new job in Boston working
in international educational travel. The company that I worked for had one of
the best workplace cultures that I have ever been part of, and they provided lots
of opportunities to get to know your colleagues outside of work. One of these
opportunities was a Fun Run. I never put these two words in the same sentence,
but I decided maybe I should participate to get to know more colleagues since I
was new. The event was a competition for whose team could run the most laps in
24 hours, which I did not have any sense of self or collective efficacy for, but
it included camping which I love, so I joined a team. When the weekend arrived,
it was raining and chilly. We were on the Cape at a state park and, despite the
rain, bugs, and mud, the atmosphere was generally positive. Now, since I derive
no pleasure from running, normally I don’t run in anything but the most optimal
of conditions… and these conditions were subpar, at best. I was not amused. When
the race began, my team set off and at first it wasn’t so bad. But the running loop
was four miles long, which was two more miles than I’d ever run consecutively
before. Soon (also read, after half a mile) my doubt set in, and I began to wonder
why I had committed to this event. The terrain was hilly and sandy, then hilly
and full of tree roots to trip over, I was questioning why I had eaten a hamburger
at dinner, people started trying to talk while running… hopefully I’m painting
a picture of how miserable I felt. Something strange happened along the way though,
amidst trying to talk to my new colleagues and run and not trip, I started to
forget about the roots, the sand, the hills, and the hamburger. Everyone was
having fun and staying together as a group, even though some had run marathons
before and clearly could have run three laps in the time most of us could do one.
Our shared purpose was not to be the fastest or the best, but just to enjoy the
company and the friendly competition. We finished the lap, and then decided to do
another one. I called it quits with 8 (consecutive!) miles behind me and spent
the rest of the night by the bonfire. I woke up with a puddle in my tent in the
morning, yet I felt a great sense of accomplishment and sense of connection to
my colleagues. To me, this story illustrates some important facets of collective
efficacy. While I lacked self-efficacy for running, I still believed I could
(or maybe felt obligated to!) contribute to the group, and the group believed in
the purpose of the Fun Run. I persevered with the support of my colleagues, and
those with advanced skills who could have run faster did not because that would not have been best for the group’s goals or purpose. This makes me think about the
classroom and how there are learners with so many different levels of ability. For
teachers, it can be difficult to match instruction and activities with this
varying ability, not to mention create a shared purpose that 20+ students believe in. How could we set a shared goal so that collective efficacy is
fostered and so those with lesser abilities feel safe and supported to struggle
on, while those with higher abilities provide encouragement? Additionally, how can we identify the strengths of all students and design goals so that each student has the chance at some point to feel competent, be the model of success, and provide encouragement to peers?
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