Writing Back (a letter to author friends)

Dear Ursula, Dear Nia,

Welcome to 2026. I’m writing to you in concert as I’ve been weaving your recent essays in my mind and it feels like we all have lots to say to each other. You both write about dangers to our collective humanity, the seduction of tech marketing promising us all manner of ease and convenience, and about the very personal costs of living in a world order based largely on extraction and stratification. In reading, I hear more than your words. I feel your quandaries as well as your refusals to give up or give in to the lure and lore of an inevitable Gen-AI future.

Ursula, you have found several ways to encourage fellow educators to reject the premise of the inevitability of AI as The Future. Your zine, “Why I am saying no to ‘AI’ and saying yes to you,” contrasts what companies tell us the tech can do versus the complex wonder of who we are as humans. This passage in particular struck me to my core:

It can summarize the main idea, but you are longform.
You are a genealogy of learning, an archive of conversations, a library of experiences

(It knows nothing.)

It can generate a list of possibilities, but you are impossible.
You are the unknowable future, unspooling yourself in choice after choice after choice, now, now, now.

(It has no volition.)

Yes, exactly. “It can but you are.”

When I then dig into your essay, “Human Beings! Human Beings!” in Rethinking Education, the spirit of your zine is brought into more concrete focus. What is it that school systems believe can be gained by deploying these tech platforms into our daily workflows? Who benefits and where are the guardrails to protect students, faculty and families from harm?

While illustrating the administrative logic behind these decisions, you are clear in expressing your concerns:

“What if the architects of these creepy machines are luring us into their future with promises of an easier job only to throw us into the oven and serve us up to the billionaire class for lunch?”

…

“I worry that the “AI” peddlers want us to forget that we are human beings, teaching human beings, in a community of other human beings.”

I share these concerns and fear that I’ve run out of ways to express them to friends, colleagues, loved ones without sounding hysterical. Ursula, your approach and mettle strengthen my resolve to continue putting AI hype on blast.

Nia, when reviewing your most recent missive, “One truth to rule them all (or none),” I decided to listen to you read your words aloud. I don’t think I was fully prepared for the way this even more personal delivery would reach me and give me pause. Of course, the opening story of a premature birth riddled with uncertainty for both you and the child made me sit up straight with concerned attention. The way you then described the essence of kangaroo care and connected it to attachment theory and authoritarianism which further occasioned a deep reflection on social trust reminded me of all the reasons I value the thoughtful and distinct connections you make in your writing. (It is all connected!)

“…I’ve been thinking a lot about how the widespread adoption of large language model chat tools for uses like therapy, friendly conversation, and editorial feedback is indicative less of the usefulness of the tools than it is of how bedraggled human trust has become.”

Indeed. Our human trust is quite bedraggled and fractured. And I find that the more time we spend online, the wider the spectrum of possible attacks to our sources of trust becomes. It is very much in the interest of the (tech) billionaires to separate each of us from a shared reality as comprehensively as possible. A plagiarizing everything machine seems a perfect segue into a future where we place more trust in software than in our neighbors, families and communities. So, the fascist techbro dream.

Ursula, you point to the signs that this fantasy is not at all on solid ground. Real resistance is visible, loud and local. Neighbors alerting and protecting neighbors. Activists risking arrest and detainment to draw attention to injustice in progress. Educators and students refusing to use AI tools. It is in these acts that trust is built and rebuilt. Over and over again. Learning by doing.

Nia, you suggest that how and whom we trust can and often must change. We gain new information that changes our perspective. We are forced to examine where and how we came to place our trust where we did. And I appreciate this analogy:

“Maybe we can no more “have” trust than we can have a baby. The moment you have a baby, after all, is the moment you will never fully have that baby again. Over time, they slip away, growing and changing and becoming their own entity apart from us, as they should. Maybe trust is the same.”

What I am taking away from both of your generous provocations is a need to remain active in exercising discernment. Whom do I trust and why? is a healthy question to pose. At the same time, I want to be keenly aware of what my actions tell others about my relative trustworthiness. How do my students or colleagues or sons come to believe that I am worthy of their trust?

Discernment for me means cultivating both a healthy skepticism alongside a radical openness. Bearing in mind that the scope of my ignorance far outstrips my knowledge of the world, the need to remain in community with a wild range of humans jumps to the fore.

I am grateful for friends like you who model vulnerability and dogged persistence. At a time when I am finding it hard to write, reading with presence has become all the more critical. You both see with and through your hearts, even as you use your abundant intellect to highlight multiple threads that make up the patterns that shape our current realities. Putting your essays in conversation with each other further affirms the importance of continuing to write and share. To continue poses a challenge. Thank you for bringing me back into the fold.

Love and light to you both in this new year,

Sherri

Follow Ursula on Bluesky
Antonia Malchik writes On The Commons

What PD Success Looks Like

An Ode to Utís 2025

Screenshot of website home for Utís Hveragerdi '25 7.=8.Nov.
(headings in Icelandic include schedule, sessions, participants, presenters, location, summary slides, reflection and lodging.)

Participants feeling warmly welcomed, gathered in a school
still in session. Allowed to visit classrooms and ask questions.

Organizers who have planned into the last detail so that there is
a flexibility and ease about the day as people move from topic to topic.

There's levity and joyful engagement as table groups one-up each other
dancing on chairs, following leaders; hilarity unleashed,

No ice to be broken, rather connections to be made
bridges to be built, laughs to be had.

Lunch is delicious and right on time, easily accessible. Conversation
is bubbly and cheerful Icelandic with English here and there.

The unspoken Pacman rule encourages participants to open their circles
to newcomers, to widen the dialogue surface, to make inclusion the norm.

Every session provides space for individual and group reflection. Each session is documented
in a shared slidedeck which participants can reference days or even weeks later.

Groups return and are reshuffled so that each table includes a representative from each
of the previous sessions who delivers a short summary of their learning.

Imagine!

On the first evening there is a wonderful celebration with dinner and music and
so much laughter. Also time to visit the hot tub beforehand to maximize relaxation.

Throughout the conference there is ongoing reflection and sharing, reflection and sharing.
Thinking is both individual and collective, internal and external, concrete and abstract.

When it's time to depart, there are hugs, smiles
And what feels like a high likelihood that these ideas will travel and find fertile soil in which to take root

and blossom.

*Shouts outs and praise to the Utís team led by Bjössi and Ingvi! Utís is a conference of educators from all over Iceland representing various disciplines, levels, and regions. Participants (about 180) apply to attend and are expected to return to their learning communities to share their insights with colleagues. The waiting list is almost double the number of participants. International presenters like me offer sessions in English and the rest of the conference proceeds in Icelandic.

60 Before 60

This is a list. Because I actually like lists.
Even if I rarely follow them in order.
I’m quirky like that.
Lists also don’t guarantee that I’ll remember what’s on them and why.
It’s the thoughts that count.
And this time they’ll count 60 because that’s this year’s number.
60 thoughts for 60 years
I’m already at 8 without even trying. (I mean not really trying)
60 seconds in a minute and so often I run out of time
Or time runs out on me
Or time is short and life is short and I am short
I am having the short time of my life maybe
Today is Halloween and tomorrow I turn 60
Maybe instead of turn I could flip 60
Or skid 60
Or flap 60
In any case 60 years away from November 1st 1965 is where I’ll land tomorrow.
It’s fine.
How many times have I passed Go without collecting $200?
I actually hate Monopoly but both of my kids liked it and seemed to be innate capitalists
So I played until I didn’t have to anymore
And found other games for us to play
And then they found their own games to play without me.
As it was foretold in the prophecy
Do I remember who I was at 25? Does it matter?
It’s hard to remember becoming who we are now
How did we get here?
I often hear that I don’t look at all like 60
That may be true and it’s of course relative
I don’t feel like what I thought 60 might feel like but I also had no f-king idea
So it’s actually fair to keep my mouth shut on this account.
Aging is a surprise
and it will never cease to amaze me that I almost never type ‘surprise’ correctly on the first try.
I often leave out the first r. Suprise!
Housekeeping is a drag.
Having a house to keep is a privilege.
Sometimes I regret that I do not have a more antagonistic stance towards dust accumulation.
I sometimes wish that I were more attached to tidiness and order.
Maybe I’d still be partnered.
But also maybe not.
A phrase I saw today: 60 = 21 with 39 years of experience!
Straight from the reframing industry.
Slick marketing will be the death of us and the planet.
I have missed writing for the sake of writing
So I’m glad to have returned for this auspicious occasion.
May there always be space and time for nonsense.
Nonsense for the people!!
It’s interesting to me to see that many of the things I consider fun are not particularly relaxing.
I had no idea that I would come to appreciate relaxing boredom with such fervor.
At 50 I was psyched to celebrate a new decade. I had an open house gathering with a scheduled walk on a sunny afternoon.
This time around I am allergic to organizing anything. Feels too much like work.
So I’m starting with brunch.
Tomorrow’s a holiday. Every year my birthday is a holiday.
I love that for me.
Turn 60, turn around 60, turn inside out 60, turn it up to 60
Resting crone face
Writing helps
those who bother to actually write for themselves.
Cranky, grateful – a total package
Let the threshold be crossed: 50s I knew you well, adieu.

Mistake Season and Do-Over Summer

Spilled Ice cream cone upside down, ice cream smooshed in the White surface/background. — Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on Pexels.com

This has turned out to be an unusual summer. I barely traveled, had an astounding volume of alone time, and felt tested in ways I never anticipated. Today I am jumpy and unsettled, yesterday I felt relaxed and grateful. So much time spent in my own head has been both a blessing and a curse and I’m beginning to unravel why.

Early in July, I decided to embark on a larger crochet project, a whole blanket. I was looking quite literally for something to do with my hands that did not involve a screen, keyboard or household cleaning tool. As soon as I began, I was easily absorbed in the soothing rhythm of stitch upon stitch, of dwindling balls of yarn turning into a brightly colored crochet pattern. The process was so satisfying, so tangible. I was creating a thing! Something I could use to keep warm, to decorate, to point to as an accomplishment. I was using the surplus yarn I had collected the year before, putting it into service of ill-defined stress relief. I worked on the blanket in the mornings, afternoons, between naps, before turning in. I marveled at the fairly random but not unpleasant layering of earth and green tones in my creation.

Imagine my surprise when I examined my progress last night and realized that the blanket pattern with which I began has gradually become narrower. To confirm, I counted up stitches and yes, while I started with 116, I was laying down and turning my work most recently after about 78 stitches! And here I thought I was getting so much better! So efficient!

Furry green muppet ,Oscar the grouch, shakes his head in disbelief, against a light green background.

Oh, how easily we deceive ourselves!

I had been steadily dropping stitches for over 40 rows of work! And hadn’t noticed (or didn’t care to notice) because I was too taken with the allure of progress. The blanket was paradoxically both shrinking and growing at the same time! What a metaphor! But for what? I mean, I had shunned the discipline of adding stitch markers (“It’s fine, it’s fine!” I told myself.). “It’s about the process, not the product,” I comforted myself. Sure, Jan. But once the imbalance showed itself, I couldn’t unsee it. It was apparent where the continuation with this pattern would end – an oddly tapered fabric that resembles a failed tower with a not quite pointy roof. So I did the only reasonable thing I could think of. I ripped out 4 full skeins of yarn and can try again to maintain the pattern dimensions.

This would seem like a considerable blow (to my ego? to my motivation?) to manage but in fact, it’s not. It’s a reality: I messed up. I chose not to sweat the small stuff (counting stitches) and ended up sliding – slowly, progressively – off the rails. There’s no due date looming. No one is waiting up for this project’s completion. I can make the time as it suits me. That said, the act of reversing the work, of taking apart that which was cleverly stitched together, has left me a bit rattled, even if I’ve already begun the renewal and build out.

There’s a lot of power in the notion of a do-over. There’s agency and direction. I decided how much to take apart and how I would restart. Simultaneously I feel a poke of disappointment – not over the blanket – but over the things I wish I could but can’t actually reverse and do-over. So much time spent in my own head turns out to be pretty fertile ground for seeds of regret and weeds of self-doubt. What happens when writing feels distant and harder to claim than before? What’s that called when the will to fully show up seems to have a persistent but impossible-to-locate leak?

On the other hand, I keep playing a little mobile game on my phone which, I learned from my computer science trained friend, is based on the Tower of Hanoi game which involves shifting elements from two or more towers in a particular order in the fewest moves. In my case it’s a bunch of test tubes with colored layers and you can only pour into a tube that has space and the matching color. All of this amounts to an exercise in order of operations. What I find compelling is that I will work on a puzzle for a bit, reach an impasse then put the game away. When I come back to it later, I might be able to solve it quickly. Or not. I may start over, or go back several steps and try a different strategy. I mean, it’s all very basic and yet I enjoy coming back to it. I appreciate having a challenge I can’t immediately solve and then returning later with a new patience and curiosity. Oh, and of course, you can’t play the game without making mistakes. I literally have to make wrong moves to determine which ones are better. I might get a couple of colors lined up but too soon to accommodate other combinations which need to precede them. Part of me wants to believe that this trial and error, stop and start process is doing something good for my brain or the state of my being. I’m practicing being wrong and wrong again where there are no real consequences. And eventual resolution is guaranteed. Do-over abundance accompanied by reliably happy endings.

We say mistakes are relative and they are. Seen this way, parts of this summer have been riddled with mistakes – dance steps, double crochet stitches, butterscotch brownies. I have screwed up on lots of things, most of them small and at least one pretty big thing. I’m still standing. The ground has not yet swallowed me whole, although I may have wished it a couple of times. The blanket is gradually filling out. I’m trying to be less precious about not catching a dance step right away. My other mistakes are being corrected and settled. I suppose there’s learning and the prospect of forgiveness. Maybe a whiff of wisdom on the far horizon. In the immediate wake of the mistake, however, is uncertainty; the part I would prefer to leave elsewhere.

Do-overs are like inviting uncertainty over for dinner and having things turn out more or less fine.

Zum Fremdschämen

Young woman in a dark hoodie is looking down at her phone with a look of mild surprise. — Photo by Mikhail Nilov on Pexels.com

Fremdschämen is the German expression for feeling ashamed on behalf of someone else, typically a stranger. And that’s what I experienced immediately (and over and over again) after watching the clip of the CEO and his HR manager caught embracing on the jumbotron at a Coldplay concert. The first time I watched it, the video was muted. Only after going deeper into the Bluesky comments did I turn on the sound and realize that not only were they caught on video but the lead singer called them out when they reacted by quickly turning away (she) and ducking out of sight (he). I mean, it was dramatic, for lack of a better word. And hilarious.

But hilarious because it was not us. Not our friend, Not our associate. No, it was a wealthy software CEO who was promptly identified along with his personal/ professional companions. That was the Schadenfreude component (delight in another’s folly or damage). So “all” of the internet had cause and occasion to dunk on the evidence apparent. And folks were clever, witty and brutal. More grounds for Fremdschämen.

There’s more going on, of course. Precisely at this cultural and political moment, we are living in a frightening reality where shame holds far less purchase among some of the most powerful figures. It feels nearly impossible to shame any of our right wing political opponents with any kind of accusation or even actual conviction. They are and have been in the most literal terms, shameless. So I think part of the absolute release and satisfaction of this particular media feeding frenzy has to do with pent up frustration at a seemingly untouchable billionaire class who have also infiltrated and upended the US constitutional order. How desperate we are to drag all of them into oblivion, to reduce them to shreds of their former important selves. What we wouldn’t give to be able to summarily put these evil genies back into their bottles sealed for thousands of years. Because once upon a time, shame used to work.

I’m thinking, too, about my own fascination with the clip and the emotions it roused in me. The Schadefreude was real and abundant. I cackled. I watched it more than a couple of times. I read comment after comment that made me laugh some more. I was having a good time at these people’s expense. I noticed that. Did it feel cruel? No, not really. In the salt mines of the attention economy, this turned out to be comedy gold. At the same time, I also had to ask where we draw the line, or even which lines are to be drawn by whom and for whom.

Again, none of this is happening in a vacuum. The folks captured on screen are wealthy individuals with, I assume, fairly public profiles. Even if they are only of moderate social capital, in this situation, they are convenient stand-ins for the kinds of people for whom this current fascist march is unlikely a question of survival. So again, it feels fair to laugh at them because they happened to be on hand. The government is taking countless prisoners, somehow this online spectacle seems to say, “Let’s take this one prisoner for like a day.” (Regradless of where the people in question actually fall on the political spectrum. It’s much more about the demographic representation.)

One more aspect. In her book, Being Wrong (2010), Kathryn Schulz examines the relationship between error and humor. About incongruity theory she writes:

According to the theory, funny situations begin with attachment to a belief, whether that attachment is conscious or unconscious, fleeting or deep, sincerely held or deliberately planted by a comedian or a prankster. That belief is then violated, producing surprise, confusion, and a replacement belief – and also producing, along the way, amusement and laughter. In other words, the structure of humor is – give or take a little pleasure – the structure of error. (p. 323)

I include this here because it captures our experience of viewing the video the first time. We see a couple in a happy embrace then a sudden decoupling, a turning away and ducking. Initial belief: ah, a cheerful couple. Violated belief: Uh oh, they are not supposed to be together and they just got busted via jumbotron (I mean, yikes!). It’s all there: the error, the humor, the Fremdschämen, the Schadenfreude.

As some commenters have pointed out, the situation itself speaks to the tremendous downsides of cameras everywhere and constant surveillance both public and private. So yeah, I agree and alas, there was something about this quick little diversion that caught me by surprise and I guess I’m here for that, too. Ah, to be human.

Grief Walks

Uphill Mountain bike trail into woods, lined by low ferns and tall trees. — Mountain Bike Track Rowney Warren Woods Near Chicksands by Martin is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

The first full week of summer vacation is already past. In contrast to other years, there are no travel plans. We’re staying home for a change.

Staying home for a change.

So I’ve taken up the habit of walking in the mornings. Whenever I get up and get dressed, I grab a drink of water and head out. I live in the proximity of green, wooded hills in 3 out of 4 directions. Hardly 5 minutes on asphalt before I reach one trail or another. I walk. No phone. Just keys in hand.

I described these first few days to a friend as feeling like “practice retirement.” I have few commitments beyond keeping the household afloat. My time is mostly my own to spend. Which means there’s time for walking. An hour or two or more, it’s all possible. I can choose based on how I feel.

Based on how I feel.

Early on in this habit I noticed some sadness surfacing. Because I was just walking and not trying to do anything else, I paid attention. I wondered. I could be curious and keep walking. It didn’t take long to identify grief as the culprit. With each subsequent walk, I’ve been able to acknowledge grief as a primary companion.

This is not to say that these walks are weepy excursions. No. Not much happens beyond me thinking my thoughts and noticing that there are things that I miss. There are disappointments that come back into focus. A few regrets also look for their opening. I walk and I acknowledge the disappointments, regrets and patches of sadness. I walk and breathe and notice that I am still moving forward.

Staying home for a change. Based on how I feel. Notice that I am still moving forward.

There’s a peace that comes while stepping over rocks and roots. Movement soothes me. Walking relieves me of a need to compete with myself. I can pause and notice boisterous birds in treetops. Sometimes there’s a wide view down to the city worth appreciating. Grief is not the main event on these trips, only a part of the whole. The walking calls for making peace. Peace with myself, peace with the feelings I have.

The shape of grief varies. It’s not always heavy or dense. It can be rather porous. The losses that give cause can be hard to pinpoint, although the lack in their wake is obvious to me. The directions I travel vary. I like experimenting without necessarily losing my way. In these woods there are so many ways, marked and unmarked. I may wander but I am not lost.

I may wander but I am not lost.

Staying home for a change. Staying home for the change. Staying home in order to change. Going for walks based on how I feel. Based on how I feel my feelings, based on how I feel my grief, based on how I feel, I make walking a habit that soothes. As I walk, I notice that I am still moving forward. I may wander but I am not lost. I may wander in my grief but I do not get lost. I am walking with my grief and notice that I am still moving forward.

I may wander in my grief, I may wander with my grief and we are acquainted and have time for each other. We are curious about each other and learn a bit more day after day. This, I suppose, is the gift. The grief gift I never asked for but am learning how to receive.

Staying home for a change, I’ve decided to still move forward and grief will accompany me.

Winning is not the offer


Now is not the time. And yet it is. Here we are.
This is not a poem, not a prayer, only a release, 
A breath that will not save me but also cannot hurt.

To talk about leadership without mentioning power
We do it all the time.
Classes, courses, seminars, programs to educate and "build" leaders
But never mind power.
Never mind hierarchies.
Never mind capitalism.
Brute domination is not leadership; it's cruelty in action
Being first is not equal to being best
Racing deeper into the abyss has nothing to do with winning

Winning is not the offer, surrender is the demand.
Give in, give up, go quietly, shut up - these are the options.
Enemies are abundant, so too, alienation.
Alien nation - the destination, not the origin.
Until we are all aliens to ourselves and each other
Great. Again.

An age where intelligence should be artificial
Where numbers 1 and 0 can tell us everything we want to hear
in the blink of a surveillance camera*
An age where creativity is reduced to prompts
An age for slop and degradation at scale
(Surveillance cameras never blink, btw)

It's not that there is no hope
Or that doom is unbeatable
It's that public evil has become so damn profitable
It's that several find glee in the suffering of others
It's that every day brings a new administrative horror
Stealing livelihoods, removing protections, taking lives
in the short, then long term

Winning is not the offer, surrender is the demand.

Refuse. Refusing. Reject. Rejecting.
Would that I were so brave.
"Become ungovernable"
Sounds good in my ears .
Would that I were not such a rule follower.

Original expression remains available.
Donating time, money and energy where needed,
Listening to those who must be heard,
all possibilities.

This is not a poem, not a prayer, only a release, 
A breath that will not save me but also cannot hurt.

Single leafy tree in center of broad, mainly flat dark landscape; twilight sky background, reflected in smooth lake below. — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Speaker Gallery 2025

Images from PHASE China 2025, courtesy of 21st Century Learning

Images from CEESA Conference 2025 in Split, Croatia, courtesy of CEESA.org

We Will Win

Blue-green sky with hundreds of thin white streaks that are slightly curved. Strip of earth across the bottom of panel.

At a local English-speaking poetry slam, I shared a total of four pieces, 2 in the first round, 2 in the Final. In the final I chose a favorite text: Breakfast forever and an entirely fresh poem that had been brewing over these last weeks. Here it is:

Extremists Have Taken over the Government

Extremists have taken over the government
So what are you planning to do?
Comply in advance?
Give them a chance?
Keep your mouth shut?
Ignore your own gut?

Extremists have taken over the government
Here’s what we’re not gonna do:
Roll over and sigh
Believe all the lies
Abandon the weakest
Show up as defeatists

Extremists have taken over the government
But certainly not your mind
So fix your face
Find your pace
Grow a spine
Donate your time


We         will          win.

*Shortly after, my own win was announced.