The Little Things

A few days ago, while talking with a teacher from my school about a workshop I'll be leading this Saturday, I said something that stayed with me.

I told her that I hoped everyone who attended would take something valuable away from the experience.

Then I added:

"I hope no one expects miracles. This is a drip-by-drip process."

As I said it, I realized that's exactly how I experience teaching every day in my classroom.

Later that day, another teacher stopped by and joined us during our circle time.

One of the activities we did was passing a small bell from one hand to another without making it ring.

When we finished, she smiled and asked,

"When are you coming to do this with my class?"

I replied,

"Take the bell and try it with your students. But don't expect it to go like this the first time."

We've been doing this activity for about six weeks.

The first time, the bell rang in almost every child's hands.

Week after week, it rang a little less.

Today, it rang only once.

Mine.

One of the children laughed and said to the teacher,

"Now it only rings when María holds it."

It made me stop and think.

They had learned how to hold the bell gently enough so it wouldn't ring.

But, without realizing it, they had learned many other things as well.

They learned to wait.

To regulate their movements.

To pay attention.

To concentrate.

It didn't happen overnight.

We simply came back to the same activity, week after week.

Sometimes we look for big activities, big projects, or big changes.

And yet, so often a classroom is built through small gestures sustained over time.

Maybe that's why I don't expect miracles.

I believe in finding small practices that make sense for both me and my students.

And then staying with them.

Because when a practice is sustained over time, it stops being just another activity.

It becomes part of the life of the classroom.

Like preparing our bodies before lunch.

Like taking a pause before we begin.

Like breathing.

Like passing a bell from hand to hand until, one day, it no longer rings.

And that's when I realized it was never really about the bell.

It was about everything we had been building together, little by little, along the way.