As I’ve grown older and more seasoned in my career, I’ve come to realize something that I may have overlooked in my earlier years: we often plan for the elaborate at the cost of simplicity. In education—and in life—we can sometimes become so focused on creating the “perfect” moment that we miss the beauty and impact of the ordinary.
As a teacher, I used to spend hours crafting lessons that had all the bells and whistles. Attention-getters, interactive activities, group work, colorful visuals, and tech tools—I threw it all into the mix, hoping to capture my students’ attention and keep them engaged from bell to bell. And yes, those strategies have value. Engagement matters. Planning matters. Creativity in the classroom can spark curiosity and deepen understanding.
But over time, I discovered that some of the most meaningful learning moments weren’t the ones I had meticulously planned. They were the ones that came from a spontaneous question. A curious student. A class discussion that veered slightly off course but went exactly where it needed to go.
It was in those moments—raw, real, and unpolished—that students often made the biggest leaps. A simple question like “Why do you think that happened?” or “How does this connect to your life?” could lead to powerful conversations. Those moments didn’t come with flashy slides or a carefully scripted plan. They came with authenticity and openness.
It reminds me of weddings. Some couples spend thousands of dollars and months—even years—planning an elaborate wedding. Every detail is considered, every moment choreographed. And yet, when asked later about their big day, many of those couples admit they felt rushed, overwhelmed, and unable to truly enjoy the moment because it was all moving too fast. On the other hand, couples who elope often describe their day as deeply meaningful—simple, intimate, and full of joy. No big production, no fuss—just two people, present with each other, soaking in the moment.
Teaching is no different. The most elaborate lessons aren’t always the most impactful. Sometimes, the simple moments—the ones without the scripts or slideshows—are the ones students remember. A quiet read-aloud. A journal prompt. A walk outside to observe nature. A moment to just listen.
Don’t get me wrong—this isn’t a call to abandon planning or to stop trying to innovate in our classrooms. Intentionality still matters. But we shouldn’t discount the value of simplicity. Because simplicity isn’t the absence of depth; it’s often the doorway to it.
So today, I just want to encourage educators everywhere to give themselves permission to slow down. To embrace the power of the small, the ordinary, the quiet. Because sometimes, in a world that pushes us to do more, it’s the simplest moments that leave the deepest mark.
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