 It’s summertime in The Chi. That’s Chicago, for all you newbies. I actually never call it that, but it’s fun to have a term of endearment for something you love, and honestly, everything feels more exciting here right now. Or at least more lively (by lively, I mean the kind of word teachers use when their classrooms are a bit out of control.)
Summertime in Chicago is off the chain: ice cream trucks incessantly circle the blocks, blasting looping jingles (apparently, the one that rolls through my neighborhood also has a robot voice that randomly shouts “Hello?” every other beat). The lakefront is buzzing with people, fireworks pop off guerrilla-style long after (and let’s be honest, long before, too!) the 4th of July holiday. Every weekend is stacked with free events: street fests, art markets, live music, farmers markets, you name it. Even the city pools are finally open. There’s been no shortage of scandal surrounding Chicago Public pools in recent years, including sexual assault, abuse and widespread coverups among lifeguard staff and leadership. A deep scandal that left many pools shut-down, vacant and unused in the dead of summer, at a time when young people need the most access to safe, leisurely spaces. It seemed that this corrupt and pervasive issue was just getting cleaned up and pools were finally reopening, with full staffing and renewed public trust, when tragedy struck again. Last week, a 55-year-old white lifeguard opened fire and killed a Black teenager in Douglass Park. Broad daylight. A child. Gunned down by the very person hired to be their “lifesaver.” A space meant for joy and safety saturated with violence. It’s hard to wrap your head around. You can read about this story right here. Like I said, The Chi is lively… And it’s hot. Temperatures in the 90s. So today, I walked down to my neighborhood pool in East Garfield Park. The fieldhouse, affectionately known as “the Gold Dome,” is a hidden gem; its towering Spanish Baroque architecture crowned by a radiant, gold-leafed dome. This two-story rotunda confidently overlooks a Westside community all too often overlooked of its innate beauty. Nestled just outside this monumental landmark and framed by this sprawling urban park, this city pool sits cradled in a setting that feels both exquisite and authentically real. When I walked into the pool area from the back gate, where everyone enters, I was met with the sight of two teen girls floating on their backs in the deep end, arms stretched out in a wide wingspan, faces turned up to the clear blue sky. Not a care in the world. I knew I had come to the right place. I was tired today. Tired of the hustle. Tired of the constant pressure to be productive. Tired of worrying about my anxious dog, my bills, and a president in the process of destroying a country. I came with the intention of lap swimming, but something softer washed over me at the sight of those floating girls. Why not rest? Why not pause and just breathe for a bit? Let the water carry some of the weight, if only for the length of an adult swim. An adult swim that was currently full of children. I have to say, initially I felt disappointed because I knew this wasn’t going to be the dedicated lap swimming environment I had hoped for in order to blow off some steam. But I’m no Karen, complaining to the lifeguard demanding my time in the pool be child-free. Pool, summer and children are synonymous. And who am I to interrupt their joy just so I can churn out laps in a straight line? These kids deserve the freedom of play and maybe I had something to learn from them today. So, I simply eased into the water and began gliding back and forth, horizontally, across the pool, adjusting course whenever kids wandered into my imaginary lane. The water was cool. Light rippled off the surface in a series of zebra inspired zig zag light patterns. My own rhythm began to form. I’d swim across the pool, keeping my head mostly above water, partially because the goggles I brought with me snapped the second I tried to stretch them over my head. Years of non-use had made the brittle nose bridge crack in half, along with it killing my dreams of doing some serious exercise today. But maybe that was the point. This wasn’t the time and place to be serious. It was just a couple people: some kids, a few parents, a mom teaching her baby to swim, a bored lifeguard and two teens in the deep end just trying to make the most of their day. A free city pool, still open, still available to us when so much else feels out of reach, too expensive, and incredibly hard. Nothing fancy. Just a dip in the pool will do. Gliding across the surface of the water on my belly, touching the other side of the pool, then flipping on my back and pushing off the wall, backstroking my way to the other side. Back and forth, like this. I was in no rush. Savoring every sensation at this slow pace, like the carefree seagulls swooping low overhead, flying so close that each time they passed I felt like I could reach out and graze their soft underbelly. My body, this cool water, light dancing off the surface, high-pitched squeals of little girls splashing, and the golden light of the dome overhead, reflecting back the magnificence of this day; a day that, until this moment, had felt simply burdensome. At some point I got tired of swimming laps and switched to treading water. Something I’ve always been weirdly proud of. I could tread water for what feels like days. Something about my survival instincts that never falter. I looked it up once- the longest record for treading water is 104 hours. That’s over four days. The guy had to be pulled out of the water because it became too dangerous to continue. Honestly, I think I could beat that record, if I didn’t love sleep so much. So, there I am, in the pool, now situated in the center of the deep end where it was easier to navigate around the little ones. As I’m mindlessly pumping my legs and swirling my arms, a young girl swims up to me, clumsily, her head barely above water; it’s questionable if she should even be in the deep end. But, she’s curious about what I’m doing. I tell her about treading water and demo the motions a little before swimming her back to the side of the pool on the shallow end (mainly because I’m worried she’ll go under and our inattentive lifeguard won’t be the one to provide assistance!). Somehow we get to talking about nose plugs, of which I think I have a pair in my bag, so we get out of the pool and I dig around for this item. Turns out, along with my broken goggles (RIP), I also packed ear plugs instead of my nose plug. Time to refresh my swim gear, clearly. The girl seems instantly disappointed, but then asks if she can use the earplugs. I convince her otherwise because these ear plugs looked used and I haven’t any idea how long they’ve been sitting in the bottom of my swim bag. Undisturbed, she goes back to play with her cousin and I return to treading water in the deep end. I continue treading water for another solid 30 minutes before deciding to head out. It’s nearing 7 p.m. and I feel fully satisfied with my decision to come to the pool today. As I’m climbing out of the pool, I notice that same girl has made her way back to the deep end, now trying to tread water herself. I hear the lifeguard call out to her, asking something I can't quite catch. Her reply makes me smile: “I’m doing what she’s doing.” I have to admit, I feel a quiet sense of pride knowing I may have inspired her to try something new, maybe even a bit risky. A precarious balance of growth and failure. As I walk around the edge of the pool to exit, I call out to her, “hey, if you get tired, just lay on your back.” I catch a glimpse of her trying it. Floating on her back, arms out, face up to the sky. I hope, in that moment, she feels as free as the city bird circling overhead. Her bravery deserves the goldest of stars. As I leave, I found myself reflecting on how, as adults, we teach our kids to sink or swim; to survive and hustle, keep moving, keep doing, keep going…but rarely do we teach the act of floatation. To rest, to play, to ease out of the grind. Essentially, we unlearn everything we already knew as kids. Play is essential to life. As adults, we fight our natural tendencies for leisure and get hardened by life; obsessed with productivity and control, forgetting how to just flow with life’s natural currents. Or, life demands we tread water relentlessly. We forget that floating is an act of surrender, a gentle resistance to the constant push to do more and be more. It’s a reminder that sometimes the greatest strength is in letting go, breathing deep, and just being. And if kids can learn to swim, to keep their heads above water, why should they not be reminded to float every once in a while. Because once they remember to float, they can really learn to fly.
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 The teeter-totter was one of my favorite playground activities as a kid. Finding just the right position on the beam, opposite my counterpart, to be suspended together in midair, hanging in the balance between earth and sky. The space of possibility. As I grew older I realized a lot of things depend on this careful balance to survive– cooking, glassblowing, sleep, exercise…you name it. Many endeavors require “just enough of this” and “not too much of that” before the whole thing can go south. The same is true for mentoring young people. Lately, I’ve been engrossed in the book, “10 to 25: The Science of Motivating Young People” by David Yeager. In this book, he explores how insights from brain science can help anyone in a position of power better understand and support young people by recognizing the impact of three distinct mentor mindsets: The Enforcer, The Protector, and The Mentor. By recognizing these different approaches, adults can more effectively meet young people's needs and positively influence their growth. When reflecting on my teaching career, I can recognize moments when I embodied all three mentor archetypes. However, my growth and effectiveness as an educator ultimately depended on my ability to adapt The Mentor mindset. Honestly, I was raised by two of these parental prototypes, who modeled opposite ends of this spectrum—my strict, no-nonsense stepmother reflected “The Enforcer,” while my nurturing, protective bio mother embodied “The Protector.” So, as a teacher, it was natural to fall into these familiar roles because this is what was modeled for me. It was a lot more challenging to find the middle, sweet spot of The Mentor mindset, which requires deeper self-awareness, intentional practice, and ongoing reflection. The Enforcer comes at you from a position of power. It’s the “Do as I say, or else” authoritarian approach that uses fear to dictate the actions of its subordinates. It’s also a deficit model where we see young people, teens in particular, as inherently deficient and incompetent. They are blank slates to be shaped and modeled by their all-knowing superiors. We’ve all seen this “listen and obey” model in classrooms with teachers who yell at their students to gain control. These teachers often use grades punitively and for compliance. I’ll have to admit, it's an enticing tactic, when, as a stressed out teacher, you witness a room full of rowdy teens go completely silent at the declaration of a pop quiz. Yeager describes this model of mentorship as having high expectations/low support where blaming, shaming and humiliating kids is used to foster obedience. This is a dangerous strategy when we consider child development because from a neuroscientific standpoint social humiliation equates to death for a burgeoning adult. If you were kicked out of the tribe in the old days, you have little chance of survival. Sadly, that’s why this fear-based tactic works all too well. Because teens need to belong to survive. This top-down style of leadership might motivate young people in the short term—prompting them to study for a test or tidy up their room—but the long-term negative effects can leave a lasting impact. We’ve all heard the wisdom from our sage teacher, Maya Angelou, “...people will forget what you said…forget what you did, but…will never forget how you made them feel.” An Enforcer may succeed in maintaining order in the classroom, but at what cost? Students might comply in the short term, but they’re likely to develop a dislike for the subject, quickly forget the material they memorized, and steer clear of any future paths that involve those skills. I know. I speak from experience. To this day I hate chopping vegetables because I grew up in a household where, as a sous chef to the head gourmet chef, I had to cut those carrots to precision or else…No thank you, I’d rather microwave a burrito. On the other hand, Yeager details The Protector mindset. This style of mentorship is more of a permissive approach, whereby well-meaning adults treat young people as fragile, vulnerable beings, and aim to shield them from discomfort at all costs. It’s the boss who tiptoes around giving critical feedback. It’s the new teacher who just wants to be liked by the kids. It’s the parent who believes the world is cruel enough, so here, “Let me help you. Better yet, let me do it for you!” mindset. The inverse of The Protector, in this case we have low standards/high support. With this soft approach, even the most well-meaning, caring adult cannot inspire growth or motivate students to face their greatness challenges. The appropriate adage in this scenario is, "the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Because, why would I try hard if I knew someone else will pick up the pieces? Why would I be proud of something I put little effort into creating? Why would I do my laundry if my mom just does it for me? Sure, these types of parents and teachers are fun and warm and inviting, and you’ll typically see the students lingering longer in these classrooms because there are no real rules or expectations. But, what happens when this student wants to strike out on their own? Will they be able to think for themself? Have the right mental tools to weather adversity? The perseverance and grit to learn through failure? Or, will they just give up and hope someone else will come to their rescue? When The Protector prematurely rushes in to save us, we learn that we are not capable of greatness on our own. We lose our inner compass and self trust necessary to face life's hardest challenges. I mean, who doesn’t want their mom to keep doing their laundry well into adulthood? This is where we land at The Mentor Mindset- a teetering balance between The Protector and The Enforcer. The sweet spot. The space between heaven and earth. The precarious balance between freedom and control. A Mentor Mindset is one that sees young people having unique perspectives, inherent assets and strengths, and passions of their own accord. This mentor provides high expectations/high support and collaboratively seeks ways to inspire young people to contribute their gifts to society. This relationship is built on trust, transparency and mutual support. There are opportunities to learn and grow without fear of criticism (the Enforcer) or a lack of standards (the Protector). The Mentor Mindset ascribes to what Yeager calls Theory Y, where young people are seen as not inherently lazy, selfish or driven by reward or punishment, but rather they are motivated by Maslow’s higher-needs, like social connection, social status/prestige, and meaning/purpose. This style of mentorship requires deep listening, the use of “We” language (I’m on this journey with you!)-- Model, Coach, and Care. Just like that playground teeter-totter, a true mentorship is a back and forth. If the person on one side leans too far in, the person on the other side must adjust and scoot back. If one person carries all the weight, the other person is left suspended in the air, or stuck, planted on the ground. It’s the mutual engagement that keeps both sides supported– a careful dance of connection, staying in tune with each other’s movements because true connection comes from that shared rhythm. Mentorship requires balance, presence, and mutual effort for everyone to stay steady and inspired. Check out this interview with David Yeager on The Huberman Lab podcast. Buy his book, “10 to 25: The Science of Motivating Young People”  One of my favorite things to do is go paddleboarding on Lake Michigan with my dog. She is agoraphobic and refuses to take walks, so this is one of the few activities we can do together. It's calming, refreshing, feels safe. The other day when we were out on the water I had this strong urge to keep paddling. I thought, "What if I just never stopped and paddled straight over to Michigan (I am located on the Chicago side)?" Turns out, some people have done this, but it takes careful planning and preparation and can be quite dangerous because this great lake often resembles an ocean with large swells of waves to catch you off guard. I let this raw and unencumbered thought pass and left the beach.
On my drive home, I listened to The Hidden Brain podcast. In this episode, "Your Life 2.0: What is your Life For?" the host, Shankar Vedantam, is interviewing public health specialist, Victor Strecher, about his research on the power of purpose. Turns out, Victor has also thought of kayaking clear across Lake Michigan after his 19 year older daughter died of heart failure and, in his grief, he was searching for a salve to regain a reason to live. Like me, he also didn't go through with this feat, but what he did next changed his life. He started asking himself what mattered most. The answer was teaching. So, he returned to the classroom. In this simple act, he regained a sense of purpose and found what was worth living for again after the death of his daughter. This episode of Hidden Brain is packed with compelling stories of real people doing the real work of finding purpose in their life- their anchoring "Why" - that gives them true meaning, and by extension, a life legacy. Victor explains that one of the first steps to finding our purpose is to determine what we value. He's not talking about surface level hedonic values, like your appearance or money or, in my case, when I was in high school, I thought my purpose was to follow my hunky boyfriend around like an obedient puppy dog. He's talking about what he called "self-transcending" values. Those values that exist in a realm bigger than ourselves, like compassion, kindness, education, social justice. When what we do in the world on a daily basis is in alignment with our transcending values, we become much more resilient and primed for growth and evolution. And, there's science to it-- "People with transcending values have less activation in a part of the brain that relates to fear and aggression called the amygdala. They have more activation in a part of the brain that relates to executive decision making, long-term orientation, a future orientation, and that's called the ventral medial prefrontal cortex, right up in the front of the brain. It's a very modern part of the brain. Humans have more than any other animal by a large amount." At which point in the podcast I realized that my dog needs a sense of purpose because agoraphobia is strongly linked to intense fear and this part of her brain must be on fire!...but, I digress... If identifying our life purpose is linked to our core values, that is a good place to start. Yet, I've always hated this question, "What do you value?" because it seems so big and esoteric, vaguely defined. Coincidently, at the start of the school year, it's often a community-building activity we do in our classsrooms to set the tone. But, what does it even mean and how do I identify what I value? Of course I value kindness. So what. In this podcast, Victor Strecher gives us a tangible example. He says, look at your cell phone. What is the wallpaper of your smartphone? Whatever image is posted there gives you a clue to what is important to you and is linked to your core values upon which you can build your purpose. My smartphone image often rotates, but at the moment, it is graffiti streetart that I saw in Southern France this summer of The Little Prince. That classic tale reminds us that what truly matters in life is invisible to the naked eye—things like love, friendship, and human connection. Adults often lose sight of what’s truly important while chasing power, money, or status. Children see the world with clearer hearts driven by wonder, authenticity and imagination; three values I hold dear. There are a range of benefits from having a strong purpose. Scientific research provides evidence that it can relieve depression; give you hope, energy and will power. Purpose is a form of mental and physical resilience that can reshape your brain and boost emotional regulation. It is a coping strategy in the midst of adversity. We must persist in our purpose and organize our lives around the things that matter most. In this podcast, we are reminded that life is finite. We're only here briefly in the grand scheme of the universe. So, what are you going to do with the precious time you are given? How do you want to spend your time? Is what you spend your time thinking and engaging in related to your core values and what you find meaningful? What are you obsessed with? And, if you don't know the answer to any of these questions, start by becoming a careful observer your life. For me, my "Why" might not be traversing Lake Michigan with my dog, but it is helping others (dogs included) find their inner compass. That's what keeps me going. That is the kind of legacy I'd like to leave behind. How about you? Maybe it’s time to find your “Why.” Resources: Purposeful - app to identify your purpose and write a statement of purpose Living on Purpose by Victor Strecher Hidden Brain Podcast: You 2.0: What Is Your Life For? (June 30, 2025)  A great educator is someone who instills a love of something in you light years after you leave the classroom. For me, it’s the orangutan. Every week for a year in Vito Dipinto’s middle school science class we would visit our animals at the Lincoln Park Zoo — drawing them, taking pictures, making observations…in those weekly visits I fell in love with the orang and I swear it was mutual.
It’s 30 years later and that experience has never left me. I don’t remember the habitat elements, locomotion patterns, life span or other scientific details about this creature, but I do know that I cannot visit a zoo without saying hello and that I would protect this gentle giant at all costs. The funny thing is, the other person in this picture is a friend of mine, who I met in elementary school. She was a grade level below me and also picked the orangutan when it was her classes turn for zoological studies. She also has an unnatural obsession with this great ape. …so, surprise! We hung out yesterday and ended up at the Lincoln Park Zoo. We’re both living proof that relationships are the core of learning — whether with a wacky science teacher who lets his students stand on top of their desks and sway to The Beatles songs, while belting out “Give Peace a Chance” or with an entertaining, furry, orange, caged animal. You can’t have core memories (wisdom, knowledge, passion…) without relational imprints. |
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