I still remember the layout of that Swedish classroom in the mid-90s. The round table in the center. The cubbies stacked with drawers. The bookshelves filled not just with textbooks, but with puzzles, art supplies, and cassette tapes. Years later, I made a rough sketch to help me describe it in a video—not to scale, and missing a few details—but even that sketch reminded me I rarely sat down. There was too much movement, too much life happening in that space.
It’s been decades since I stood in front of that age-mixed group of third, fourth, and fifth graders. Since we started the week by making individual plans. Since students moved between their own chosen tasks, wrote end-of-week reflections, and trusted themselves to shape their days.
The classroom is long gone. The building may have changed. The students certainly have. But those lessons—they stayed with me. Not the ones I taught, but the ones I learned.
I Was a Teacher, But I Was Also Learning
When I first built that classroom, I wasn’t thinking about educational theory. I was thinking about what my students needed. I saw how different they were—how one thrived in movement, another through storytelling, another with quiet repetition.
Later, when I discovered Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences, I recognized what I had already seen. I hadn’t built a classroom because of the theory. I had built it because I believed everyone learns differently. Gardner’s work just gave me the language for it.
Not Much Has Changed—Even When Everything Has
I’m not in the classroom anymore. Today, my work looks different. I write. I create videos. I experiment with AI. But the core is the same: I still build environments for learning—just quieter ones.
I plan gently. I work across mixed “ages” of ideas—some old, some new. I give myself room to follow threads and change directions. And I still believe reflection matters as much as action.
Whether I’m designing a blog post or a free resource or a creative tool, I still think about the child who learned best by walking, or the one who found her voice through art. I still try to make room for different kinds of understanding.
The Real Lessons
The classroom didn’t just teach my students. It taught me to trust growth that isn’t linear. To listen. To step back. To value process over product.
Those aren’t just teaching strategies. They’ve become part of how I live and create.
So while the classroom itself is gone, the lessons remain. They show up in the way I ask questions, the tools I use, and the spaces I build—whether physical or digital.
A Quiet Invitation
If you’ve ever stepped out of a role you loved—a job, a creative space, a home—you might recognize this feeling. You may no longer be that thing. But you still carry it.
So I’ll leave you with this: What past environment shaped the way you think or create today? What lessons remain, even if everything else has changed?
