What if we confronted the glorification of grind culture and capitalism’s demand for constant productivity by reimagining rest as a form of resistance? Part-memoir, part-manifesto, Tricia Hersey’s Rest Is Resistance vibrantly challenges assumptions, poetically upholding practices like daydreaming and napping as means to reclaim agency. Blending personal revelations as a mover-turned-divinity-student and womanist theologian, Hersey advocates reclaiming time, creativity, and selfhood from exploitative forces valuing output over people. Centering her argument around the theft of regenerative spaces for imagination and healing, Hersey surfaces notions of rest and dreaming as wasteful idleness and repositions slowing down as a radical way to process ingrained trauma. Through insightful discussion questions for unpacking family legacies around overwork versus rest, Rest as Resistance enables critical dialogue: Can students perform unlimited labor and still retain spirit? What messages do we send by tying self-worth mainly to productivity? Can we embrace rest as a means of heightening our creativity, inventiveness, and willingness to support our community? For teachers and students, Hersey presents imaginative rest as power. Modeling slowing down fosters communities grounded in justice, sustainability, and being over doing. This imaginative shift grants schools permission to resist speed’s harms by honoring internal resilience.

In the New York Times Learning Network, Jeremy Engle invites students to respond to Frank Bruni’s December essay “Our Semicolons, Ourselves” – answering questions like “Should educators rethink or change how they teach writing and communication in light of the advances in and accessibility of A.I. tools?” and “Will A.I. technology ever replace the need for people to learn how to write effectively?” How are we creating space and structure for our students (and ourselves) to ask questions of import about what’s worth learning and what kinds of skills and understandings are most urgently needed to address the problems of our world? Bruni’s essay asserts that “Writing is thinking, but it’s thinking slowed down – stilled – to a point where dimensions and nuances otherwise invisible to you appear.” In a recent Atlantic piece, historian Tiya Miles gives us insight into the historical creative process of the late, great speculative fiction writer (and inventor of histofuturism) Octavia Butler, explaining that Butler was “a transtemporal thinker, looking backwards and forward at the same time, and recognizing that key features of the future lay just out of view in the past.” As educators, when we engage with questions like Engle’s, we, too, may enter the realm of transtemporal thinking, looking back and looking forward, making connections and “project[ing] historical patterns.” Notably, Miles believes that “Butler’s vision fits our disorienting moment of flashbacks and fast-forwards” and reminds us that Butler’s novels are – much like our vocation – “ultimately about a humanity worth saving.”

In her most recent book, Devorah Heitner relies on a synthesis of research, along with her decades of conversations with students, parents, and educators, to describe the digital world our teens and tweens must navigate. She places next to one another the latest realities of technology (the ability of parents to track their children's movements, grades, and postings), the reality of teens (the desire to belong, to be known, to use social media to their benefit, as well as the fears of being canceled) and what is known about how to raise empathetic, independent, authentic, boundary-aware young adults. In the end, Heitner argues that parents and educators can help children and students navigate technology and life by discussing dilemmas, focusing on character more than threatening consequences, modeling boundary-setting, and supporting young adults to hold themselves accountable when mistakes are made. She argues for authenticity, voice, and responsibility over branding and surveillance, as she seeks to help parents and educators understand and intentionally decide how to mentor and guide our children and students in navigating their almost-constantly-digital world. In settings where parents frequently look to schools for answers about technology use, and productive partnerships often point the way forward, this book is a steadying addition to the conversation.

Michael J. Petrilli aims to refocus attention on cell phone overuse and its detrimental effects as the world races to grapple with more recent social-emotional and technological issues that hinder achievement, learning, and well-being. While he does not contend that smartphone and social media use can be inextricably linked to spikes in anxiety and depression among teenagers over the past decade, he draws upon findings that indicate greater intentionality and precautions must be taken to prevent overuse, addiction, and the potential complications associated with this kind of technology. Petrilli also makes potential connections between smartphone use and the "plateauing and decline of student achievement that we’ve seen in America, also starting around 2013, long before pandemic-era shutdowns sent test scores over a cliff." Petrelli notes additional factors that have influenced achievement, as well as the gaps in research, with fewer studies including the lowest-achieving students from underprivileged backgrounds. He draws most heavily on studies correlating sleep deprivation and a detrimental impact on learning, which he links to technology use. Sufficient sleep and intentional structure for technology use may be the simplest solution to bolster student learning and emotional health.

Readers searching for fresh, practical guidance focused on the early childhood classroom and nurturing the brilliance of young Black children can gain much from this impactful title. The authors present a "revolutionary love" approach that empowers educators to counteract systemic racism and implement inclusive practices in all aspects of their daily routines. Organized according to the authors’ "Believe-Know-Do" framework, this book offers actionable steps for implementation and emphasizes their significance for young Black children's success and well-being. A distinguishing aspect of this title is the focus on creating safe, joyful play spaces that address the traumatic play experiences of Black children. The book offers guidance on discussing race in early childhood settings and provides tools to observe for unintentional, misperceived, or misjudged Black children's play. The text prompts reflection through thought-provoking questions, challenging educators to confront implicit biases and harmful practices. Boutte, Wynter-Hoyte, and Bryan have assembled a valuable resource for novice and veteran teachers, school administrators, and family engagement committees seeking to implement a new resource to gauge their inclusivity practices. With practical strategies, powerful ideas, and a focus on revolutionary love, it is a must-read for those aiming to foster belonging and inclusion in early childhood classrooms.

A childhood spent on welfare, a White House aide to President Barack Obama, a gang member’s girlfriend, and a candidate for the United States Congress: Campoverdi introduces readers to a complex cast of characters during this intimate journey about what it means to be a “First and Only.” Oftentimes, when we hear of “first generation” or the “only” person in the family to attend university, we affirm and applaud the social mobility engine in this country. However, in her personal memoir, Campoverdi discusses the “Trailblazer Toll” openly, naming and acknowledging that there are scars in being the “First and Only.” Rather than continuing the narrative of Disneylandesque rags to riches, Campoverdi’s truth-telling will offer the possibility of healing from its wounds. In the independent school and college admissions spaces, there are outstanding “First and Only” students whom we admit and launch to universities. Campoverdi’s memoir will give educators hoping to provide better support and understanding a window into the unique yet shared challenges of “First and Onlys.”

Oliver Burkeman wants us to know something. An acknowledged expert on time management research, he found something through personal practice that surprised him. He cannot multitask, at least not effectively and productively. He also knows that, in truth, no one can multitask. Burkeman is the author of 4000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals (reviewed in the September 2022 Klingbrief), but he is back with this article, focused on one thing – to encourage an everyday change in approach to tasks and time. This approach might seem counterintuitive to educators who know that there is almost no time in any school day that has only one thing calling on our attention. What is revelatory here is an evidence-based truth that, whether we accept it or not, we can only accomplish at peak when we do one thing, then another one thing. So, without fear of failing, we can give ourselves permission to examine how we use our attention, where it leaks away in our days, and to recognize that prioritizing is an available human skill while multitasking is not. Understanding that attention as a treasured resource, best and most wisely spent on things that matter most, could impact teachers’ and administrators’ outlook on responsible scheduling, commitments, and to-do lists. And it might model for our students a life skill that will reduce stress, avoid extremes, and allow for calm. Simple to say; very hard to do.