Everyday Retreats

An everyday retreat: a quiet desk, warm light, and a moment to just breathe.

It’s like a scene out of Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I walk from my car into the school building, and I hear so much, “Noise, noise, noise, noise.” I feel distracted. I feel stressed. I feel overwhelmed.

I think of how to help my third period class engage more. I wonder if my student in fourth period talked with her parents about her mental health struggles. I ask myself how my colleague’s aging parent is recovering after a recent fall. I remember that I still have to make copies for my afternoon classes.

All of this noise, internal and external, and I have not yet arrived at my classroom where a student already waits for me at the door to ask about a grade I entered last night. All of this noise, internal and external, and I have yet to teach my first class of the day where I will encounter even more noise. Some of it will be the noise of inquiry, learning, and possibly even some laughter. Some of the noise will be reminding students to keep their hands to themselves, answering questions not even remotely close to the day’s lesson, or hearing whatever term or number the most recent social media trend has deemed worthy of teenagers’ attention. All of this noise, internal and external.

So much noise.

I’m exhausted from the noise already, and first period has not started.

I need a break from the noise.

I need a retreat.

When I hear the word “retreat,” I first think of couple’s retreats or corporate retreats. These retreats have a particular aim and purpose where participants are stepping back from their hurried lives to reconnect, reflect, and adjust. I also think of the military sense: falling back in order to regroup before advancing again.

What would happen if we brought that idea into today's classrooms?

I imagine something I call everyday retreats. These aren’t recess or passing periods. They’re not the rare planning period or lunch break. They’re not reflection surveys or exit tickets.

Everyday retreats are intentional moments of pause—between teachers and students, in the middle of learning—not to push forward, but to breathe, regroup, and reconnect. A moment to turn down or even turn off what Thich Nhat Hanh refers to as “Radio Non-Stop Thinking.” In the spirit of the Joyful Learning Collaborative, these moments remind us that joy, equity, and belonging are not extras; they are essentials.

I take one of these retreats with my students every few weeks. I carve out a few minutes of class, sit down at a student desk, and ask a single question: “How is it going?”

That’s it. I leave the question open. I’m not asking about the test or the unit or even school. Students respond however they choose. We pause together. We let what’s real and pressing rise to the surface.

Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s emotional. Sometimes it’s funny.

But every time, it’s real.

It’s a moment to set aside roles—teacher, student—and just be human together. It’s a moment to breathe.

We need that. All of us.

Another retreat I take is just for me. Though my classroom is near the front office, I deliberately walk the long way. I pass through a quiet hallway, breathe deeply, and let go of the noise. I don’t check email. I don’t think about my next class. I just walk. Just breathe. Just be.

The harried and hurried within today's classrooms is well documented. The result is teachers struggling to get students to engage with the learning process, students feeling separated from their learning because they don't see themselves in the curriculum for a multitude of reasons, and teachers who feel demoralized by a system that has all but eliminated the art and craft of teaching and curriculum design. These everyday retreats help us resist that depletion. They are a small but powerful way to reclaim our energy and intention.

Much of my thinking is shaped by Jon Kabat-Zinn and others in the mindfulness and contemplative pedagogy spaces. In our most hurried moments, they remind us the best thing we can do is stop. Breathe. Come back to ourselves.

In schools today, especially those in high-pressure, high-stakes contexts, these moments aren’t luxuries. They are necessities.

For teachers, they help us preserve our joy and presence. For students, these moments send the message that they matter, not just as test scores or standards-met, but as whole human beings.

In classrooms committed to joyful learning and equity, everyday retreats are a quiet act of resistance. They push back against the constant pressures to perform and remind us that connection is part of the curriculum. This is at the heart of what the Joyful Learning Collaborative seeks to create: a community of practice where educators share, pause, and grow together.

Sometimes we need to slow down so that we can be fully present in the joy.

Are we modeling that for our students? Are we making room for them to experience it?

I hope so.

Because our classrooms can be more than spaces for intellectual growth. They can be places of care. Of pause. Of breath.

Everyday retreats don’t take much time, but they just might give us back what we’ve lost: time, breath, and connection.