When I first got into Twitter, I viewed it as a fun place to learn. I watched people asking questions and getting answers about very practical things for their classrooms. It was essentially a crowd-sourced Google. Although I didn't fit this model (I was tweeting random stuff about politics and sports and social issues), I found myself tweeting out, "Hey math people, can you tell me a way to make linear equations engaging?"
Over time, this mindset shifted. I began to view each person as a member of a community. I suddenly felt like I belonged. I was known. I remember going to ISTE for years ago and being shocked that people knew my name. In this stage, the PLN felt more like Cheers. I could have fun and have discussions and, even on my worst days, I could show up to this space and feel a sense of relief.
Unfortunately, I also saw the dark side of the community. I remember being called a "child abuser" by a militant un-schooler. Then there were the harsh comments left on my blog. Suddenly, the drunken dark side of Cheers reared its ugly head. It wasn't the utopian community I had hoped it was.
And yet . . .
It began to feel more like Friends. When I had horrible data and wanted to quit, I reached out to people I knew on Twitter. When I wanted to plan lessons on hard topics connected to social issues, I joined a shared Google Doc. I've had one-on-one sessions about project-based learning and twenty-percent time. I'm currently working on Write About with two people I would never have known outside of Twitter. These are the friends who challenged my thinking on race and gender and marriage equality, but they're also the friends who expanded my taste in movies and music and books. And these friends were my advocates when I felt attacked online and wanted to walk away.
Someone could lob the "clique" accusation as well. However, the truth is that when I hang out with these friends, it feels more like hanging around the couch at Central Perk than walking into a bar where people know my name. It's why I appreciate the vulnerability of Pernille Ripp and Nick Provenzano and why I was livid when someone left a personal attack disguised as a review on Jose Vilson's book. These are my friends.
It's why I rarely talk about the PLN as a method of professional development. I just don't believe that anymore - at least not in the traditional sense of teacher learning. For me, blogging has been more like a community of friends. It’s been where I find rest and wrestle with ideas and interact with a community that challenges me. It's where I can celebrate my success and where I can be vulnerable when things are rough.
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