One morning earlier this week, as I drove my daughter to school, a layer of mist hovered along the shoreline of Highland Lake in East Andover while the sun illuminated the lake's center. My daughter's curiosity about this natural phenomenon sparked not just an impromptu science lesson (I hope my response was mostly accurate) but also provided a window into her second-grade classroom. As she recounted her water cycle project with unmistakable pride, I witnessed that pure, unfiltered excitement of discovery and the 'beginner's mind' we all possess as children but sometimes lose sight of as adults.
Inspired, perhaps, by the beauty of the lake on an early spring morning, she launched into a detailed description of her class's exploration of what happens when rainwater falls in the mountains. She and a partner first recorded their "wonderings" in journals, built models to test hypotheses, and documented observations. New questions emerged – "How does water transition from clear to brown?" and "Why is there sand on the beach?" – leading to iterations, shared discoveries, and the beginnings of conclusions.
I found parallels between this second-grade approach and what I observed during this year's Proctor Project Period. In "Outdoor Adventure Photography," students who routinely capture smartphone images found themselves rethinking composition through the rule of thirds, choosing subjects with intention, and making deliberate decisions about depth of field. In "Super Sleuths," crime show enthusiasts discovered the scientific methodology behind forensic analysis, learning to collect evidence systematically and solve mysteries through analytical thinking rather than intuition. In "Log Cabin Quilting" and "Leather Crafting," students approached raw materials with openness, letting go of perfectionism and watching as simple strips of fabric and pieces of leather transform over several days.
Back in 2021, Dean of Teaching and Learning Derek Nussbaum Wagler shared with faculty Tom Vanderbilt's article on the cognitive benefits of learning something new as an adult. Learning skills like juggling create 'activation-dependent structural plasticity' – literally reshaping neural tissue. This neuroscience perspective illustrates what we witness during Project Period: growth occurs at the edge of capability. When skills become automatic, it is time to increase difficulty.
The "Bridge to Elbow Pond" project exemplifies applying many new skills to solve an authentic problem -- when the previous bridge washed out, hikers and bikers found themselves wading through the outlet to reach the Elbow Pond dock and boathouse. Students learned basic welding, painting, carpentry, and engineering principles in a compressed timeframe. As their confidence grew with basic techniques, they progressively were given more responsibility and advanced their skills. Maneuvering heavy materials into position and braving the icy-cold water to construct abutments and secure the metal span in place pushed physical boundaries.
Learning through failure is another essential ingredient for new skill development. Vanderbilt points to the unexpected research subjects of infants learning to walk. "[Infants], who struggle to regain balance with nearly every step, can take up to 30 tumbles an hour. They are learning machines, relentlessly curious and engineered with errors in mind. They take 14,000 steps a day with a failure rate that would be deeply discouraging – maybe even catastrophic – for adult beginners trying to learn a skill."
One student from the "Shark Tank" project described his non-linear journey to reach his final business concept after presenting to guest "investors" Rick Blackshaw, former CEO of Converse, HeyDude, Sperry, and CCM Hockey, and Russ Layton, founder and CEO of Sparkz Hockey (skate sharpening technology). Over four intensive days, he scrapped several ideas with guidance from project leaders – due to insufficient market demand, well-established competitors, or unsustainable cost structures. He finally landed on his concept the day before his presentation, working into the evening and the next morning to refine his pitch.
I am reminded, too, of our language immersion programs in Segovia, Spain and Monteverde, Costa Rica, where students navigate a new world immersed in Spanish. In each conversation lies the possibility of failure but also a small step toward incremental improvement. As they order morning pastries in local cafes, engage with teenagers in plazas, and share personal stories with host families across kitchen tables without translator apps, they embrace imperfection, prioritizing authentic communication and connection over grammatical precision. Improved proficiency and fluency emerge not in sudden leaps but through practice. In a recent article, social scientist Arthur Brooks reflects on his decision to challenge himself to give lectures in two non-native languages – and the unexpected benefits that resulted from "doing things you're bad at." As Brooks discovered, his public speaking in English – his native tongue – improved after challenging himself to present and give interviews in Catalan and Spanish, languages he learned as an adult.
Brooks references a recent study of baseball players where skilled pitchers, generally poor hitters, were given batting practice. "Their inferior performance in batting and their resulting frustration led them to be more driven to improve their pitching." Even without achieving mastery in new domains, the process yields rewards that extend beyond the activity itself. For our students, the accomplishments and challenges of an off-campus program or creative frustrations of Project Period become the impetus for growth in unexpected areas – in academic classes, on the athletic fields, or in deeper engagement in our community. This is not to say that we cannot or should not improve in new pursuits where we initially struggle. In fact, when we reframe challenging experiences as steps in our personal growth, as Brooks notes, "the mental pain of failure... can also stimulate you to become better at the activity in which you lack proficiency."
In many respects, Project Period is a representation of Proctor's educational philosophy in miniature, condensed into just four or five intensive days. We carve out significant time from our packed boarding school schedule to embrace hands-on, immersive learning outside traditional academics. Faculty and staff passionate about a specific subject or subjects have the opportunity to create a mini-class and share their expertise with students. Faculty and staff who are passionate about specific subjects create intensive mini-courses and engaging experiences to share their expertise. In largely mixed-age groups, students find their voices where typical social circles dissolve, creating a microcosm of real-world team dynamics they will encounter later in life. While the Project Period may only last a week, we hope that embracing a "beginner's mind," taking risks, and learning continuously from mistakes will enable students to discover not only new abilities but also new dimensions of themselves.
- Experiential Learning
- Project Period