What if professional growth has less to do with time, and more to do with perspective?
What makes an experienced teacher?
Is it ten years in the classroom? Twenty? A promotion? A master’s degree? Or is it something else entirely?
For a long time, I assumed experience accumulated naturally. Stay in the profession long enough and, almost by default, you’ll become better at what you do.
Looking back on my own career, I’m no longer convinced it’s that simple.
I began my career as a classroom teacher and Year Advisor, spending nine rewarding years at my first school. It was a wonderful place to begin and learn my craft. I secured permanent employment, worked alongside generous colleagues and learnt from experienced leaders. Looking back, I realise just how fortunate I was.
The school also had remarkably low staff turnover. People stayed because it was a great place to work. However, leadership opportunities were limited simply because very few positions ever became available.
Eventually I reached a point where I wanted to stretch myself professionally. That meant making the difficult decision to leave the familiarity of a school I loved for a temporary leadership opportunity elsewhere.
At the time, it felt like the opportunity I’d been striving for.
Looking back, it was a very risky move, but may have been the most important professional decision I’ve made.
Since then I’ve worked across government and independent schools, primary and secondary settings, leadership and classroom teaching. Every move has demanded adaptation.
Not because I suddenly became a more technically capable teacher.
But because the change created deliberate discomfort and bluntly dismantled assumptions about the profession I didn’t realise I was carrying.
The Echo Chamber
Every school develops its own version of “normal.”
Its own routines. Its own language. Its own traditions. Its own beliefs about what good teaching, leadership and learning look like.
None of those things are inherently good or bad. The danger comes when familiarity slowly becomes certainty. When “the way we do things here” quietly becomes “the way schools should do things”, with very few people having the professional insight of what works best in a broader context.
That’s the echo chamber.
People often say travel broadens the mind. I’ve always thought that’s because travel reminds us there are countless versions of “normal.”
Different cultures. Different traditions. Different families. Different ways of living.
The further we travel, the more we realise that many of the things we considered universal are simply local customs.
Changing schools has had a similar effect on me. Each new community has challenged something I previously thought was simply “how schools work.” It turns out many of those assumptions were just how that school worked.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve come to believe that perspective often grows faster than proficiency.
When I joined a new school, I didn’t suddenly become a better teacher.
My lesson planning didn’t improve overnight. My classroom management wasn’t magically transformed.
What changed almost immediately was my perspective.
I began asking different questions. Seeing different possibilities. Understanding different communities. Listening more carefully before assuming.
Changing schools didn’t necessarily make me a better teacher.
It made me a different teacher.
Of course, changing schools isn’t the only way to escape the echo chamber.
For many teachers, particularly in the NSW public system, movement isn’t always straightforward. Permanent positions are rightly valued, family commitments matter and opportunities aren’t equally available.
But changing schools is only one form of deliberate discomfort.
Others might include postgraduate study, leading a new initiative, teaching a different year group, mentoring beginning teachers, marking HSC examinations, visiting other schools or presenting at a conference.
The common thread isn’t change for its own sake.
It’s deliberately placing ourselves in situations where our assumptions are challenged and we have the opportunity to grow.
One of the lessons I’ve learnt from running is that growth rarely happens when every run feels comfortable.
The easy runs have their place. They help us recover, consolidate and prepare for what’s next.
But fitness is built when we occasionally ask more of ourselves.
Professionally, I think the same principle applies.
Growth rarely comes from staying comfortable.
It comes from encountering new people, new contexts and new ways of thinking that force us to reconsider what we thought we knew.
This isn’t an argument against spending an entire career in one school (although I’d caution the risk of slipping into “institutional rigidity”).
Some of the finest educators I’ve met have done exactly that and have served a community with steadfast dedication whilst finding meaningful ways to develop and grow.
It’s an argument against allowing familiarity to become our only teacher. Being open to alternative approaches doesn’t diminish what we already do well, it expands what’s possible for our students.
Because the moment our version of “normal” goes unchallenged is often the moment our professional growth begins to slow.
So perhaps the question isn’t whether we should all change schools.
It’s a simpler question than that.
When was the last time your work genuinely changed the way you think?
Yours in education,
Chris English
Chris English 