How about Ted Lasso-Inspired Conferences

I remember my first conference I attended as a presenter. I felt a wonderful connection to the delegates and fellow presenters. There was only about 200 registered including the organizers. I was in my early twenties and eager to share a fresh idea and just as inspired to gather new ideas. But what made it feel collective was the deliberate work of the planning team, who didn’t simply smile and hand you a glossy name tag, it was the acts of inclusion that made me want to return.

People were actually happy to meet me; they went out of their way to get to know me. I didn’t have to show up with a team of pals to have a social network. The organizers assumed everyone mattered and their genuine warmth and appreciation for each delegate is probably what made many of us return year after year to be part of the experience.

David Chilton’s course of how to market a book hinted at this idea of forming relationships in personal and creative ways with folks who can potentially spread the word about your various texts. Just as someone who takes the time to write a manuscript needs to feel respected and connected to an audience, so too, do conference presenters need to feel their work to prepare and provide something for others is truly appreciated. A conference should not simply be a platform to sell books, or your services. It should be a place to gather and share common passions.

While most conferences of late, rarely replicate that feeling of inclusion I experienced as a young educator, I have always been appreciative of being selected to be part of a program.

I am not fond of the pre-packaged conferences, where there are no “call for presenters”. Such a closed system has a distinct purpose of providing more of a direct instruction experience, with ideas that do not deviate from one another. I prefer to attend sessions less predictable, to be surprised, with ideas to inform and inspire me to action.

It helps when you can form relationships with the organizers, the delegates and other presenters. I recently returned from the ASCD conference in Washington, DC. The registration felt like a hospital triage experience, but with the added adage of a Walmart smile as you gathered your name tag after standing behind the tables distributing the badges to the “S” delegates. I was on my own at this conference and when I saw that there was a room dedicated to presenters to meet each other, I thought this would be a wonderful place to have a professional conversation. It felt like leaping off the high diving board to try and jump in to a conversation. Everyone in there seemed to know one another. The refreshments were nice and the smiles were genuine, but someone interested in a chat about education was nowhere to be found.

I thought if I went and paid my way to a character education conference in another country, that this might be a place where folks walked their talk about being a welcoming and inclusive place. While I did meet some incredible educators, this was my doing,  sadly, not a priority for the conference committee. I wonder how shy people who didn’t reach out to others felt at this character- focused event?

When relationships cannot be formed – or helped to be informed by a conference planning committee, then it makes sense to host a virtual event. The idea of conferencing in person should not be a lonely experience. It seems such a waste, to be in a space with others and not be part of professional conversations. It’s not about making new friends; it’s about be included, you know DEI?

It’s not enough to organize and execute a perfectly timed conference operation and have a room full of famous keynoters. If we can make such professional learning experiences more personal and memorable by not only appreciating delegates who come from afar, but those who come on their own, as budgets are limited these days, perhaps we can figure out how to make schools feel like places where everyone belongs.