As I look back over the past two months in this program, I realize how much my thinking about youth work has expanded. When I first looked at the capstone projects from previous cohorts, I admired how each one represented a blend of purpose and creativity  a reflection of someone’s lived experience, values, and commitment to youth. Now, after the readings, discussions, and reflections we’ve had this semester, I can start to imagine what my own contribution might look like.

What I’m still curious about is how we can create spaces of care and belonging for young people who have often been labeled, silenced, or underestimated especially within schools. I keep coming back to the idea that care is not just emotional support, it’s a form of justice. When young people feel seen, affirmed, and safe, they begin to take risks in their learning and in their sense of self. That’s where transformation begins.

I imagine my capstone project being rooted in identity and social justice, exploring how educators and youth workers can co-create liberatory learning environments. I want to study and design practices that center youth voice and creative expression  through storytelling, art, writing, or performance as tools for healing and empowerment. In many ways, this feels like an extension of what I already do as a teacher: helping young people find language for their experiences and power in their narratives.

I’m also thinking about the anchor of Play  how play can exist even in serious spaces, and how it can be used to reimagine relationships between adults and youth. Perhaps my project could explore “playful resistance,” or how laughter, creativity, and joy become strategies for survival and solidarity.

Ultimately, I want my influence to be in creating and sustaining spaces where youth feel free not just academically successful, but emotionally whole, politically aware, and connected to community. My project might take the shape of a curriculum, a digital storytelling series, or a workshop model that brings together teachers, youth workers, and young people to co-design liberatory learning experiences.

Whatever form it takes, I know my capstone will grow from the same roots that brought me here: care, curiosity, community, and the belief that youth work is both personal and political.

 Eve Tuck’s “Suspending Damage” really made me stop and think about how often stories about marginalized communities especially youth are framed around pain, trauma, and deficiency. Tuck’s call to “suspend damage” isn’t about denying harm, but about refusing to let damage become the only story told about a community. This idea challenges me to reflect on my own instincts as a researcher, educator, and storyteller. When I document or describe youth experiences, am I unintentionally centering harm instead of highlighting brilliance, resistance, or joy?

The article helped me realize that research can easily reproduce harm if it’s only focused on what’s “wrong” with people. I began to see how schools, programs, and even researchers often use narratives of struggle to justify their existence showing data about “failing students” or “broken systems” rather than exploring students’ strengths, creativity, and survival. Tuck pushes me to consider what it would look like to research from a place of desire to center possibility, imagination, and care.

For me personally, this piece helps me think about how I want to represent both myself and others. I’ve experienced systems that defined me through what they thought I lacked. So in my own practice, I want to create space where young people feel seen beyond their hardships where they can exist in complexity, not just in deficit. Tuck reminds me that ethical research is not just about consent forms or confidentiality; it’s about honoring people’s full humanity.

 

🌱 What Do You Do That Can’t Be Measured

Reflection by Stephania Valbrun

Reading Restler’s “What Do You Do That Can’t Be Measured” reminded me how deeply our society is driven by metrics  test scores, attendance rates, evaluations, data dashboards  all meant to capture growth, success, or effectiveness. But Restler challenges this obsession with quantification, asking us to consider what gets lost when we reduce human experiences to numbers.

This chapter made me think about how often my work as a teacher and youth worker defies measurement. The moments that feel most powerful when a student trusts me enough to share something personal, when a quiet child finally raises their hand, when laughter shifts the mood of a classroom are the hardest to record on paper. There’s no rubric for joy, no chart for confidence, no data point for belonging. Yet those are the very outcomes that matter most.

Restler’s ideas also made me reflect on how easily we internalize the systems that measure us. We start to see ourselves through the same metrics we’re judged by  test data, performance reviews, productivity. It becomes easy to forget that the truest parts of who we are our creativity, empathy, patience, and presence are not meant to be counted.

What I do that can’t be measured is the energy I bring into a space. I can’t quantify how I make students feel safe, valued, or capable. I can’t measure how my authenticity gives others permission to be themselves. The care I give, the patience I practice, and the consistency I offer each day are invisible in data but visible in the relationships that form around them.

This reading was a needed reminder that the most meaningful aspects of education and youth development happen in the in-between moments  in the tone of voice, the shared laughter, the eye contact that communicates “I see you.” These are the quiet acts of care that shape young people’s sense of belonging and possibility.

As someone who often juggles lesson plans, IEP data, and classroom expectations, I’m learning to hold both truths: data has its place, but it will never tell the full story. What matters most can’t always be measured  it’s felt. And that’s what makes the work human.

 

🎙️ Interviewing and Coding Qualitative Data

The Art of Interviewing

As Bogdan & Biklen explain, interviewing is more than asking questions  it’s an intentional conversation designed to understand people’s experiences and perspectives. Interviews can be structured, semi-structured, or open-ended, depending on the goals of the study. The key is to create space for participants to speak authentically and for the researcher to truly listen.

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What Makes a Strong Interview

A good interview happens when participants feel safe to share freely and when the interviewer listens actively. That means asking open-ended questions, seeking clarification, allowing silence, and treating participants as experts in their own experiences. These practices turn the interview into a meaningful exchange rather than a rigid Q&A.

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More Than Conversation

Interviews differ from everyday talk. In daily life, people multitask, judge, or respond to impress. Researchers must instead be fully present listening without interruption or bias. This intentional focus helps surface deeper insights that casual conversation often misses.

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Reflexivity and Emotion

Bogdan & Biklen remind us that research is emotional work. Feelings like empathy, guilt, or frustration are not distractions but data points that shape understanding. Practicing reflexivity  reflecting on how our own identity and emotions influence the process adds honesty and credibility to our work.

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Final Reflection

This reading highlighted that effective interviewing is about connection and care. The best data emerges when researchers balance empathy with curiosity. As I move forward, I’ll remember that listening deeply is not just a research skill  it’s an act of respect.

 Seeing such a wide range of capstone projects makes me feel both excited and a little overwhelmed. I’m excited because the variety shows how creative and impactful youth development work can be. It gives me hope that my own project can reflect my passions and values. At the same time, I notice a little stress creeping in — there are so many directions to go in, and I want mine to be meaningful and well-designed.

I feel motivated, though, because the examples remind me that each project starts with a question or a small idea that grows over time. They make me think about issues I’ve been passionate about in my own work, like supporting youth voice, addressing racial equity in schools, and helping students feel seen and heard.

Idea : A project on how youth-led discussions can change school culture around race and equity.

 

When I read Journey to Praxis: Supporting Youth Activism (Clemons, 2023), I couldn’t help but notice how the article itself could be described as a research pizza. The Research Pizza Menu gives us a playful but accurate way to think about how an author structures their study from the crust that holds it all together to the toppings that make it unique. 

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🍞 Crust: Type of Research

Every pizza needs a base. Clemons builds hers on a qualitative crust, specifically using multiple case studies with a cross-case analysis. This choice sets the foundation for a deep dive into real-world contexts rather than broad generalizations.

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🍅 Sauce: Ideology / Underlying Beliefs

The sauce is a mix of critical theory and Social Justice Youth Development (SJYD). Clemons emphasizes Paulo Freire’s idea of praxis (reflection + action) and Ginwright & Cammarota’s framework that sees youth not as passive objects but as active agents who can challenge systems. This “sauce” soaks through the whole article, giving it its social justice taste.

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🧀 + 🍄 + 🌶️ Toppings: Methods and Tools

What makes this pizza interesting are the toppings. Clemons layers in:

• Semi-structured interviews with nine youth workers

• Observations of programming and community events

• Artifacts like organizational materials and websites

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🔪 Utensils: How It’s Cut and Served (Analysis)

Clemons triangulates data across interviews, observations, and artifacts. She also shares slices back with participants through member-checking.

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📦 Box: How It’s Delivered

Finally, this study arrives neatly packaged as a peer-reviewed research article in the Journal of Youth Development (2023).

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 Last week, I spent time thinking about my biggest questions in my professional life — what’s working, what’s not working, and what I want to figure out. One of my burning questions was:

“How can I better support students who seem disengaged and unmotivated during class?”

After watching the short videos on Positivist, Constructivist, and Critical research ideologies, I can see that the way I approach this question could change a lot depending on the paradigm I use.

If I took a Positivist approach
I would treat “engagement” as something I can measure maybe looking at attendance, participation rates, assignment completion, and even grades. I might design a survey or collect data over a few weeks to see patterns. I’d look for which strategies (group work, incentives, choice of materials) statistically increase engagement. This approach might give me clear numbers and generalizable evidence that one strategy works “best.”

If I took a Constructivist approach…
I would focus on students’ personal experiences and making meaning I’d talk with students, hold small group interviews, and ask them what makes them tune in or tune out. I might also observe class interactions closely and write detailed notes to capture patterns. The goal wouldn’t be to find one “correct” answer but to understand how different students experience engagement differently and why.

If I took a Critical approach…
I’d look deeper at the structures shaping engagement. Are school policies, curriculum choices, or disciplinary practices making some students feel left out or unheard? Are there issues of bias, inequity, or cultural disconnects that affect motivation? This approach might push me to think about systemic changes like more culturally relevant curriculum or different ways of assessing student learning so that all students have a fair chance to engage.

Right now, I think I lean toward a constructivist-critical perspective. I value hearing students’ voices and understanding their lived experiences, but I also want to think about the bigger structural factors that might be causing disengagement. Still, I can see the value in positivist data to check whether any changes I make actually improve engagement over time.

I also see value in positivist approaches in certain settings (where measurement and causality are clear and useful), but I feel uneasy when that becomes the only lens.

Prompt: How can I better support students who seem disengaged and unmotivated during class?” under each paradigm