A couple of months ago, I dared to do something I had wanted to do for years, but for which I could never seem to find the time or, I think, the courage.
Matilda, our youngest daughter, who is three, had been expressing quite a bit of discomfort when we went to large social gatherings, mostly family gatherings. She would start by saying she “didn’t want to go” or that she “didn’t want to say hello.”
I was a Spark Guide for many years, back when we had two Guides per Studio. At one point, we even had more than two. In those days, the idea of a Studio led by just one adult seemed unthinkable.
As time has passed, we have discovered new ways for Guides to let go of certain responsibilities and support one another. I hadn’t realized how many responsibilities we had let go of until a challenge from my Guide Squad helped me see it.
What would happen if, for a few minutes, we stopped focusing on what a child still doesn’t know how to do and started noticing everything they are capable of doing? This session, I had the opportunity to participate in a Guide Squad, an international virtual gathering where, for five weeks, we met with other Acton Academy Guides every Tuesday morning to talk about the art of being a Guide. During these meetings, we shared experiences, questioned our practices, and took on small challenges to bring back to our Studios.
By Ines Kudo
I recently finished reading Angela Duckworth's new book, Situated. She's the author of the famous, groundbreaking book Grit, and the successful TED talk on the same topic, both of which championed “passion and perseverance towards long-term goals.”
Ten years later, Angela came to realize that grit is necessary for success, but not enough. Our situation matters. The people around us matter.
She argues that we have agency to change some of the things that shape our situation: our physical surroundings, the people we spend time with, the mentors who guide and support us, and, as we grow older, the places where we choose to live and work. As parents, we have agency to shape our children's situations too.
I truly believe that the parents who chose Tinkuy have situated their children for success: among peers, mentors, and a culture that encourages them to become their best selves while making them feel appreciated, cared for, and loved.
Today, I want to share one story that, to me, captures the power of that environment.
Last session, Ascend took on a seemingly impossible challenge: launch a rocket four vertical meters or higher, with a 10-second delay, using acids, bases, and other compounds.
I knew the Quest was demanding, and I told the Pumas the truth: I had no idea whether it would work, but I couldn't wait to see them figure it out.
The first week, every team failed. Nothing lifted off. I watched them go through it, expecting disappointment and discouragement.
Instead, they finished the week thrilled, and came back the next week curious and determined to keep trying.
And they failed again. And again.
Pumas from other studios gathered around to watch. So their failure was public.
Then, one rocket launched. There was no 10-second delay, but the Pumas jumped for joy. Their happiness was so real.
Slowly, the small rockets started working.
More challenges piled on: raise the temperature, neutralize the pH, reduce fuel costs, improve the design. Finally, when they had all managed to launch their rockets, they were asked to scale everything up to a 3-liter bottle.
The big rockets would not launch. And the next day, came the exhibition.
Parents were waiting at the “launchpad.” The Pumas were late, busy finalizing details in their studio. Then, they came down and began presenting… from behind the audience. One after another, seemingly oblivious to their parents twisting and turning in their seats. There was a speaker, but they forgot to bring the mic, so the parents struggled to hear them.
Just as the time to launch was up, their rockets began falling apart piece by piece. They taped, adjusted, troubleshot, and rebuilt while the parents patiently waited.
It was the messiest exhibition yet.
Alpha Team stepped onto the launchpad with their rocket pieced back together.
10-9-8... 3-2-1!
Nothing.
We waited longer. Nothing.
The team picked up their rocket. Still, no other team was ready.
Camilo, Alpha Team's leader, stepped back in while the other teams fixed their rockets, and said: “I'm going to try to explain why I think our rocket failed.”
He proceeded to give a remarkably scientific, chemistry-based explanation, drawing on physics and common sense as well.
Seeing the other teams still frantically rebuilding their rockets, Alpha Team offered to launch their “backup”, the smaller version. This was a total improvisation to fill in the gaps.
This time, it launched… a few centimeters. But they were so happy.
Charlie Team had lost their leader that week, but they were determined. Seeing them struggle, Bravo Team lent them a hand with the tape. Ultimately, their rocket leaked and did not lift off.
Then Bravo Team came in with a rocket taped all around and sloping to one side.
They placed it on the launchpad.
10-9-8... 3-2-1!
Nothing.
Then, 38 seconds in...
Whooooshhhhh!
It took off, flew over the wall, and out to the street. I felt the “fuel” splash all over me as I tried to capture the action on video, my eyes burning from the vinegar.
It was not a 10-second delay, but they did not care. They were ecstatic.
Despite all the chaos, improvisation, confusion, and obstacles, and despite the fact that no team successfully completed the mission, the Pumas stayed engaged, resourceful, and supportive throughout.
At the end of the exhibition, a parent asked them such a powerful question: “What decisions did you make this year that got you to where you are today?”
I was taken aback by their candid answers.
First, one learner stepped forward:
“I decided to care. And that made all the difference. This year I actually cared about these things, and for me caring means also learning. Because before I cared, but not as much as I do now.”
I had seen this learner struggle for years. Then, this year, she gained confidence, pushed through and delivered. And here she was, stepping out of her comfort zone to learn the chemistry behind the challenges, something she had been tempted to avoid whenever possible. No more.
Then another jumped in:
“This year I made the decision NOT to care. My philosophy was that if something goes wrong, it doesn't matter, I've learned something already. All of it is progress for later on in life. I had zero expectations from this, and I thought if it didn't work I would be happy with what I learned.”
I had seen this learner struggle when things did not turn out perfectly, and fight hard to keep it together. And here he was, with his rocket falling apart, enjoying the process with his team and treasuring what he was learning from failure.
Finally, one more stood up:
“I decided to not give up. I tend to give up on lots of things, but this time I decided to not give up, and work well with my teammates, listen to their ideas and actually help in this project. We launched really high multiple times in our tests. We are very proud, even if it didn't work out today. We worked really hard on our design.”
I knew this learner had overcome quite a lot to be here. I had seen her disengaged, scared, conflicted, not showing up consistently. And here she was, supporting her team, doing her best, troubleshooting one problem after another without their leader, surrounded by girls who encouraged each other not to give up.
I think sometimes not caring or giving up is how we protect ourselves from failure, disappointment, or hurt when we feel that no matter how hard we try, the odds are stacked against us. Breaking that pattern takes not only grit, but also a supportive culture, peers, mentors and family.
And caring too much can be a way to protect ourselves as well. We give it our all because failure feels like proof that we are not enough. I have been there. It took me decades, and some distance, to learn that I don't always have to care so much . I am still working on it.
And so, to me, it is a gift to see our Pumas learn these lessons on their own, way sooner than I did. I’m in awe of how powerful their insights are already at 12 and 13 years old.
They are learning to persevere, to seek mentors and become mentors themselves, and to build teams and relationships where they can thrive.
Maybe that is the real goal: not just to give them a situation that helps them thrive, but to give them the agency to create one for themselves.
At Tinkuy, a Puma is more than a learner who attends our studios. A Puma is someone who is learning to become. That is, to take ownership of their journey, face challenges, ask questions, take action, learn from mistakes, and discover what they are capable of. But becoming a Puma does not happen all at once. It is a process that begins with who they are, continues through what we experience, and is shaped by the choices we make.
Last session, the Pumas embarked on a new challenge: designing a playground. The project began with a seemingly simple question: What would the playground you design look like? However, arriving at an answer required them to observe, imagine, make decisions, experiment, make mistakes, and try again.
Tinkuy Week came to remind us that there are always reasons to celebrate. Celebrating Tinkuy’s existence every year, its growth, its changes, and the people who make it what it is, is a way of recognizing all the work we do as a community: the Guides, Inés, the Pumas, and the Mapaches.
This week has been full of games and fun moments, but also moments of reflection; moments to remember the Hero’s Journey and why we are here in the first place.
I find myself thinking about three hero archetypes in Tinkuy. I've called them: The Rising Star, The Late Bloomer, and The Wandering Maverick. There may be more, but these three have taught and inspired me the most; familiar patterns I’ve noticed in how capable children navigate expectations, challenge, pace, and uncertainty, and how their parents’ understanding and support makes a difference.
One of the experiences Pumas have in Discovery, Ascend, and Spark is learning to mentor others. Mentoring invites us to look at learning from a different perspective. We often think about the person receiving help: What did they learn? Were they able to move forward? Did they understand something new?
As part of our ongoing training as Socratic Guides, we have opportunities to connect with other Acton Guides from around the world through spaces called Guide Squads (GS). These gatherings are incredibly enriching, as they allow us to share experiences, reflect on our practice, and learn from one another.
One of our Guide Squad sessions focused on the book Choice Words: How Our Language Affects Children’s Learning by Peter H. Johnston (2024, originally published in 2003). In this book, Johnston develops the idea that children learn who they are through the way adults speak to them. In this sense, language plays a fundamental role in shaping children’s identities, both in the classroom and in everyday life.
After a few months away, taking some time to welcome this new stage in my life, I’m back! I’m back with a little visitor, with a curious and different perspective, and with a kinder understanding of parenting.
These months have taught me to question myself beyond what seemed obvious and to look at what happens every day from a different perspective.
As I meet prospective families, I often find myself explaining various aspects of the Acton culture. Over the years, I've noticed that certain assumptions allow this approach to learning to flourish, while others simply make Acton not the right fit for a family. I recently took the time to write them down, and as I reread them, I realized they also serve as a reminder of what makes this community so special. I thought you might enjoy seeing them.
If I have to be honest, I think I arrived at Tinkuy long before my son did.
My journey began when I started questioning many of the ideas I myself had been raised with. I grew up in an environment where academic achievement, grades, and intellectual performance were highly valued, and for a long time I thought that was the most important thing I could offer my son. So when I began researching alternative education, I was initially looking for a way to maximize his intellectual abilities.
This past session, the Ascend Pumas explored Peru’s struggle for independence and the first decades of the Republic, from San Martín’s arrival to the final confrontation with Spain.
They wrestled with difficult Socratic questions: Would you sign the Act of Independence if doing so could put your family, your property, and your life at risk? If you were San Martín, would you have set aside the dispute over Guayaquil to secure Bolívar’s support? What makes a president legitimate? Can a country call itself free while inequality, forced labor, racism, and exclusion continue?
At Tinkuy, we believe children learn best when they take on real-world challenges. This session, the Spark Pumas embraced a new mission: becoming chefs.
This challenge was about much more than simply following a recipe. The real goal was to develop the skills, confidence, and character needed to create something meaningful that they could later share with others. The blog below captures the spirit of that journey and the learning that emerged along the way.
July has arrived, bringing my time as Explorer Studio’s interim Guide to a close. Looking back on these past months, I realize that what stays with me most are not the big milestones, but the quiet, everyday changes that unfolded so gradually they were almost impossible to notice while they were happening.
One of my favorite moments in Ascend is sitting down to read the reflections our Pumas write after finishing a book. These are not the traditional school book reports written to prove you understood the plot. Written as book reviews, they discuss authors, characters, arguments, writing style, and ideas, but most importantly, they explore how the reader was changed by the experience.
This session, the Pumas had the opportunity to welcome four visiting learners from the United States: Francisco, Gonzalo, Rebecca, and Thomas. While they joined the tribe for only a short time, their presence brought something valuable: new perspectives. At first, the exchange appeared in simple ways. Learners shared games, practiced English during conversations, and discovered similarities and differences in how they approached challenges. But some of the most meaningful moments emerged when familiar assumptions were questioned.
As I shared a few weeks ago, after a lively debate, Discovery democratically decided to move forward with their mural project. In Spark, no vote was needed—everyone agreed from the start that creating a mural was something they wanted to do.
Since then, the Pumas have been engaging in different exercises to reflect on composition, style, proportion, color, and other elements involved in creating a collective artwork.
On a Monday morning with the Sparks, I asked, “How was your weekend, Pumas?” The Pumas usually share the activities they did, what they had for breakfast or lunch, whether they visited someone, or if they went to the park. But that Monday was different. Something had happened that the Sparks were trying to understand in their own way: the second round of Peru’s presidential elections.
