Fall Semester 2012 is winding down. We have just one more day of regular classes; Final Exams come next week.
As is my habit during this time of the semester, I'm reflecting upon my students and how well they have--or haven't--learned the material. And as I've observed for the past few semesters, there seems to be a growing trend toward fear of doing something wrong. As a teacher, this distresses me.
It goes something like this: I assign a chapter that includes tutorial exercises, hands-on assessments, and a couple of short exams. Students get three shots at each exam, so the pressure should not be huge. For the hands-on parts, pretty much every software application has an Undo command. When Undo isn't available, we have other ways to recover from whatever went wrong. In the worst case scenario, a student might have to start an assignment over. No one (except, perhaps, the student) will be mad about the error. No corporate downtime will be suffered. No clients will be inconvenienced. No jobs will be lost.
Yet increasingly, as I attend to a students with raised hands, they're sitting and staring at their screens, a task not yet complete, hesitant to commit to the last keystroke or mouse click until I look at what they've done so far and assure them that they aren't about to make a mistake.
Student: "Is this correct?"
Me: "I don't know. Looks pretty good to me. Let's see what happens when you click OK"
Student: "But is it correct?"
Me: "Well, it could be. Or it might not be. Worst case scenario, it'll be wrong and you'll have to go back and figure out why. Let's just click OK and see what happens."
Student: "OK. But please don't go anywhere until I know if it's right or not."
No matter how I urge my students to loosen up a bit, to experiment, and to risk making mistakes, the phenomenon continues. People so fearful of doing something wrong, they're not approaching their learning in the best way. In striving to do something correctly, and to always do all parts of all assignments correctly, they become blinded to all of the other nifty tricks and tools and features we don't have time to cover in class, but can be nonetheless useful. I believe this can also prevent students from grasping the bigger picture: why are we doing what we're doing? How might this be useful in a business setting? What other approaches might one take to meet the same objective? No, in the highly detailed, nervous world of "no mistakes allowed," these thoughts don't usually get much mental space to work with. The noggin becomes so concerned about getting it done, getting it right, there just isn't much room for anything else.
Mistakes can be tremendous teachers, particularly in the realm of computer software. Click the wrong button and "Oh, my, that's a surprise! Not what I wanted at all. So that's what that button does..." At which point we either Undo, or sometimes, when feeling particularly adventurous in our studies, we might set on the quest of fixing the mistake without Undo. A lot of good learning can come from digging around, experimenting, and just playing around with the software.
Alternately, those who are so fearful of doing something wrong hobble their own mental processes. They generally don't learn as well, the material doesn't settle in as deeply as it does for those who courageously dive in and take a chance that they might be doing something totally wrong.
College is, by definition, an institution of learning. Learning comes in all sorts of forms, including mistakes. College is the best place to make those mistakes. This is the place to stumble, where assignments are purely academic and where there is someone standing right beside you to help you get back on your feet. Better to take those stumbles here than on the job, where the quality of your assignments will impact other employees, your supervisor, and perhaps the entire organization.
This is college. We're all about the learning. Please, make some mistakes. You'll thank yourself for it in the years to come.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
The Content Part
Here's the deal: this blog exists only because I teach a module on blogging in my Google Applications course. I want to give my students an example of a blog, and a place where they can freely experiment with commenting if they wish. Unfortunately, I can't yet boast much of an example.
In order to be a good blog, it needs to feel alive, and that requires frequent updates. And I have been woefully neglected of adding new posts here. The problem I'm facing is coming up with content.
As noted in my "Why Blog?" post, a blogger needs something to say. Because this is part of my class, I feel obliged to post class- and teaching-related content. And that's the kicker. I already write a good deal of content that is posted to individual classes. By the time it comes to blogging, I'm not often inspired to write about my work. Much as I love teaching, it is a job, and I don't always have much more to say about it.
So how do I fix this and try to turn this into a good example of blogging? Easy. I make a stronger commitment to adding content, keeping it up-to-date, breathing a little life into it. And the only way to do that is to loosen up my expectations. Not every post needs to be a teaching moment. I don't have to try to force a lesson into each post. Doing that just turns an enjoyable activity into a chore. I just need to write, and if something instructional happens to bubble up, that will be icing on the cake.
Yes, you'll be hearing from me more often out here. But I don't expect to adhere very closely the "Classroom Reflections" title. I'll be writing about whatever strikes my fancy. Some, maybe most of my posts will just be talking. And who knows? Maybe sooner or later, some folks will start talking with me.
In order to be a good blog, it needs to feel alive, and that requires frequent updates. And I have been woefully neglected of adding new posts here. The problem I'm facing is coming up with content.
As noted in my "Why Blog?" post, a blogger needs something to say. Because this is part of my class, I feel obliged to post class- and teaching-related content. And that's the kicker. I already write a good deal of content that is posted to individual classes. By the time it comes to blogging, I'm not often inspired to write about my work. Much as I love teaching, it is a job, and I don't always have much more to say about it.
So how do I fix this and try to turn this into a good example of blogging? Easy. I make a stronger commitment to adding content, keeping it up-to-date, breathing a little life into it. And the only way to do that is to loosen up my expectations. Not every post needs to be a teaching moment. I don't have to try to force a lesson into each post. Doing that just turns an enjoyable activity into a chore. I just need to write, and if something instructional happens to bubble up, that will be icing on the cake.
Yes, you'll be hearing from me more often out here. But I don't expect to adhere very closely the "Classroom Reflections" title. I'll be writing about whatever strikes my fancy. Some, maybe most of my posts will just be talking. And who knows? Maybe sooner or later, some folks will start talking with me.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Selective Eagerness
I'll be hiring a house cleaner on Saturday. Someone to come in every two weeks and spiff up the house like I'm not finding the time to as often as I'd like.
Actually, I'll be interviewing a house cleaner on Saturday; but I'm pretty sure we'll get things set up. The recommendation from trusted friends opened the door, as is often the case. And then we spoke on the phone yesterday, and it was clear that the interviewing will go both ways. She'll be looking at me just as closely as I'll be looking at her. She won't work for just anyone. She's picky, she says, wants to select her own supplies, and I was left with the impression that she pretty much wants to be left to herself, to do her cleaning the way she feels is best.
Yet she conveyed this in a warm and friendly fashion. She has time to take on another client and wants to fill those hours. It was clear that her pickiness comes from a sense of pride in her work. She considers herself a professional and will work only in an environment where she's given the freedom to perform as such. She's proud of her list of long-term clients.
For me, it was the perfect sales pitch: enthusiastic, but not overly eager.
I think this posture can be translated to many scenarios, from approaching job interviews to forging new friendships. It's important to demonstrate a certain amount of enthusiasm in our interactions. But too much eagerness can be off-putting. The person on the other side can feel overwhelmed by the energy or even suspicious of the eager one's motives. If you don't appear to be at least a little selective, a person starts to wonder how much value you're really bringing to the relationship. Are you that desperate for a job, the interviewer wonders. And if so, why should I take the risk? Aren't you close to anyone at all, questions the potential friend. And if not, perhaps there's a reason. Maybe I shouldn't open up to you so quickly. And in the case of my potential house cleaner, too much eagerness would leave me backing off, wondering if she's really as good and trustworthy as she claims. I would be approaching the interview with a more critical eye.
Instead, I look forward to meeting a woman who has enough confidence in the value she has to offer that she doesn't have to accept every job that comes her way. And I look forward to showing her how easy I am to get along with. I expect we will find our goals are neatly aligned: I, too, am looking for a stable working relationship with someone I can trust with my home. And in the course of interviewing each other, I have a hunch we'll get along famously.
Actually, I'll be interviewing a house cleaner on Saturday; but I'm pretty sure we'll get things set up. The recommendation from trusted friends opened the door, as is often the case. And then we spoke on the phone yesterday, and it was clear that the interviewing will go both ways. She'll be looking at me just as closely as I'll be looking at her. She won't work for just anyone. She's picky, she says, wants to select her own supplies, and I was left with the impression that she pretty much wants to be left to herself, to do her cleaning the way she feels is best.
Yet she conveyed this in a warm and friendly fashion. She has time to take on another client and wants to fill those hours. It was clear that her pickiness comes from a sense of pride in her work. She considers herself a professional and will work only in an environment where she's given the freedom to perform as such. She's proud of her list of long-term clients.
For me, it was the perfect sales pitch: enthusiastic, but not overly eager.
I think this posture can be translated to many scenarios, from approaching job interviews to forging new friendships. It's important to demonstrate a certain amount of enthusiasm in our interactions. But too much eagerness can be off-putting. The person on the other side can feel overwhelmed by the energy or even suspicious of the eager one's motives. If you don't appear to be at least a little selective, a person starts to wonder how much value you're really bringing to the relationship. Are you that desperate for a job, the interviewer wonders. And if so, why should I take the risk? Aren't you close to anyone at all, questions the potential friend. And if not, perhaps there's a reason. Maybe I shouldn't open up to you so quickly. And in the case of my potential house cleaner, too much eagerness would leave me backing off, wondering if she's really as good and trustworthy as she claims. I would be approaching the interview with a more critical eye.
Instead, I look forward to meeting a woman who has enough confidence in the value she has to offer that she doesn't have to accept every job that comes her way. And I look forward to showing her how easy I am to get along with. I expect we will find our goals are neatly aligned: I, too, am looking for a stable working relationship with someone I can trust with my home. And in the course of interviewing each other, I have a hunch we'll get along famously.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Lost in Thought
I love my walks. Every morning, I go out walking with my little dog, Arlo. And every morning, my mind races with thoughts of the day ahead. For work, it might be preparing class materials, grading assignments, ordering textbooks, or tending to other administrative tasks. At home, the housework is never done, the laundry basket is never empty, the garden always needs weeding, and at this time of year, I'm starting to think about when I should dig up those bulbs, disconnect the water fountain, and tend to those other tasks that need doing before winter sets in. Yes, my mind is always racing. Except when it isn't.
Every now and then comes a moment I think of as simply lost in thought. One of those moments when I realize that, for some span of time, I've been thinking of nothing but the walk, nothing but the "now." This morning gave me one such moment.
Walking around the neighborhood as we do every morning, Arlo and I came to one of our favorite spots:
It's far from wilderness, but it still feels a little wild. The summer growth obscuring the path, the bright yellow wildflowers signaling the start of fall, the knowing that small animals are skittering about in the brush, whether I can see them or not. It's the kind of path I would have loved as a child, the kind of scene that still lures me in as an adult.
Feeling no rush to get back home, Arlo and I trekked down the trail to see what we could see, my childlike sensibilities dancing with this modest sense of adventure. And it was on the way back up that it struck me: for at least five minutes I had thought about absolutely nothing of any importance. No books that need reading, no notes that need writing; no dishes to wash, emails to answer, or phone calls to return.
For those minutes I thought about nothing important at all. Yet during those minutes lost in thought, lost in the moment, I was doing something very important, indeed. For those few minutes, my mind was totally occupied with the sights and smells of autumn, the way my short dog had to bounce to get through the tall weeds, and the observation that the ground beneath my feet was feeling a bit squishy after the rain. For a few blessed minutes, my mind was devoid of worry and stress. And just those few minutes of absence, those few moments lost in thought, made all of those worries look just a little bit smaller, my tasks ahead just a little less daunting, and the possibility that some of them might not get done today just a little less disastrous.
Lost in thought. Whether we find it through meditation, jogging, yoga, or simply walking around, it's something each of us can use a little of. And dare I say, it's something most of us could use just a little more of than we're getting.
Every now and then comes a moment I think of as simply lost in thought. One of those moments when I realize that, for some span of time, I've been thinking of nothing but the walk, nothing but the "now." This morning gave me one such moment.
Walking around the neighborhood as we do every morning, Arlo and I came to one of our favorite spots:
It's far from wilderness, but it still feels a little wild. The summer growth obscuring the path, the bright yellow wildflowers signaling the start of fall, the knowing that small animals are skittering about in the brush, whether I can see them or not. It's the kind of path I would have loved as a child, the kind of scene that still lures me in as an adult.
Feeling no rush to get back home, Arlo and I trekked down the trail to see what we could see, my childlike sensibilities dancing with this modest sense of adventure. And it was on the way back up that it struck me: for at least five minutes I had thought about absolutely nothing of any importance. No books that need reading, no notes that need writing; no dishes to wash, emails to answer, or phone calls to return.
For those minutes I thought about nothing important at all. Yet during those minutes lost in thought, lost in the moment, I was doing something very important, indeed. For those few minutes, my mind was totally occupied with the sights and smells of autumn, the way my short dog had to bounce to get through the tall weeds, and the observation that the ground beneath my feet was feeling a bit squishy after the rain. For a few blessed minutes, my mind was devoid of worry and stress. And just those few minutes of absence, those few moments lost in thought, made all of those worries look just a little bit smaller, my tasks ahead just a little less daunting, and the possibility that some of them might not get done today just a little less disastrous.
Lost in thought. Whether we find it through meditation, jogging, yoga, or simply walking around, it's something each of us can use a little of. And dare I say, it's something most of us could use just a little more of than we're getting.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Why Blog?
I'm working on the last module for my new class: Blogger.
There are many videos on the topic, and I can probably explain most of it in written words, anyway. By now, folks should be accustomed to looking around the screen and reading buttons. The formatting tools aren't all that different from the formatting tools found elsewhere. The "how to" part isn't all that daunting.
But I find myself grappling with a bigger question I imagine my students asking: Why blog at all? What are you supposed to write about? And why would you want to?
There are two parts to it. First, you have to have something to say. And second, you have to believe there's someone out there who would like to hear it. Put in those terms, I suppose it is somewhat daunting. What can I possibly have to say that would be of interest to anyone else?
And yet, there are countless blogs out there on many different topics. Oftentimes, the core topic isn't strictly adhered to, and we get to know the blogger in ways we didn't necessarily expect to. If a blog becomes popular, many of the names in the comments will start to repeat. Folks will start to talk with each other as well as with the blogger. A good, strong blog can develop into a close-knit online community.
So maybe it isn't really all about the content. Maybe it's not all that important that we have something important to say.
Why blog? I suppose when it comes down to it, blogging is just another way for us to connect with other human beings.
There are many videos on the topic, and I can probably explain most of it in written words, anyway. By now, folks should be accustomed to looking around the screen and reading buttons. The formatting tools aren't all that different from the formatting tools found elsewhere. The "how to" part isn't all that daunting.
But I find myself grappling with a bigger question I imagine my students asking: Why blog at all? What are you supposed to write about? And why would you want to?
There are two parts to it. First, you have to have something to say. And second, you have to believe there's someone out there who would like to hear it. Put in those terms, I suppose it is somewhat daunting. What can I possibly have to say that would be of interest to anyone else?
And yet, there are countless blogs out there on many different topics. Oftentimes, the core topic isn't strictly adhered to, and we get to know the blogger in ways we didn't necessarily expect to. If a blog becomes popular, many of the names in the comments will start to repeat. Folks will start to talk with each other as well as with the blogger. A good, strong blog can develop into a close-knit online community.
So maybe it isn't really all about the content. Maybe it's not all that important that we have something important to say.
Why blog? I suppose when it comes down to it, blogging is just another way for us to connect with other human beings.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
You're Teaching What?!?
As of Monday, August 20, I'll be teaching a Google class.
"A class in what?" is how folks usually respond.
Can't say as I blame them much. And I'll acknowledge up front that it will not be a terribly rigorous course; but it will be a rich one. While managing the search engine will certainly be included, we're also delving into Gmail, Google+, Docs, Maps, Blogger, Picasa, and YouTube.
Doing well in the course will require a significant time commitment, including viewing videos that add up to roughly the time equivalent of the number of lecture hours we'd expect in an on-campus course. In addition, students will have to demonstrate via objective quizzes and projects that valuable (albeit oftentimes fun) skills have been learned. At least one project will involve integrating a few of those tools listed above. It will be a real college-level course.
And here's the kicker. You know that "cloud" thing that's all the rage today, but it's a little hard to pin down exactly what it is? In this course, students will be learning what "the cloud" is by delving in and working in it. Slippery concepts will be learned by doing, and the term will lose much of its mystery.
Yep, I'll be teaching a Google class. And if it works out the way I have in mind, we'll get some good, strong learning out of some good, clean fun.
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