Getting lost in learning: A confession and a glimmer of hope

It's slightly embarrassing to admit this, but for someone who blogs and talks about deep learning as much as I do, I'm still a bit superficial when it comes to my own formal learning (in my defense, I'll argue that is true of most of us).  I'll use my current qualitative inquiry graduate course as an example.  Last week I was in class when another student commented that she had read ahead in one of the texts for the class.  My immediate thought was--"Don't you have anything better to do?" and I cast a glance at a friend in the class much like what I did as a high school student when one of the "nerds" made a comment in class (apparently, I have matured very little since my days at Skyline High School).  More evidence of my failure to consistently be a deep learner:  I almost always set a timer for myself when I'm working on research or other scholarly projects and quit as soon as it goes off, I can't think of a time when I have ever read ahead in a class, and I once opted to turn in an entire paper for a political science class because I knew it would make no difference in my final grade.  However, I occasionally have moments of brilliance when I become, if only for a moment, the kind of learner I expect students on my campus to be.  It happened last night and after it was all over, I wondered what had happened and why, for those 60 minutes or so, I "went deep."

I was reading Bob Stake's very excellent commentary on qualitative research (Qualitative research:  Studying how things work)--not because I chose to, but because it was assigned for class--and came across a statement Stake makes about the usefulness of intuition when making judgments about quality (the statement and commentary are too long to discuss here, but on pp. 162 - 163 Stake makes a fascinating comparison between professional judgments about quality and God's statement in Genesis about the "goodness" of the Creation).  Before I knew it, I had jotted down a question this raised for me in the margin's of the book, pulled my copy of Blink (Malcolm Gladwell) off my bookshelf, and read about the psychology of impressions for close to an hour.  It's worth noting that this happened at about 7:00 p.m., after a 10 hour workday with no lunch, and at the end of a particularly long week.

So, what happened?  What triggered or facilitated this episode?  Here are some guesses:

1.  Interest in the subject matter.  I am actually fairly interested in qualitative methodologies.  They seem far more human and useful to me than p values, degrees of freedom, and ANOVAs.  So, while my excitement about fighting off hunger to read Chapter 9 of Stake's book at the end of a long day may not have been high, I did have a latent interest in the general subject matter.  So, the potential for coming across an idea or concept that was interesting was better than if I had been reading Research Methods and Statistics (also on my shelf, but not likely to be pulled down anytime soon).

2.  Connections to current concerns or experiences.  I am currently working on a paper, which will be presented in April at AERA's Annnual Meeting, that uses qualitative methodologies to explore how learners integrate theoretic and experiential knowledge by sharing narratives with one another.  So, qualitative issues are on my mind a lot (in large part because I don't want to look stupid at the conference).

3.  Potential for learning/thinking to be made public.  One of the requirements for the class is that we post our thoughts to a class google document where the professor and (in theory) classmates read one another's thoughts.  So, when I came across the passage I mentioned above, I immediately thought about what I might say about it in my posting to the Google Doc.  I also knew that at some point in our next class meeting, I would be asked to comment on the reading.  Rather than regurgitating ideas from the reading, but using different words (which sometimes happens), I wanted to raise the question I had while I was reading (which was whether articulating a rationale for intuitive judgments is dangerous) and then have some kind of relatively cogent response to give.  I also thought it might be interesting to bring in an "outside" book to the discussion.  Hence, my willingness to spend an hour reading something that I didn't have to.

4.  Time and space.  Had I read the same chapter from Stake's book on another evening when I needed or wanted to get home early, or if I had been reading at home with my daughter's Disney movie playing in the next room or the allure of what might currently be on tv, things wouldn't have turned out like they did.  However, last night was a night when I didn't need to rush home and had a quiet office to study in.  Context and environment played a role in my deep learning experience.

5.  A relatively broad base to draw from and connect to.  This will seem overly simplistic and slightly obvious, but it is probably worth stating.  I could connect Stake's ideas to Gladwell's, because I had read Gladwell.  Part of deep learning is making connections to related concepts.  So, in theory, the more one knows, the more connections they can make.  However, "connections" don't always have to be to things we've read previously.  All learners have a set of life experiences to draw from and connect to, whether that is books read, classes taken, memories from childhood, the trip to the grocery store yesterday, or anything else.  If we can bring this set of experiences to mind for learners and then invite them to make connections, deep learning is a lot more likely to occur.  However, it's worth reminding ourselves that novice learners are more likely to struggle with this, so we have to scaffold, nudge, encourage, and model it a lot when learners aren't accustomed to "going deep."

I've tried with this list to illustrate that deep learning is dependent on a number of factors--the learner, the instructor, and the environment.  Those factors aren't always (maybe "very rarely" would be more accurate) under our control.  At the end of the day, deep learning is an organic, spontaneous thing that may or may not happen.  But, as learners and instructors we can increase the likelihood of deep learning occurring by being aware of what can lead to episodes like the one I had, and trying to do our best to throw the right things into the pot.  So, I guess in some ways it is an act of faith, but one worth taking.

Small programs with big impacts

Yesterday morning I attended a monthly meeting that, typically, is painfully boring and disengaging (part of that may be my fault and the attitude I bring with me to the meeting).  To avoid becoming completely cynical and disengaged, I have committed myself to approaching the first 15 minutes as a "probationary period" of sorts where I genuinely try to listen and give the meeting a fair shot.  Yesterday, after an uninspiring presentation from a representative from financial services and figuring that the next item on the agenda wasn't likely to peak my interest much, I was settling into the article I brought to read.  I knew that BYU has a Women's Services office on campus, but never really understood what they did or how they did it (which, I'm now quite embarrassed about).  The next 20 minutes of the meeting were eye opening for me.

BYU Women's Services and Resources is a small program within the Dean of Student's Office on campus.  They have one full-time employee, a small office in the Student Center, and (I'm guessing) not much of a budget.  In many ways, it is the kind of place that is easy to overlook and which would be an easy target when budgets are being tightened.  To be honest, if it weren't associated with a fairly politicized issue (the experience of women on campus), I'm not sure that it would survive on a campus as big as BYU.

Despite all of that, LaNae Valentine and her team of undergraduate students and graduate interns, are doing more good on our campus than many realize.  They offer a wide range of ongoing programming and special events for women on campus; however, to their credit their larger interest is in providing good educational resources and experiences than they are with putting on events (that isn't always true of student life areas on campuses).  Consequently, their programming is closely aligned with their mission.  The combination of their large target population and diverse, yet focused programming means they reach a fair amount of people.  What's more they are positioned to make a tremendous difference in the experience for a relatively small number of students (although not as small a number of students as their budget, square footage, and one line on the campus directory would lead many to believe) who are often in desperate need of the support provided through the center.

This is an interesting phenomenon on campuses where big, expensive programs get a lot of attention.  And, we like to believe that these programs, centers, and initiatives are what make the biggest difference for students (after all, if they didn't, why would we spend so much money on them?).  Although their size, resources, and very broad missions (broad sometimes means ambiguous and unarticulated) make them highly visible and allow them to "touch" a large number of students, these same characteristics may simultaneously keep them from engaging with students in deeper and more personal ways--the ways in which Women's Services and Resources and other units can.

I'm not calling for the dissolution of SGA's, large student service organizations, or other "big" programs.  But, just hoping that more people on college campuses will discover, appreciate, and advocate for the small programs that offer a very different, more personal, and often impactful experience for particular segments of the student population.  They don't cost much money, don't need much office space, and are usually quite self-sustaining (if they aren't, they don't survive); however, they touch student's lives and bring a much-needed diversity to our campuses.

A closing word of caution for these programs.  Often the success of places like Women's Services comes about largely through the efforts of a single charismatic and tireless leader (this is almost surely the case for Women's Services).  In fact, I don't know how else small and resource-starved programs ever survive.  The problem is that when there is only one leader, who almost single-handedly keeps the place afloat, long-term survival becomes questionable.  What happens when that dynamo leaves?  It's important that those who care about these small programs (especially the heroes I've described above) be strategic about looking for, mentoring, and grooming someone to take over, otherwise the impact of these programs will only last as long as the career of their champions.

A tribute to good mentors

In December, I graduated with a master's degree in Instructional Design from Brigham Young University.  In many ways it was anticlimactic--I immediately started a doctoral program, I still have years of school ahead of me, and my thesis was approved nearly a month before I was actually awarded the degree.  Still, it was a long road and it feels good to be a little closer to being "finished" (if we ever really are).  By nature, I am a fairly reflective person, but especially at transitional times like beginnings and endings.  So, not surprisingly, I have spent a fair amount of time thinking back over the last few years and my experiences.  In doing so, I have been reminded of how much I owe to good mentors.  It is always risky to thank individual people because of the chance that someone is left off the list; however, I'll do it here for two reasons.  First, without the support of those I'll list here, I would never have finished, let alone started a graduate program.  Second, because there is a good chance that no one will ever read this, the chances of anyone being offended by being left off the list are small.

First, I am grateful to mentors from my undergraduate experience who nurtured my passion for teaching and learning, and who never quit encouraging me to consider a career in higher education.  My experience with Pat, Gary, and Stefinee in the now defunct Freshman Academy program was the single most influential thing that happened to me as an undergraduate student.  I learned more sitting in their offices listening to and observing their meetings, than any course could have ever taught me.  I learned what good thinkers read, what kinds of questions they ask, and how they interact with others in ways that open the door for change and innovation.  It was during those afternoon meetings and early morning chats that the scholarship seed was planted for me.  And, without my experience in the Freshman Academy program, I would probably never have been hired to come back and work full-time at BYU (which then opened the door to graduate school much wider for me).

Once I began graduate studies my path was somewhat unique in that I was still working full-time.  This would not have been possible without a supportive work supervisor.  Pat (yes, the same one as above) was not only accommodating in allowing me to adjust my work schedule to fit around classes and research meetings, but has served in many ways as a 4th member of my graduate committee, engaging me in conversations about my ideas, pointing me in the direction of scholarship relevant to my interests, and providing much-needed and well-timed feedback.  This last summer when I was conceptualizing and implementing my master's project, she not only gave me generous amounts of time to do my work, but nudged and encouraged me to do more than I thought I could.  As a result, my finished project was much better than it ever would have been otherwise.

If you had asked me, ten years ago, what I would be doing when I turned 30, working in higher education wouldn't have been on the list of my 50 best guesses.  Often, we need others to help us identify our latent passions, broker opportunities for us to grow, and encourage us when we don't believe in ourselves.  My friend Stefinee has been that person for me.  I distinctly remember the first time I met her as an undergraduate student.  For some reason I had been invited to attend a meeting to discuss a research project she was working on with Pat.  She must have sensed that I felt incredibly out of place and out of my league because she made it a point of sitting next to me in the conference room (interestingly enough, the very same conference room that she and I were in when I defended my master's thesis about seven years later), asking me questions about myself, and including me in the conversation throughout the meeting.  Since then, on more occasions than I can count, she has played that same role--helping me feel comfortable when I wanted to run, nudging me to stretch myself, and giving me access to conversations I wouldn't have been a part of otherwise.

Of course, there are others; however, none who have played as significant a role as these good friends, mentors, and colleagues.  So, to them (as well as the others)--thank you!

2011 Utahn of the Year: Chris Burbank

Kudos to the Salt Lake Tribune for choosing SLC Police Chief Chris Burbank as the 2011 Utahn of the Year.  In a year when Utah produced a top NBA draft pick and a presidential candidate, it would be easy to bow to popular opinion and select someone who is more well-known nationally.  However, with their choice, the Tribune has reminded us that we are in dire need of more leaders like Burbank—leaders who engage in thoughtful dialogue with all members of the community, openly listen to all perspectives, accept responsibility for their actions, and who consistently adhere to principle.  In a year dominated by spotlight-seeking politicians, deaf to opposing arguments and bent on pushing forward extremist agendas (and I’m talking about politicians on both sides of the party line), Burbank’s leadership is both refreshing and instructive.  Even those who disagree with his views would be hard pressed to offer up any legitimate critiques of the skilled way in which he handles difficult and sensitive situations.  I would much prefer Burbank to just about any of the political candidates in the upcoming local elections.  And, it makes me wonder, could someone like Burbank be successful in politics?  First, could someone willing to buck popular opinion and the strong arm of Utah republicans get elected?  And, once elected, would someone like Burbank hold to his principles?  My heart tells me yes, but my head says no (with regard to both questions).

The shortcomings of a utilitarian approach to New Student Orientation programming: A call for aesthetics

Prior to my current work with Brigham Young University's peer mentoring initiative I was heavily involved in the university's new student orientation programming.  And, because my work is still focused on first-year students, I associate with colleagues (both here at BYU and on other campuses) who spend a good deal of their time thinking about how to orient students to a college campus.  Almost invariably I hear them use terms like "plan," "manage," and "direct" to describe their work.  This choice of words highlights a common metaphor guiding the work of orientation professionals, what I'll term here the management metaphor--one which is largely concerned with relatively superficial features of orientation programming,  including scheduling, event management, feeding large groups of people, and other associated logistics.  Clearly, these are all important considerations for an "orientation director" (something has to happen during orientation and it has to be coordinated, particularly on a large campus where thousands of students and their parents are likely to participate).  However, problems arise when this metaphor is adopted as the guiding principle in making decisions about orientation programs because it fails to attend to the aesthetics of the orientation experience (and I use the term experience very intentionally here).  As a result, students experience orientation as a collection of disjointed events--for example a convocation, campus tour, advisement session, and dance party--and walk away from the experience without having made any meaning, reflected on key messages (e.g. the institutional mission and other core values of the institution), or resolved to do anything differently during their college experience as a result of new student orientation.

A more useful metaphor for orientation programming is the aesthetic design metaphor (yes, I made that up).  Through this lens, the process of developing orientation programming is viewed as a process of designing an aesthetic experience for students, that is to say experiences which are coherent, connected, and infused with meaning.   In his book Art as Experience, John Dewey describes aesthetic experiences as those which are immersive, complete, and transformative.  In contrast, unaesthetic experiences are routine, dispersed, disengaging, and fragmented.  Patrick Parrish has described a set of aesthetic principles which can be applied to the design of instructional experiences in an attempt to avoid the negative outcomes so often associated with educational settings (e.g. boredom, lack of motivation, meaningless and imposed learning activities), which seem useful for orientation programming because of its susceptibility to the the same traps of fragmentation and meaninglessness.  These "first principles" are that

1. Learning experiences have beginnings, middles, and ends,
2. Learners are the protagonists of their own learning experiences,
3. Learning activity, not subject matter, establishes the theme of instruction,
4. Context contributes to immersion in the instructional situation, and
5. Instructors and instructional designers are authors, supporting characters, and model learners

When viewed as an aesthetic design process, orientation programming is elevated to an act of weaving together an experience or narrative which attends to Parrish's first principles and which is meaningful and transformative for students.  The goals shift from scheduling events, providing meals, and holding "sessions," to providing an experience which moves students towards internalizing institutional values and changes their conception of the college experience.  Imagine the impact of an orientation program which not only helps students register for classes and locate campus buildings, but which poses a question or challenge which can provide a purpose or framework for a students entire undergraduate experience (e.g. "How can my learning position me to solve important problems?"  or "As a citizen of a global community, what responsibility do I have to improve my community?  How can my college experience prepare me to do that?" or for a faith-based institution, "How can I integrate spiritual and secular learning?").  Further, why does every student have to have the same experience as the student next to them?  Could students create their own orientation experience by selecting from a number of events and opportunities, those which attend to their needs and concerns.  Finally, as I have written about before here, meaningful conclusions do much to further learning--why couldn't orientation culminate with some kind of experience which promotes reflection, unifies the sub-experiences which have occurred across orientation, and invites students to continue to engage with the problem or question posed on the first day?

None of this is to say that these two metaphors for orientation programming are mutually exclusive or wholly incompatible.  An orientation experience can be both aesthetic and pragmatic; however, far too often institutions focus exclusively on planning and managing and lose an opportunity to design an experience.  An experience which not only welcomes students to campus and answers their questions, but which like a good piece of art, stimulates reflection, action, and (occasionally, when the stars align) promotes personal transformation.

A Ph. D. is not enough

One of the most interesting (and often painful) things I have repeatedly observed in my work over the last five years are transitions in administrative leadership at my institution and the way in which these changes are managed.  Yesterday, I was in a meeting where one of these changes was announced and, to put it mildly, it was like watching a train wreck.  In defense of the administrator delivering the news, I think he meant well and was truly doing his best to be tactful.  But, nonetheless, his social and administrative ineptitude were on display for all to see.  Consequently, an already emotionally charged situation was made worse.  This administrator is, from what I can tell, a brilliant researcher and scholar in his field (Pharmacology); however, like most faculty members, his formal training has done little to prepare him for those responsibilities which take him out of his lab.

While faculty members' responsibilities obviously vary both within and between campuses, it isn't uncommon for them to spend some percentage of their time engaged work falling outside their disciplinary area of expertise.  So, on a tour of a typical campus we would be likely to see sociologists and biologists administering departments and colleges, physicists and engineers advising students, and a lot of non-teachers teaching students.  To be fair, I know great administrators and excellent teachers with Ph. D.'s in things other than management and education; however, they are the exception.  Instead, most have wonderful intentions and want desperately to be good teachers or chairs, but struggle along because of the lack of any real preparation or training.  What's worse, there is a dangerous sub-population who suffer from a common psychological condition that condemns them to repeated faux pas and debacles like the one I saw yesterday.

The thought of an academic advisor teaching a law class or an "administrative" employee teaching teaching introductory biology are, obviously laughable, so its a bit ironic that we don't see problems in transfers in the other direction.  There has long been an assumption that an earned doctorate (in any field) qualifies an individual to do just about any other kind of work on a campus, whether it is directing an Honors college, overseeing first-year programming, or advising students about general course registration.  There may have been a time, before college campuses became the complex animal they are now, when this may have been true.  And, at a small college where resources and personnel are limited, utility infielders who teach, advise, administer, and research will always be a necessity.  However, as college campuses become increasingly complex, there will become a greater need for the professionalization of roles which, historically, have been viewed as just another part of the professorial duty.  At the very least, we cannot afford to continue to assume that a Ph. D. in Pharmacology, in and of itself, prepares anyone to navigate administrative landmines and advise students (about anything but pharmacology), and  teach (virtually anything at all).

Joe Paterno is not a victim and neither are Penn State students

Even if you have no interest in college sports, you've likely heard about what has been happening at Penn State this week, relative to their athletics department and beloved head football coach, Joe Paterno (even my wife, who is so uninterested in sports that she can walk into our living room on Super Bowl Sunday while I'm watching the game and ask in all sincerity "Is this an important game?" asked me what I thought of the Paterno incident last night).

It is undoubtedly a sad and disturbing story.  But, as much as I respect Joe Paterno for what he has done in college athletics, for Penn State University, and for individual athletes whom he has coached and mentored, I am not really all that sad for him.  The real tragedy is what happened to eight young boys at the hands of someone who they trusted.  What's more the riots and protests which have erupted in response to Paterno's firing are not only misguided (and, I suspect for most rioters, an excuse for drunken violence and a tempting opportunity to gather videos that can be posted to You Tube and bragged about later), but draw attention away from the real victims in the situation.

Let me be clear, I am not arguing against public demonstrations and the right for individuals to express their views.  And, I am an advocate for college students becoming engaged on their campuses and making their voice heard.  However, violence, property destruction, and public intoxication are not civic engagement.  And, based on what I have seen and heard from the Penn State "demonstrations" thus far, they look a lot like a bunch of college students wanting to cause trouble, rather than informed citizens working for positive change.  In the Inside Higher Ed article linked to above, a number of student affairs professionals "sympathized" with students who are going through the "healing process."  While I'm sure that there are students distraught, embarrassed, and discouraged with what is happening on their campus and student affairs professionals are positioned to provide support, I would hope that efforts are taken to help students step back and, again, consider who the real victims are in all of this.  While some well-intentioned Paterno-ites surely believed that their protests at his firing would convey messages of support for a campus icon, they likely never considered what kinds of messages such behavior send to, not only the victims in this particular case, but any victim of sexual abuse watching all of this play out.  I hope Penn State takes this as an opportunity to help students move past what seems to be very selfish behavior and take a more mature and productive approach to the tragedy that is unfolding on their campus.