Learning: It's Not Just for Kids

Designing for Safety and Bravery

I’m fortunate in that I get to spend many hours investigating what I've come to realize is my driver and primary concern in life: "How and why do humans learn, create, and connect?" This question occupies nearly every facet of my professional and personal life.

Previously, I wrote about how I spent my summer teaching adults at the Bridges Graduate School for Cognitive Diversity and then learning alongside them at the Penland School for Craft. Soon, I'll rejoin my cohort at Invisible College, a twice-weekly meeting of poets, writers, and artists who gather to study and build upon ancient and esoteric texts. I want to understand how humans learn, create, and connect because learning, creating, and connecting is when humans are at their best.

Sometimes, I'm flabbergasted, in the best sense of the word, that this is my life. That I get this life! I mean!? My lucky circumstance existed in high relief this past summer, prompting me to write to you about what I'm noticing in the adult learning landscape.

The dynamics between teachers and learners have significantly transformed in recent years. Reflecting on this evolution, it became evident that contemporary pedagogy sometimes inadvertently fosters an adversarial relationship between the two. 

If, at its core, learning (as distinct from information collecting) is a relational act, how we teach matters. A spectrum of electronic operators is on standby, ready to deliver information on any given topic at the touch of a finger. People can get information anywhere—they come to the classroom to feel something real. 

With that in mind, last summer, I met with more than one adult learner who was hesitant and fearful about engaging in the learning process, the subject matter, or the requirement to produce. Learning is, by nature, uncomfortable. While I advocate for inclusive and joyful learning, it's meant to be effortful. What I noticed in these students wasn’t discomfort. It was panic. Students and classmates told me stories about a previous teacher using words and terms that many people now find derogatory or belittling. Or their instructor refused to accommodate their learning disabilities and was demeaning when the student’s work wasn’t up to the educator’s standards.

In the end, I won my students’ trust and effort. However, I remain concerned about how much reassurance my students require to feel safe and brave in the classroom.

After talking it over with a few past students and others in my professional realm, I realized this troubling situation stems from past experiences where educators were oblivious to their biases or misused their structural power. Adversity in the classroom should come from the subject matter itself, not from the teacher-student relationship. A designer at my core, I saw a flaw needing correction. All good design challenges begin with a question. Right now, mine is, "How might teachers become more self-aware of their biases and unexamined privileges to create a more welcoming and supportive learning environment?"

Below, I’ll share a favorite design exercise I use with my students on our first day together. This simple yet powerful exercise translates into any environment where you want participants to feel a sense of connection and belonging. This exercise can be modified to accommodate a wide range of ages.