Learning is Change

44. What’s one thing you could do online, and still prefer to keep in the physical world? #LifeWideLearning16@bhwilkoff

— Zac Chase (@MrChase) February 13, 2016

I have never understood Facebook. From the friending and the wall posting, I find the whole thing to be more than just a little bit gross. Every time I push the like button, it feels like I am less real than I was a moment before, like I am being sucked into a thing that makes competing for attention into the goal of our existence.

Twitter is different because it feels like there is point to posting there. I have a digital archive of every thought for the last seven years that I can search and create things from.

Youtube is different because I get to decide how my videos are displayed and how they are shared. I also get to be a part of a community of creators that are all building something together.

Google+ is different because the conversations are within a community. All of the people engaged there are focused on a given topic, looking to learn together.

Medium is different because it is all about communicating and creating voice. So many new ideas are being shared openly and honestly in words that seem to flow into one another. The passion is so blisteringly apparent.

But, Facebook, is about friendship and family at the core. It isn’t about the community or the words or the wonderful work that people are engaged in. And because of this, it feels false. It feels like something that I am passively succumbing to. And I don’t want to.

I want real friends. I want to have real conversations. I don’t want to find out about your birthday because of an alert on a social network. I don’t want to find out about your baby’s latest milestone because the number of likes on that post tells the algorithm that I should see it in my feed. So, I prefer to meet in coffee shops and bars. I prefer to catch up after 3 months of not hearing a single thing from you. I prefer to be real-life friends and not Facebook friends.

43. What do you do when you get lost? #LifeWideLearning16@bhwilkoff

— Zac Chase (@MrChase) February 13, 2016

I do not even attempt to remember directions now. I don’t know street names or recognize how many blocks are between landmarks within my own city. In many cases I don’t care about cardinal directions other than to recognize that the Mountains are to the west as I head toward them from my home in Littleton.

Instead, I only listen to the little voice in my pocket, commanding me to follow the directions it lays out after analyzing traffic patterns and crowdsourcing accidents and construction incidents. I trust it so completely that I drive down roads that I have never seen before, believing that it will get me exactly to the place that I have asked. And, it does.

In fact, I get directions from my phone each and every time I leave the house, even if I have been to a location hundreds of times. Because I am consistently routed around obstacles to my morning commute harmony, I trust Waze over my own instincts. I make turns even when I know going straight will get me to where I need to go.

To put it another way, I have been lost for years.

I have no idea where I am going much of the time. That may sound like a metaphor, but it is much more real than it ought to be. I have no clue, nor do I care. Not knowing where you are going  isn’t terrifying, it is a conscious choice. It is something that I embrace willingly.

I am lost.

And my pocket can guide me home. That may seem pretty weird, but it isn’t any less true. I feel most lost is when I am out of cellular range. I feel unhinged at that point, incapable of finding the right turn that comes next. So I drive aimlessly until I find the cell signal again.

I’m not sure it is altogether different than trusting a higher power to find your way. I trust little signals in the air. I trust that my battery wont give out before I arrive. I trust that passengers in other cars are keeping the data up to date enough for me to pull into the driveway at exactly the right time.

You being lost isn’t so hard. It is losing your cell phone that matters most. I don’t know that I could handle the daily commute. At least no without memorizing the dozen or so roads I have traversed for the last 3 years. And who wants to do that?

42. What are the conversations you lurk around? #LifeWideLearning16@bhwilkoff

— Zac Chase (@MrChase) February 11, 2016

I want to be able to code.

I want to be able to start with an idea and make it happen by tapping out a few hundred lines in objective C or Javascript. I want to be able to look at what is going on behind the scenes of my WordPress install and know all of the reasons why my blog is loading slowly or causing my hosting provider to keep contacting me for hogging all of the CPU power on a shared server. I want to be able to make an app or extension that people can instantly use and find value in.

Instead, I hack things together. I copy and paste code and hope that it works. I string long and convoluted workflows together because I can’t build more elegant solutions. I fiddle with style sheets and send terminal commands at random to see what sticks.

It isn’t for lack of trying, either. I took coding courses in high school. I have started many a MOOC on software development. I have even paid to be a developer for the App Store and submitted a few things that I could figure out how to compile together from ready made services. This does not mean I know how to code.

Rather, it means that I lurk around code.

I read huge amounts of articles on Medium in regards to building apps and starting up companies filled with nothing but elegant code. I watch as companies compete for millions of dollars in revenue in spaces that I saw coming, but couldn’t pull the trigger on because I lack the ability to implement my own ideas. I have conversations about what I would build if I only could build. 

I don’t blame others for this shortcoming. I know it is only because I lack the will to make it happen. I sit back and wait for others to program their futures. I will write mine in words and hope that a few hyperlinks, videos and workflows are enough to get me through.

41. What kind of loser are you? #LifeWideLearning16@bhwilkoff

— Zac Chase (@MrChase) February 10, 2016

I am a loser of self.

In middle school I would read books during class. I would sit there while all of the other kids were doing their work, and I would read Michael Crichton or John Grisham. When I wasn’t reading, I was actively trying to sabotage the lessons in my Spanish or Science classes. I would often be thrown out of class for these disruptions, but no matter. In my mind, “Middle School Doesn’t Count.”

I am so glad that I lost that self.

As a teacher, I wanted my kids to have access to all of the tools they needed. We would schedule large blocks of time in the computer lab. We would check out the laptop carts whenever we could. I kept my old teacher laptop when I was issued a new one so that we could have one more dedicated machine in the classroom whenever a student needed to use it. When I was told that there were other teachers in the school who did not have regular access for their students, I was incredulous. I didn’t want to give up my access for someone else’s equity.

I lost that self too.

In my daily life, I am passionate about the work. I talk about classrooms and schools incessantly. I build prototypes of projects and systems for teachers and leaders to use. I record my thinking out loud on videos. I can write endlessly on the improving professional learning. Because of this ever-present passion, I struggle to ask about people’s lives outside of the work. I do not inquire about their children without great effort. I do not request information (or offer it) about weekend plans unless provoked to do so by someone else.

I am working to lose this self too.

I have lost more selves than I care to count, and in each iteration, I have found more to lose. I am not tied to who I was, but rather who I will become. It is both much easier and much harder that way. It is easier because I don’t have to keep all of the baggage of my middle school or high school self with me as I make decisions as a father. It is harder because I am constantly questioning “who” is making those decisions and whether or not I could be better.

The last self I lose will be in my death, and I hope that the last one is best self of my life.

40. Do you believe in magic? #LifeWideLearning16@bhwilkoff

— Zac Chase (@MrChase) February 9, 2016

I believe in Santa.

That may be weird to say, but I mean it with 100% sincerity. I believe in the strange ritual of the chimney and the cookies and the presents. I do not believe it because there is proof of his existence. In fact, as I have purchased a great many Santa gift and placed them under the tree myself, I know this cannot be. And yet, what I see in my children as they open up their doors to find their Santa pajamas hanging from their bedroom doorknobs cannot be described by anything else but Magic.

It is a wonder in their eyes at something that cannot possibly be, but somehow exists anyway. It is a truth that builds upon nothing but itself, a circular logic that you don’t mind wearing around for a while.

I believe that science and inquiry can explain away every bit of magic that we can conjure. It dispels falsehood and superstition, laying to rest any doubt within ourselves. And the farther that we inquire, the less room there is for Magic. And that is why Santa is so important. It is the rejection of the rational and the embrace of the sentimental that allows for us to build our own myths and traditions. When we banish logic for a few short hours, we become like our own children. We see things as they do, in a brand new context, thinking that anything is possible. Because for those moments, it is.

It is precisely because we can’t live within the magic forever that makes it all the more special. Because we must come back to the understanding of real-world sled physics and American materialism, we can continue to embrace a Magical Santa for a few short hours while presents are being opened. Because there are no flying reindeer in the real world makes us banish those thoughts as we hear things that could qualify as hooves on the rooftop.

Magic is the moment before you know what really happened. It is the breath that you catch before exclaiming “Aha”. It is the difference between innocence and ignorance.

Magic is believing in Santa as a father of three when you didn’t grow up with him as a reality in a single Christmas of your own childhood.

39. Top lessons you’ve learned from movies? #lifewidelearning16@bhwilkoff

— Zac Chase (@MrChase) February 8, 2016

I’m pretty sure this question has been answered in a Buzzfeed article or two. It is so perfectly positioned to be a “listicle” that I feel as though I would be doing it an injustice to stray from the format. So, without further ado, here are the Top 5 Lessons Ben Wilkoff Learned from the Movies: You won’t believe what made it to #1!

5. Everything is beautiful, especially when you are in high school: I learned this from American Beauty. I saw this film no fewer than five times in the theater, and scene with the plastic bag flowing in the wind resonated with me for years. I am well aware that it was ridiculed and parodies mercilessly, but I found it to be just the right flavor of optimism for my uninitiated high school self.

4. Sincerity is the most sincere form of flattery: I learned this from Waiting for Guffman, a film with no hint of irony or sarcasm. Everyone is all in, and that is what I love about it. By being so sincere, the characters are human in a way that hipster sensibilities will never be able to touch. When the characters are real with one another, they are investing in the moment. It is what I try to do as often as I possibly can.

3. Your story is bigger than you. I learned this from Good Will Hunting. I still consider the moments between Matt Damon and Robin Williams to be some of the best in all of cinema, but they taught me that our stories are not entirely up to us, but rather exist in the moments between the decisions we make and those that are made for us.

2. You are both the child and the father. I learned this from Juno. As it turns out, getting older means that you can no longer see coming of age stories from the young and boundless protagonists points of view. Sadly, you must consider what the older generation knows and believes. I say “sadly” because it is so much easier to only learn things for the first time rather than seeing the regret that comes from learning them again and again. It is more complex, but ultimately more satisfying to see both.

1. We don’t always recognize that the race we are in is a race to the bottom. I learned this from City of God. When the children in the movie end up killing one another for what seems to be very little, there is no other conclusion to find other than we have reached the very lowest depths of society. Even thought trajectory is not always known, the compromises of conscience inevitably end in the lowest level of intelligence winning out. When there is no one who has come before, we will only ever have a series of first time efforts. We must listen to one another and learn what can be learned. Otherwise, we kill off our future even if we aren’t doing it literally with guns in the streets.

38. What’s on grade level? #lifewidelearning16@bhwilkoff

— Zac Chase (@MrChase) February 8, 2016

Grade level is only useful because it so long has been correlated with a child’s age. Just as it is useful to know if a child is 5 years old rather than 10, it is somewhat useful to think about the type of work and cognitive skill that is possible for a brain with that many years behind it. We vaguely know that there are some challenges that 14 year olds are ready for that 7 year olds are not, but that vague notion has been formalized and codified by years of thinking about where the cutoff points are within our curriculums.

The true issue arises when we start to limit what a child can do based upon those cutoff points. When we say things like, “my second graders could never do that,” we are denying the potential of an individual student to excel. And grade levels are grossly inaccurate when it comes to brain-based milestones anyway. The child who started kindergarten much earlier than other kids will have different experience than one who started much later. The fact that they are being promoted along with their “peers” just means that we are much more interested in preserving the myth of grade levels than truly understanding when a child is ready for the next challenge.

Needing to be “On grade level” is yet another layer that we can add. It represents the notion that the chronological age, the grade level number, and the cognitive/academic challenge all can and should match up. If one of those things is out of sync, a child is not “on grade level”. It may not match up with research on competency or of brain development, but it has so much legacy in our schools that it may be the toughest to change. Children and adults both roughly know what it means to be in 3rd grade. They have a sense of what is required of a 10th grader. Parents can compare notes on their children’s progress and there is an easier transition between schools when a student moves. In fact, grade levels are all about ease of use.

We have 12 grades plus kindergarten (give or take an ECE). We follow those grades with the calendar year (give or take a few credits earned in high school). We have an elementary school, a middle, and a high school (give or take a k-8 or k-12). It is easy to look at and to plan for.

Unfortunately, children are not easy to educate and communities need more than socially promoted kids who lack the skills to be citizens. Being “on grade level” is not a fair marker of a child’s success. It denies the support that child needs to move forward. We don’t worry about kids who are “on grade level.” We only worry about kids who are behind or ahead. “On grade level” has become a code for “spend less time with” as a teacher.

I do not deny that it is useful to have signposts in the growth of students. It is useful to have comparison points, but the grade level and the age of the child are terrible surrogates for actual accomplishments and success in school and life.

37. What is the value of unpersonalized learning? #LifeWideLearning16@bhwilkoff

— Zac Chase (@MrChase) February 6, 2016

The lecture will never die. In one form or another, there will always be someone who wants to stand up in front of others and spout off about what he/she knows. There will always be those who want to sit and listen too. Both because it is easier than active participation and because there are good many things that can be conveyed by telling rather than showing or doing.

It doesn’t mean that it is what we should strive for. It doesn’t mean that lecture is going to get the kinds of lasting outcomes that practice and direct implementation tend to have. But, it does mean that from time to time we will be faced with the reality of sitting in a chair for a longer time than seems comfortable to do so and watching as someone gives a lecture.

This is deeply unpersonalized. The lecturer is not catering to your needs. You do not have agency to learn about and explore more relevant topics. You are not communicating with others and establishing a context for the words that are being said. You are not being reflective about your own practice and making plans for how to apply new learning and change your approach. You are sitting, in a chair, listening.

And if that is true, you are doing it wrong.

Other than judgmental looks from a few colleagues, there is nothing stopping you from personalizing the learning experience. There is nothing to stop you from getting out a device and starting backchannel or taking hyperlinked notes to resources that are being shared. There is nothing to stop you from asking your network for additional research or personal experience to provide greater context for what you are hearing. Indeed, there is nothing stopping you from making each moment more relevant than the last by making plans that incorporate the lecture into your next body of work. Beyond that, there is also nothing keeping you in the chair. As a person, you have agency. There may be consequences for you getting up and leaving, but if a unpersonalized learning experience does not meet your needs and you have developed an idea for what would meet your needs better, get up and walk out. 

The value of unpersonalized learning is to demonstrate your agency. You can use this moment to develop your skill set for personalization. A deeply irrelevant message can be challenged and built into a lasting learning experience. In fact, it may be even more important to do so in times of lecture than in times of collaboration. No one can take your learning away from you, unless you let them.

If the lecture has any value it is how we react to it and make it our own. It is in supporting one another through sessions that feel out of sync with our own goals. It is in the community that builds events and spaces that are reactions to the unpersonalized and the disconnected that the power of the lecture shines through. It is in finding the nuggets of truth within a vast cavern of wordy powerpoint slides.

Personalization isn’t about always having a perfect environment for learning. Instead, it is about always creating that environment from the resources at your fingertips.