It’s convocation season! Proud graduates, along with their families, friends, faculty, and loved ones, are celebrating the culmination of their journeys through post-secondary learning. All the sacrifice and hard work, the late nights and early mornings, balancing school along with multiple other priorities and commitments…it all adds up to make crossing the finish line cause for jubilant celebration.

Over the years I’ve had the extraordinary privilege of seeing up-close approximately 25,000 students take their ceremonial walk across the dais at college convocation, and I’m unfailingly struck by how many ways there are to make that short but memorable journey.

On the face of things, proceeding in a straight line across the front of a 30-foot stage from one end to the other (and stopping to shake some hands along the way) seems pretty straightforward. Routine even. Not so! Every grad arrives for their moment on the dais carrying stories, lived experience, histories, and identities that are theirs alone – and that’s expressed in a myriad of ways.

Many graduates step forward with supreme confidence, head held high. Some pause in the middle of the stage, take a look around, soak it all in. Others take a bow, give a thumbs up, wave to their loved ones. A few dance their way joyfully across the stage. Memorably, a handful even perform backflips (this is true). Gown and all.

Other grads move forward with solemnity and gravitas. They’re no less confident, but experience their moment reflectively and with care. They walk with dignity. They step carefully from point A to point B. Some people walk with tears in their eyes, or tears that overflow. Some people run, or saunter, or stumble a little. Some walk tentatively, diffidently, gaze lowered.

On occasion, things don’t go according to plan. I’ve seen graduates take a wrong turn in the middle of the stage and get “lost” – needing a guiding hand to help get them back on track. One young woman had broken the sole of her shoe and shuffled forward, and she didn’t let it stop her. Her gait was uneven but she was going to experience her moment of success and let nothing stand in her way, head held high.

There are graduates who cross the stage with a service or support animal, with a newborn baby, with a mobility aid, using a wheel chair. In a world that doesn’t always embrace difference those journeys represent challenges navigated and overcome. For so many, those challenges overcome are often invisible, but no less real.

I can’t help but reflect on how a 10-second journey across the dais is kind of a metaphor for the many ways in which we each make our own journey through life. Sometimes setting out with a clear goal in view and never wavering, or deliberately pausing to look around, smell the flowers, take stock. Getting lost along the way. Needing a helping hand or an encouraging word to get back on track. Stumbling, maybe even falling. The pride in accomplishment and the work it takes to get there. Feeling hopeful, excited, uncertain, confident, grateful, apprehensive, joyful, optimistic. All of the above?

Most students feel at least a little nervous about crossing the stage at convocation. They’re worried about “not doing it right” and when the moment arrives it’s all a bit overwhelming. But the truth is, there’s no “right” way to cross the stage. Like life, it all goes by so fast and the trick is to be fully present, authentically you, and know that it is your journey to take.

Congratulations Class of 2023!

Photo by Mat Napo on Unsplash

Here in Canada and in many other countries, we likely all know loved ones and colleagues who have gotten that precious and life-saving dose, if not had it ourselves. Having said that, vaccine hesitancy is real. A recent Canadian poll shows that 66% of respondents would be willing to get a vaccine right away if it were available, but hesitancy may vary based on the specific type of vaccine as well as other factors. As well, that figure leaves a significant minority of vaccine hesitant individuals.

Full disclosure: I’m generally somewhat risk-averse when it comes to medications/interventions, and the April 14 Health Canada Advisory on the AstraZeneca vaccine did give me pause. If I’d been offered an mRNA vaccine I wouldn’t have thought twice; but that wasn’t on the menu. Nonetheless, I registered for AZ on multiple pharmacy waiting lists, and when the text message came with an appointment, it got real. I had a decision to make and in all honesty, part of me hesitated – in fact, I kind of panicked. So I did what most of us do: I spoke to trusted friends, colleagues, and loved ones and shared my anxiety and hesitation. The person who tipped the balance was a physician I used to work with

My friend the doctor noted the extremely low risk of admittedly serious adverse effects (which I already knew…but still…what if I was one of those rare cases?!). Then, he noted that in the very unlikely event I was one of the few who experienced VITT, there are treatments available. Somehow I totally missed that part on the Health Canada web page! There it is, clear as day, on its own line:

“In the very rare event that someone experiences unusual blood clots with low platelets, there are treatments available.”

So I had to wonder, how did I miss that crucial and highly reassuring piece of information? For all of us, decision-making is impacted by cognitive biases. There are evolutionary and biological advantages to these biases, but they can also seriously hamper decision-making, especially when we feel like our safety might be at risk. In reading that Health Canada web page, I automatically focused on the content outlining the side effects and risks of the vaccine, as opposed to their rarity and treatability – attentional bias. Even before I started reading, I was primed to hone in on the scary stuff:

“In our personal and professional lives, attentional bias can give us tunnel vision, overemphasizing some factors and blinding us to others. When we narrowly focus on one or two things, we end up overthinking them, and assigning them greater importance in our decision making than we should.” 

All to say, I promptly confirmed my appointment and got vaccinated. That night I had shivers and a headache, and felt a bit feverish – and I visualized my immune system marshalling the defenses. The following day – all was well. I was relieved and grateful, and I also felt uncomfortably guilty thinking about the many essential workers, families, and high-risk populations who haven’t yet had the opportunity to get vaccinated. Prioritizing higher-risk communities and populations reflects an ethical approach to vaccinating a whole province/country/world, although not without missteps and stumbling blocks along the way.

We all need a ‘shot in the arm’, and I mean that both literally and figuratively. To everyone waiting anxiously for that appointment or for your eligibility to get that appointment: I am crossing my fingers for you and knowing that it won’t be too much longer. If you’ve already received your vaccine, I am so very grateful to join your number. And to those still on the fence, you’re really who I’m writing this for. These are not always easy decisions, and they are for each person alone to make.

Crossing the milestone of 20,000 COVID19 deaths in Canada is a stark reminder of the tremendous human cost of the virus. Each and every one of those individuals was a parent or grandparent, a sibling, friend, or loved one. The ongoing impacts for COVID19 “long haulers” are also sobering and hard to comprehend in their magnitude and duration. Increasing numbers of younger people in Canada’s ICU beds reinforce the reality that we’re all vulnerable, although by no means equally vulnerable. Life is precious and it’s fleeting, and COVID has already robbed our world of so many.

Photo by Efe Kurnaz on Unsplash

Passing the one-year mark in this global pandemic has got me taking stock and thinking about what it means to be living (and having lived) through a strange and historic time. We’re still very much in the midst of things, and the years to come will unpack, analyze, process, and document what feels like a “time out of time”. It is a remarkable milestone delineating the “beforetime” from the post-pandemic, while right now we continue to occupy a strange and liminal space in between.

In our ‘virtual reality’ we’ve co-created a new normal in which we’ve invented and adapted norms and conventions, shared experience, routines and rituals. Take Zoom for example – much has been written about Zoom fatigue, and “metastasizing meetings”: i.e. “We can book back-to-back-to-back Zoom meetings or accept meeting invitations because we are not physically trying to get someplace else. Every meeting occurs where we already are, in front of our laptop.” Being tied to a small box among a sea of boxes on a screen, day after day, hour after hour…self care and wellness aren’t a luxury, they are a necessity. Many of us have discovered (or rediscovered) hobbies and interests: home improvement; cooking and baking (especially sourdough!); sewing and crafts; writing, music-making, photography and painting; 1000 piece puzzles; gardening and growing;  tinkering in the garage; video gaming; long drives; and more.

And speaking of Zoom…so many questions! Are Zoom backgrounds the proxy for how we normally express ourselves at work through body language and office attire? What proportion of your wardrobe has become utterly redundant? Why is it so natural to eat lunch in a classroom or meeting room, and so deeply discomfiting online? (And is that why we almost never see actors actually eat on-camera?). Also lighting – I didn’t even know what a ‘ring light’ was until my 23 year old got me one as a gift. And the etiquette surrounding when to mute or unmute our cameras and/or audio, the criticality (and precarity) of WiFi bandwidth, the cognitive and dexterity challenges in toggling between multiple screens and sharing screen, those Zoom emojis, sidebar chat conversations … the list is long. Phrase of the year: “You’re on mute”. And in those Zoom meetings we’ve gotten to know each other in new and even deeper ways – we’ve met/seen pets, children, partners, kitchens – so many parts of ourselves and our lives that were never so real and present in our former reality.

The ‘real world’ is just as strange in relation to the beforetime. Masks can be a challenge, including for those of us who wear glasses (unless the fit around the nose is almost perfect i.e. never). And shopping: I don’t ever remember lining up for any store other than on Boxing Day or a sample sale. Shopping is far from relaxing that’s for sure. Browsing in stores is a thing of the past – get in, get out – replaced by online browsing?  Physical distance, even outside, and taking a walk in the city is kind of like a live video game of switching from road to sidewalk to the opposite side of the street as we encounter others in the opposite direction.

A few months ago on one of my neighborhood walks, l came across a small patch of grass with a stone bench, tucked off to the side near a place of worship close to my house. I’ve lived in the same place for over 20 years and had never noticed that peaceful, lonely little spot. I often see someone sitting on the bench – just sitting. It’s always someone different, sometimes a couple, an older or a younger person, sometimes it’s me. I guess we’re all trying to make sense of something so big, so impossible to fully grasp.

As the vaccine roll-out in Ontario and elsewhere finds its way into eager, grateful arms, I’m resolved to fully inhabit and be present in this liminal space, this in-between time. It won’t last forever, we’ll all be glad to get to the other side, but we’ll have lived through something extraordinary and beyond imagining.

I’ve been thinking about mental health, wellness, and self-care lately, as we approach a full year of public health measures to combat the spread of the COVID virus.

I was out for a walk around my neighborhood and I was struck (yet again) by the profound silence all around (and I live in a pretty densely populated area of the city). But then suddenly as I turned a corner onto yet another side street, the sound of birds filled the air. You know the ones…those little brown sparrows who cluster together in bushes and shrubs, and in this one particular spot on an otherwise quiet street, they were partying! The little birds were almost invisible but there must have been at least 50 of them, all chirping and chatting at once.

It made me think about us humans, all confined in our respective bubbles, and how the memory of social proximity and togetherness feels very far away. I’m finding that even when watching TV shows or movies it’s kind of jarring seeing characters shaking hands with strangers, eating in crowded restaurants, jostling on the subway, etc. etc. Hard to fathom that we are closing in on a year of living, working, teaching, and learning at a distance. We’ve seen lots of media coverage about “COVID fatigue” referencing the need for vigilance in adhering to public health protocols, but let’s remember that COVID fatigue stems, in large part, from our collective deprivation of the rich social world we’ve all been missing.

The challenge of staying connected solely mediated by digital communication channels – largely email, text, and Zoom – makes it increasingly hard to feel and experience that all-important human element in all things digital. Just like those sparrows, our natural inclination is togetherness; and the impact of social deprivation is real. One small but meaningful take-away for me is to be even more mindful of the affective dimensions in emails I’m sending, as well as making time for informal “coffee talk” in Zoom meetings – those personal, relational elements that happen naturally when we encounter each-other in the ‘real world’. Also, recognizing that we all have good days and off days, and trying to be intentional in extending an extra measure of grace and understanding to one-another. Patience with others as well as with ourselves can go a long way.

We still have a long road to travel on this particular journey, but looking forward to the days – hopefully in the not-too-distant future – when we can be like winter sparrows, chatting and chirping with joy! In the meantime, I thought I’d share this graphic from Bell Let’s Talk Day which captures some great reminders of self-care and wellness tips and strategies – my goal is at least three things from this list every day:

Let’s all make a point of taking time to look after ourselves these days. We’re running a marathon!

What does it take to banish self-doubt and embrace radical self-leadership?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtFUoA_0fwE

In October of 2019 I had the honour of joining an extraordinary roster of thought leaders and change-makers on the TEDx Centennial College stage in Toronto, Canada. It was a testament to the determination and creativity of the event team that it happened at all in the midst of Toronto’s COVID19 lockdown. The original event was scheduled for spring of 2020, and a silver lining was some added time to further refine and ‘sculpt’ my message focused on radical self-leadership as an antidote to self-doubt and imposter syndrome.

First coined in the 1970s, research shows that imposter syndrome is widespread, with one study showing that about 70% of us experience it at one time or another. Later research suggests that imposter syndrome may be especially prevalent among students and academics, as well as individuals whose gender, ethnicity, or identity, makes them a minority in the workplace. For instance, have you ever felt like your colleagues seem to know exactly what they’re doing, while you’re in ‘fake it till you make it’ mode? The irony is that we all keep it a secret…as if everyone else around us is waking up and going about their lives secure in the assurance that they’re fully skilled and fabulously successful, when chances are they’re feeling exactly the same way you are!

Self-doubt – radical or otherwise – distracts us and robs us of the ability to be fully present to ourselves and others. Taken to an extreme, it can undermine the joy that we take in our work and relationships. The idea of three essential practices (and the analogy of a simple, wooden, three-legged stool) to actualize our full potential initially stemmed from my experience in the classroom. In talking about the ‘three-legged stool’ (the three practices) with students over the course of many years, I had to wonder whether perhaps what works so well in university could be equally true long after graduation.

I posted about the three-legged stool in 2012 as “three secrets to success in school – and life“. Since then, those three essential practices – show up, pay attention, do your homework – have taken on an even deeper and more expansive meaning. The three-legged stool didn’t just help my students. It gave me a tangible way to banish that self-defeating, inside voice. Now, when those doubts creep in (“Am I smart enough?” “Do I really have what it takes?”), I get a picture in my mind of the three-legged stool and that gets me out of my head, and guides me towards positive action.

My TEDx talk (link above and here) gave me an opportunity to dig into the three practices in a deeper way and explore the multiple dimensions of what it means to truly show up, pay attention, and do your homework. For example, showing up is more a philosophy of service than a concrete physical action, and poses the question of what it means to show up for ourselves and others on a daily basis. Paying attention references the endless endeavor of engaging with people and the world around us. Doing our homework represents looking for that ‘something extra’ we can all do – i.e. homework with ourselves, our colleagues, our loved ones.

And this is the real secret: you have to do all three of these practices with consistency in order to stay balanced. It’s a three-legged stool after all, and sawing or chipping away at one or more of the legs of the stool makes it tip and teeter; while hacking away at the stool itself means we’ll probably fall off altogether. Over the last decade, I’ve been amazed at the secrets that the little three-legged stool has revealed, the dreams it has helped me fulfill, and the difference I’ve been able to make.

So here’s the big question: How well are you balanced on your own three-legged stool? At their heart these three practices aren’t just a recipe for success in school, or at work, or even success in life. They’re ingredients for radical self-leadership: realizing your full and highest potential, and making the most of all that you have to offer.

If this global pandemic has taught us anything, it’s that life is short and it’s precious: show up, pay attention, and don’t forget your homework!

Where to even begin? These last months have been beyond imagining, and it’s hard to process all that is happening and continues to unfold. I think it’s going to take quite some time to truly make sense of the events of the past year, but reflecting back on 2020, and on this day of the Winter Solstice, a few words come immediately to my mind:

Optimism: That despite the challenges ahead, there is resilience and a wellspring of determination to support economic and social development and recovery, particularly among communities and sectors hardest-hit by the global pandemic.

Longing: To hold hands and be together with friends, family and loved ones. There is long list of hugs to be given.

Anguish and Resolve: At the differential and increasing disparities here in Canada and around the world. To make a difference by giving, working, witnessing, naming and disrupting injustice and inequality.

Hope: That with the arrival of the first shipments and deployment of COVID-19 vaccines, we have turned an important corner. That the lessons we’ve learned through this pandemic will result in meaningful, lasting change and growth in building a better future.

Gratitude: To be safe, to be well, to love, and be loved.

The words to one of my favourite holiday songs, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”, have never felt more apt. Especially the line “someday soon we all will be together” – we’ve been waiting a long time for that. This song has been recorded by numerous artists, but I think Ella Fitzgerald’s version is the best:

“Someday soon we all will be together

If the fates allow.

Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow,

So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”

However you celebrate, here’s to a peaceful, restful and joyful holiday season and a Happy New Year filled with love, good health, positive change, hope, and joy.

Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash

This past week, I’ve been thinking about a powerful interview I heard on November 29 on CBC Radio’s The Sunday Magazine with Piya Chattopadhyay. Her conversation with Philosophy Professor Carlos Alberto Sánchez seemed to perfectly encapsulate a lived experience during these past nine months, through the word “zozobra”: framed as “the oscillation between hope and hopelessness”. This resonated strongly, in how one moment I might find myself feeling very hopeful (e.g. hearing reports of progress in vaccine research trials, approvals and production); and then the next hour/day/moment, truth be told, feeling kind of hopeless (“Will this ever end?!?”). The ‘oscillation of hope’ (in Dr. Sánchez’s words) can be deeply disorienting as we cycle through these extremes and points in between.

In the seven-minute interview, Dr. Sánchez talks about our current state of uncertainty and disorientation though this shared experience of ‘oscillation of hope’. He notes that we can learn from Mexican philosophy (and specifically names the work of philosopher Emilio Uranga), in recognizing common suffering – and using this recognition to develop “bonds of love and common struggle”. Dr. Sánchez contests Western notions of radical individualism, and how this contributes to the sense of isolation that so many have been experiencing. The importance of community, relationships, connectedness, are meaningful and necessary. The interview is worth a listen! Check out this link in the text below, and scroll approx. half way down the page:

Interview Link: Word Processing: Zozobra
The various crises of our day have left many of us feeling anxious, disoriented and uncertain about the ground we stand on. Carlos Alberto Sanchez, professor of philosophy at San Jose State University, says Mexican philosophy has a concept to describe how we’re all feeling: “zozobra”. In the latest installment of our ongoing language segment Word Processing, he breaks down the meaning of “zozobra”, its Mexican roots and universal relevance, and how it can help us get through a turbulent time.

Now I am by no means a student of philosophy, but I can’t help feeling that philosophy has – and will continue to have – much to teach us in making sense of an experience that is so hard to make sense of. Finding hope and meaning are deeply human needs, and the voices of educators, scholars, activists and artists can offer pathways into hope and community.

Photo by Nick Morrison on Unsplash

Last week I had the opportunity to meet with student leaders about the student experience through this widespread and radical transition to online learning over the past months. It was a lively and engaged dialogue, and they brought professionalism, constructive feedback, and the student voice front and centre to the conversation.

Students candidly offered their personal experiences as well as the experiences and feedback they are hearing from peers with great respect and recognition of the learning journey that all of us have been engaged in, as we’ve all adapted to teaching, learning and connecting at a distance.

Many of the areas echo considerations and practices for face-to-face teaching, and are probably amplified by the current context where connectedness and community-building are far from easy. We’re now so reliant on Zoom, MS Teams, and other digital platforms for synchronous and asynchronous teaching, learning and meeting; and largely in the absence of being able to come together in the ‘real’ (versus virtual) world.

Through the lens of our students, the overarching theme was one of encouraging us to consider the student experience through the lens of a cluster of program courses, versus as a single course. Coming together as a faculty team to consider and coordinate teaching and learning approaches creates a more cohesive approach for students, especially in an academic year characterized by great uncertainty and anxiety.

Students encouraged us to think about a few concrete suggestions:

  • Coordinating the number and timing of assessments, tests and assignments across all courses, with a holistic look at how they’re distributed and spaced throughout the semester.
  • Considering where and how students access information about readings, assignments, due dates, etc. In some courses, this might be situated within the Course Outline, and in others via dedicated spaces in the institutional Learning Managaement System (LMS), or through emails, course announcements, etc. Some noted that they worry about missing out on key information as it may not be communicated in a similar way across courses.
  • Implementing a mid-term feedback survey or tool for students in every course to provide formative feedback to the professor about how each course is going. They noted that they really appreciated the courses in which this is being done.
  • In courses with multiple sections, students noted the importance of coordinating common/consistent approaches to grading and assessment among teaching faculty.
  • And finally, identifying and agreeing on key technology platforms and applications at a program level (where possible), so that students have some consistency in knowing how they’ll be engaging (for example, will it be via Zoom, MSTeams, etc.), and settling as a team on one or two approaches/platforms.

Students also reinforced their tremendous respect and valuing of the expertise their faculty bring, and that the more we can do to foster “high touch in high tech” (i.e. those feelings of connectedness to one another and to program faculty), the more they are able to actively engage and maximize their learning. This last point speaks to the importance of “instructional immediacy” in online classrooms: the behaviours and approaches (verbal, non-verbal, written, etc.) that invite our students in.

These are not easy times to be a student – and they are not easy times to be a teacher either! What an extraordinary learning journey we are on.

This past week saw the Fall Equinox, as students are getting settled into the new academic year. It is an exciting time of new beginnings, possibilities, and hope. Some are excited and leap right in with confidence, while others may be uncertain and a little wary. Either way, and all along the continuum, the trust that learners place in us as guides, models, and mentors, is profound.

Education is a powerful force for good in this world. We open minds and hearts, we cultivate new ideas, knowledge, and skills, and we inspire change.

Tragically, education has also enacted huge and lasting harms, specifically among survivors of Canada’s Indian residential schools, as well as across successive generations. In the fall of 1973, Phyllis (Jack) Webstad from the Stswecem’c Xgat’tem First Nation was a six-year old who was excited to start school:

We never had very much money, but somehow my granny managed to buy me a new outfit to go to the Mission school. I remember going to Robinson’s store and picking out a shiny orange shirt. It had string laced up in front, and was so bright and exciting – just like I felt to be going to school!

When I got to the Mission, they stripped me, and took away my clothes, including the orange shirt! I never wore it again. I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t give it back to me, it was mine! The color orange has always reminded me of that and how my feelings didn’t matter, how no one cared and how I felt like I was worth nothing. All of us little children were crying and no one cared.

Phyllis Webstad is the Executive Director of the Orange Shirt Society, and each year on September 30 we honour the experiences of the former students and survivors of Canada’s residential school system. As educators and academic leaders, we have a special obligation to Truth and Reconciliation for Education.

What can you do?

Orange Shirt Day is timed to align with the start of the new academic year when First Nations, Inuit and Métis children were taken from their families. This day reminds us of our collective responsibility for Truth and Reconciliation, and that we carry these obligations throughout our work as educators and academic leaders. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission report notes that while the TRC focused on the truth about residential schools, true reconciliation extends to the history of colonization, injustice and racism, and fair settlement of land and treaty rights.

We all have a role to play – The perfect place to begin is right where a teacher stands.”

How can we create online learning environments that are as dynamic, collaborative and successful as the best face-to-face classrooms? Is it even possible? My own experience in online graduate teaching over the past two decades suggests an emphatic “yes”. Or, should I say, an emphatic “yes, but…”.

Just as there are multiple and diverse classroom-based teaching approaches (some more successful than others in engaging learners and mobilizing knowledge transfer), there are as many ways and means of online instructional approaches. All students, regardless of the learning platform, engage best when they experience high instructional immediacy. That is, a sense of warmth, caring, connectedness, support and positive regard in the learning environment.

1. Post a positive and supportive welcome message to greet students the first time they log into the course, and each week thereafter

2. Share online bios (pictures are a bonus – students and instructor) to facilitate self-introductions

3. If you haven’t already, include short (< 5 minutes) “conversational” videos introducing weekly course topics and offering tips and key learning to personalize each week’s focus

4. Encourage students to find “peer learning buddies” in the class to foster collaboration and collegiality

5. Have early and ongoing online, discussion board conversations about process, meaning “how it feels”; versus course content, meaning “what we’re learning” – especially near the beginning of the course. Reflecting on process fosters a sense of shared place and community. Here are a couple of sample questions I’ve used:

  • What are you looking forward to in this course, and what is one thing you are concerned about?
  • How can we challenge each-other in ways that foster debate and dialogue but still be respectful and affirming?
  • What is it like for you being in this course and connecting together online?
  • How can I (professor) help maximize your learning and value from this course? And how can you help one another?

6. Offer targeted motivational communications at points in the course where motivation may be flagging (e.g., around Week 6, and towards the final couple of weeks of the course) 

7. Use intentional word choices in online communications with students (such as via class emails, discussion board posts, and course announcements). These can be subtle, and a conversational tone helps convey the sense of community and connection that we are trying to build.

Here are a couple of examples:

GoodBetter
“The focus of this course is…”“Our course will focus on…”
“You will be required to…”“We’ll be working together to accomplish…”
“Students’ feedback has indicated…”“The conversation in our group this week has highlighted…”

8. End the course with an explicit call to action – How does the learning in this course fit into the bigger picture of students’ learning trajectories and career goals? (here’s a video example from a few years ago – this was a social work addiction treatment course I taught at the University of Toronto).

9. Students often expect “24/7” availability and communication, and sometimes even more so when the course is online. That’s not realistic! Help manage expectations by being explicit with students about how often you check into the course, and the expected response time for student questions.

10. Be patient with yourself. You didn’t become an awesome classroom teacher overnight, and it will take time to be as awesome online. Let students know we are all learning together.

As students – and faculty – have had to pivot in orienting to rich digital communication and sharing, online teaching aligns with a new, shared, reality for all of us. The skills of fostering community in digital environments map closely to professional (and personal) applications far beyond the classroom. We’ve collectively experienced how digital inclusion, networking and collaboration are as essential as oxygen.

This post was adapted from: https://educateria.com/2014/06/24/10-tips-for-online-teaching/

Here we are the Friday before classes start for a fresh new academic year. To carry forward with my theatre analogy from last week (and hopefully not stretch it too far!), I guess we could say that the “audience” is taking their seats and waiting for the curtain to rise. Here are the “pre-show activities” among our students that we have witnessed countless times before: the searching for assigned “seats” (i.e. figuring out the online Learning Management System, ordering textbooks and other course materials, etc. etc.); looking through the programme (that would be course syllabi); along with all of the conversations, expectations and curiosity about what the shared experience is going to be like as the action unfolds.

And on the part of the cast and crew (that’s us!), there might be some pre-show jitters, lots of getting those last details right, and wondering what kind of audience it is going to be. The magic happens when the audience engages as live and dynamic partners in a shared and transformative experience for all. As an aside, despite two decades of teaching, I always had some of those “pre-show jitters” before a new semester, and then came the wonderful experience of meeting my students and finding my stride. It never gets old!

Thinking about our students’ anticipation of the coming semester also brings to mind our highly diverse and internationalized learning community across post-secondary education, and our core values of inclusion, respect, equity and social justice.  Anti-Black and Anti-Indigenous Racism, and other corrosive forms of violence, colonization and oppression, are enacted in a myriad of ways – large and small (and noting that the cumulative trauma of a multitude of implicit and overt forms of racism means that none are objectively “small”). As academic leaders, we all have a stake in how we engage with our students and with one-another, with the curriculum we teach, as well as the voices we amplify and include, and the actions that we take.

This past week marked an important, national, activist response by academics: the September 9-10 Scholar Strike galvanized by Dr. Anthea Butler. As the web page states: “The Canadian action is aligned with the one in the U.S., in its call for racial justice, an end to anti-Black police violence and it adds a specific focus on anti-Indigenous, colonial violence.”

The criticality of this work is painfully amplified in numerous research papers and other reports, including the Ontario Human Rights Commission Report: A Disparate Impact: Second interim report on the inquiry into racial profiling and racial discrimination of Black persons by the Toronto Police Service.

These documents are painful to read (and see), and are also essential reading (and seeing). To know is never to un-know, and in knowing comes the imperative for action.

On the eve of this new academic year and a new semester, let’s reaffirm our resolve of advocacy and activism, reflected in all that we do as academic leaders and change-makers.

It’s been another active week at the college, with yet more students starting their apprenticeship labs, as well as faculty on campus (and at home) shooting videos (instructional and promotional) and getting all kinds of curriculum prepped for our September 14 Fall Semester start date! Now more than ever, with such limited on-campus activity, it feels kind of like all of the feverish “backstage” action that happens in a theater production, getting ready for opening night.

And in this case, we’ve got a 13-week run, with an incredible diversity of tools, applications and platforms to engage our students in a rich and immersive learning experience. Every semester, in every single class, we build learning communities and create the magic of discovery, and inquiry, and connectedness. Mastering the art of doing this all (or at least mostly) online expands our students’ own skills of engagement and professional practice in a world gone more radically digital than it has ever been.

We have already experienced cataclysmic change, and it’s a sure thing that we will continue to do so in the coming academic year. But what will never change is our deep and dedicated commitment to our students: transforming lives and communities through learning. You’ve probably heard the quote by the Greek philosopher Heraclitus: “You never stand in the same river twice, because it’s never the same river, and you’re never the same person.”

We are all in a swirling river of change, so let me offer some “safety tips”.

At faculty meetings last week, I used the analogy of taking a white-water rafting trip in anticipation of the coming semester. A heart-stopping adventure that mingles together trepidation and excitement. We’re probably all feeling a little of both those things right now, and our students as well, and when I searched online for “whitewater rafting safety tips”, there were some pretty compelling parallels:

So for the coming semester:

“I hope you see things that startle you.

I hope you feel things you never felt before.

I hope you meet people with a different point of view.

I hope you live a life you’re proud of.

If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”

Eric Roth, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

We are all students, and we are all teachers

This past week I did a session for Northern College at their Faculty Development Conference reflecting on some of the key themes and opportunities for higher education, as we collectively navigate through this “Year of the Pandemic”.

There were faculty and staff joining from across northern Ontario, and a lively discussion following my talk. One thing that stood out for me was how, regardless of how large or small, rural or urban, our institutions – all of us in higher education are grappling with the same big questions, big issues, big challenges, and big opportunities for transformation, redress, growth and change.

Here are the “Top 10” standout themes from Wednesday’s conversation:

  1. Leading inclusion and action through “two pandemics”: COVID-19, as well as the more destructive, corrosive and longstanding pandemic of racism, particularly Anti-Indigenous and Anti-Black Racism, and other forms of violence and exclusion
  2. Navigating institutional sustainability in the face of enrolment challenges
  3. Mastering online and digital technology tools and applications to support online teaching, and preparing students for meaningful engagement in online learning
  4. Digital inclusion and student access to technology and WiFi/bandwidth
  5. Fostering connectedness and community in this time of physical distancing and remote working and teaching
  6. Assuring student and employee health and safety, especially those who are engaging in face-to-face, lab-based learning on our campuses
  7. Supporting student (and employee) mental health and wellness
  8. Fostering closer connections with industry and employers to enrich opportunities for Work-Integrated Learning and graduate employment
  9. Balancing work with child care, elder care, and other competing priorities and responsibilities
  10. Finding our way into a new reality for PSE, one which can offer students choice and “hyflex” learning opportunities across a range of face-to-face, online, and hybrid credentials and micro-credentials…all pretty unimaginable just six months ago!

As we prepare for a fall semester in which so much is uncertain, and in which our students are placing so much hope and trust in us, the axiom that “we are all students, and we are all teachers” has never been more real. We are on an extraordinary learning journey together. It’s not going to perfect, it will certainly be messy at times, and the occasions when we get things absolutely right will be worth celebrating.

waterlily2 2018

What does it take to be a wizard inside and outside the classroom?

1. Get excited

Everything in the world is inherently interesting. And everything in the world can be made incredibly boring. If I’m passionate about what I’m teaching, chances are some of that will rub off. This isn’t necessarily a challenge for new professors – or those teaching a course for the first time. When everything is fresh for both faculty and students, teaching is an adventure. Maybe it’s not so much getting excited about what you are teaching, as staying excited – after five years, ten years, or longer. Exploring new and innovative ways to get learners involved and promote their autonomy over their own learning, and fearlessly interrogating our approaches to course content and the processes of teaching, can help to keep us in that ‘beginner’s mindset’.

 

2. Overcommunicate

This one is a ‘quick-win’ – not difficult to implement, and has a major impact on students’ experience in a course. Students’ lives, like ours, are complicated, busy, and sometimes chaotic. People don’t always attend to our in-class communications or instructions, and/or email, and/or written (print) communication, and/or online course announcements, and/or classroom handouts. The more channels we can mobilize to share information with our students about upcoming assignments, due dates, key information or course resources, the greater the chance that our message will filter through the “white noise” of multiple, competing pressures and priorities.

 

3. Respond to student queries ASAP

This follows from Point 2, above. For good or ill, people increasingly expect (and value) prompt replies to their questions or concerns, especially via email. And students seem to equate an instructor’s response time with instructor engagement and caring (‘instructional immediacy’). A speedy reply is not always possible, and email communication can be delicate at times, but I try to live by the “24 hour or less” rule and interestingly, students make particular note of how helpful this responsiveness is to them in their comments on course evaluations.

 

4. Provide the back-story

I’ve found that when students feel like an assignment, an academic decision, a policy, or a course expectation is unfair or unwelcome, it’s usually because they’re not satisfied that there is a good rationale behind it. The trick is, how to communicate this without coming across as defensive, or worse, officious? I’ve found that the elicit-provide-elicit framework in Motivational Interviewing has been helpful in providing information to students. In short, the framework starts with (a) eliciting the student’s understanding of why they think I am proceeding in a certain way; (b) providing a brief (very brief – not a lecture) explanation from my perspective; (c) elicit the student’s response (“What do you make of that? How does this fit for you?”). Reflective listening is an ancillary skill that helps learners feel heard and understood, and makes sure that I am able to engage with accurate empathy.

 

5. Don’t work harder than your students

Learning is active. It takes effort, involvement and application. If I’m at the front of the room lecturing and the group is passively listening, who’s working harder? It’s a challenge to create dynamic learning activities that engage students in co-constructing meaning, wrestling with new ideas, and practicing new skills. Admittedly, high quality curriculum design generally takes considerable work at the front end – so perhaps it’s more accurate to say “Don’t work harder than your students in the classroom”.

 

And yes, highly effective teachers have more than these five habits – but after close to two decades, I have found them a strong foundation and a good starting point. Enjoy the journey!

 

This post is adapted from a previous post , January, 2015

 

 

How do you want to travel?

 

Lately I’ve been thinking about individual accountability for engaging in learning, and the delicacy in creating a climate where each person in the room feels as invested in the value and success of the course as the instructor does. This means focusing on the process (how learners decide to engage – or not) as well as the content (syllabus or curriculum).

Courses and workshops represent particular journeys for all participants – teacher included. In general, learning facilitators establish and negotiate the content, pacing, climate and structure throughout the course. And yet, learners themselves decide what and how they will learn. Learning can happen in the absence of teaching, and teaching can happen in the absence of learning. The magic happens when the two come together.

Most workshops and courses typically start off with a conversation about:

  • Learning outcomes
  • Course overview or outline
  • Participants’ learning goals
  • Learning assessments.

However, it’s equally important for learners to identify how they will contribute. In other words, reflecting on how they will learn and participate, what might hold them back, and what would make it safe to take risks and participate in ways that can feel downright uncomfortable. I think these questions are crucial precursors to the usual content-focused beginning to workshops and courses, because a conversation about process sets the stage for reciprocity and co-engagement in the learning journey.

It comes down to a conversation about how we (both the instructor and the group) collectively intend to make the journey together. From a facilitation perspective, this means starting out by asking questions like:

  1. Are you (learner) coming to this class as a spectator or as a participant?
  2. What are some possible ways into the content that would resonate for you, and how could you amplify these entry points?
  3. What would it take to make you want to step outside your comfort zone?
  4. If you decided to take some risks in the interest of your own ‘deep learning’, how can the group support you?
  5. How will you translate and adapt ideas, knowledge and skills in order to apply them in practice?

It’s not essential that we ask all five questions, and there are a wealth of other questions we could pose. The key is our intentionality in creating time for all participants to reflect on their roles and on the nature of the voyage they will take with you and with one-another.

And the next time I attend a workshop (or a class, meeting, performance, celebration or other opportunity to actively engage), I will be asking myself: “How do I want to travel?”