Can Happiness Be Taught?

What if it were possible to teach our children how to be happy? We already teach them how to read and write, and most modern curricula strive to include instruction in STEAM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Arts, and Mathematics). All of these subjects are considered fundamental to a good education, as they should be.

But what if at the end of all that learning, our kids fail to thrive? What if they are deeply unhappy? Then what?

I decided to homeschool my children because I felt it was important for them to have ample time to grow emotionally and spiritually as well as academically. Too many hours in a classroom would have precluded the activities we cherished: leisurely afternoons at the beach and peaceful walks through the woods, days of storytelling and hours of introspection, impromptu visits with friends and family. We "wasted" time on slow cooking, travel, conversations that digressed, and Calvin and Hobbes. When there was a conflict, we dropped everything and muddled through a process of reconciliation. Although I wasn't deliberately teaching my kids these "soft skills," which I have since learned are associated with a happier life, I followed my heart and liberally took time away from other subjects to work on improving communication and strengthening friendships.

What I didn't know then was that I was inadvertently helping my kids learn how to be happy. What pains me now is realizing I could have done a better job if I had known this little secret: there are specific skills and practices that have a measurable, positive impact on a person's level of happiness.

For most of my life, I assumed that a person's level of happiness was largely determined by good luck and good genes. If a person wasn't happy as an adult, it was probably due to a combination of neurochemistry and unhappy circumstances.  Turns out I was only partially correct. Nature and nurture establish a baseline, but the choices we make can increase (or decrease) our level of happiness by as much as 20%.

To be clear, I'm not saying researchers have discovered a cure for clinical depression (a condition that afflicts several people in my extended family and circle of friends). What I am saying is that we can learn to consciously act in ways that will increase our "happiness," specifically as the term is defined by positive psychology researcher Sonja Lyubomirsky:

"Happiness is the experience of joy, contentment, or positive well-being, combined with a sense that one’s life is good, meaningful, and worthwhile.”

If we can learn how to be happier, then it follows that we can also teach these skills to our kids. That's the exciting news proclaimed by UC Berkeley's Greater Good Science Center.

The Science of Happiness

I'm currently taking an edX course called The Science of Happiness. (I've praised edX, a marvelous nonprofit online initiative created by founding partners Harvard and MIT in a previous post: "MIT Quality, edX Accessibility." To learn more about edX, go here.) This particular course was created by UC Berkeley's Greater Good Science Center, and the emphasis is on "positive psychology." So far, I'm finding the course worthwhile and interesting.

In four weeks, we've explored the following major topics, one per week: Happiness (how we define, measure, and actively increase our experience of it); Social Connection (how our affiliations, affections and ability to form attachments impact our level of happiness); Kindness and Compassion (the happiness-altruism loop); and Cooperation and Reconciliation (why cooperation, reconciliation and forgiveness are good for happiness).

A course like this one could easily be all theory and no substance, but it isn't. Every week, there's a new experiment to try, an opportunity to evaluate for ourselves whether there's demonstrable truth in what we're being told. Thus, we are given things to do as well as food for thought.

The course includes asynchronous class discussions, which often illustrate—sometimes unintentionally—what the course is teaching as people freely share their stories of personal challenges and successes. For example, after an exercise in forgiveness, many reported on what worked well for them, what didn't, and why. Some posts were quite moving as people wrote about painful betrayals, regrets, and estrangements from family members. As I read many and responded to a few, I felt a kinship with the other participants. This was in spite of never having met them in person and even though there are perhaps thousands of people enrolled in this MOOC.

And did I mention that the course is free?

I'm not certain whether I will become a happier person now than I was before I took the course, but there's strong evidence (provided by the course) that I might. If I commit to practicing the skills taught in the course, the odds are definitely in my favor. Best of all, I feel empowered to make changes instead of leaving my mood up to chance. That alone makes the course worthwhile.

For More Information

I recommend the Science of Happiness course to anyone who has the time for it (at least six hours per week for nine weeks). If you don't have the time for the course, you can still find many of the videos and readings on the Greater Good Science Center website. In addition, the primary texts for the course are as follows:

1. Born to Be Good by Dacher Keltner 




2. The Compassionate Instinct, an anthology of readings co-edited by Dacher Keltner, Jason Marsh and Jeremy Adam Smith


3. The How of Happiness by Sonya Lyubomirsky

What Hard Evidence Is There for the Efficacy of Homeschooling?

Anyone reading this blog will quickly surmise that I am in favor of homeschooling as a viable educational alternative. While I wouldn't presume to advocate homeschooling for all—it's options I favor, not absolutes—I do believe it can be an excellent choice for those who seek an educational experience that is flexible, customizable, and highly individualistic. I'm encouraged by what I've seen work in practice: I've successfully homeschooled my own three children, and I've assisted and known many other homeschooling families who likewise have done quite well.

For the skeptics, there are also books filled with personal stories, such as Homeschooling for Excellence (already mentioned in a previous post), Homeschoolers' Success Stories by Linda Dobson, A Sense of Self by Susannah Sheffer, and Real Lives by Grace Llewelyn—to name just a few.

So, why should I bother asking whether there is "hard evidence" that homeschooling "works"? Isn't the answer self-evident? Well, no, not really.

The Difference Between Anecdotes and Evidence

In their book Think Like a Freak, Leavitt and Dubner state, "An anecdote is a snapshot, a one-dimensional shard of the big picture. It is lacking in scale, perspective, and data." A homeschooler talking about how her kids learned algebra is sharing an anecdote. She cannot tell you to what extent other homeschooled children mastered algebra as a direct result of using an identical approach, nor can she say whether an alternative approach might have worked better. While her anecdotes might be helpful to other homeschoolers who are looking for methods to try with their own kids, it can't be construed as proof that this particular method will work just as well for anyone else who tries it.

So, how do we determine whether homeschooling in general, or a specific homeschooling method in particular, is effective? Is it really true that children do well because they are homeschooled? How do we know the same people wouldn't have done equally well or even better in school? (Of course, a similar question can be asked about schooled children: how might those same people have done if they had been homeschooled?)

Everyone knows there are many successful people who were homeschooled as children, but correlation doesn't prove causation, as the following cartoon humorously points out:

An Impractical Research Proposal

What we need is a controlled study.

For example, let's start with a set of identical triplets (extremely rare) and treat them exactly the same in every way except for the type of schooling they receive (a level of consistency which, any parent can tell you, is practically impossible to achieve).

We might then be able to separate the impact of homeschooling from everything else.

As far as I know, this type of study has never been done—and it's unlikely it ever will be—for an obvious reason: parents don't like to gamble with their kids' futures. When parents choose one educational alternative over another, they generally have very good reasons for doing so, which is why it's hard to imagine how someone could be convinced to choose a different (theoretically less desirable) option for only one child out of two or three, especially when the children are genetically identical with very similar educational needs.

Faced with this predicament, how might a researcher assess the efficacy of homeschooling? Such an assessment would need to begin with a clear definition of "homeschooling." It would be necessary to identify and control for confounding variables, such as family dynamics, educational philosophy, methods of instruction, materials used, quality and quantity of parent-child interaction, and all the other details that define a homeschooling lifestyle. Perhaps some forms of homeschooling are highly effective while others are not.

Unfortunately, there's not yet enough information to come to any conclusions.

My Anecdotes Are Not Evidence

All I know for sure is this: my kids and I enjoyed homeschooling and learned a lot. Although I can't clearly identify exactly which aspects of homeschooling were effective, I can look at what they've been able to accomplish, both during and after our years of homeschooling, and honestly declare that they've done "well": they've earned high marks on nationally standardized achievement tests and, subsequently, at competitive colleges; they've formed healthy, longterm relationships with their peers; they've never been arrested or even accused of a crime; and (so far) they've been able to find and keep decent jobs. They've also received positive feedback and praise from their teachers, classmates, employers, and coworkers.

What's more, they seem to be happy about having been homeschooled.

I'm very grateful for my kids' success and relieved that the dire predictions of how I might be ruining their chances at a good life by homeschooling have not come true. I'm reluctant to draw broad conclusions from my experiences, though, because I realize things could have easily gone differently. What if my kids hadn't done well on tests, didn't choose to go on to college, or couldn't find jobs or mutually satisfying relationships? I already know homeschooling parents who are second-guessing themselves now because their grown kids are struggling in one way or another. Was it a mistake for them to homeschool? Should they have sent their kids to school instead?

To what extent did homeschooling determine the outcomes? Who knows?

A Call for More Research

Without a controlled study, it's anyone's guess as to why some students do well and others appear to flounder. Any attempt to claim that formal schooling would have produced better results than homeschooling is nothing more than conjecture. And, to be fair, any attempt to claim that homeschooling produces better results than schooling—without solid evidence of causation—is also conjecture.

When all we've got are collections of anecdotes as "evidence," how can we be sure it was the decision to homeschool that resulted in an individual's success (or hardship) and not something else? If we are to judge whether homeschooling is efficacious or disastrous or something in between, we need real data from research that takes into consideration all the confounding variables, including genetic predispositions, socioeconomic conditions, geographic location, family circumstances, and even plain old luck.

With all the advice freely given on whether and how to homeschool, it would be helpful if there were some way to distinguish the good advice from the bad. Research on homeschooling might also help address the questions schools have been asking for years: what type of teaching works best? What makes some schools seemingly more effective than others at graduating students who go on to become successful in college, work or life in general?

If we can identify the most effective practices, perhaps we can share them and improve the educational outcomes for children in all settings.

Teaching What You Don't Know Yet (But Want to Learn)

Something I experienced often as a home educator was the desire to help my kids learn about a subject that wasn't exactly my area of expertise. In general, I had three choices:

1. Connect with an expert. Find someone who was proficient and ask if they would be willing to offer guidance and respond to questions as my child learned. This was an easy and obvious method, but it was also expensive, especially if the expert was a professional educator.
2. Encourage autodidactic exploration. Provide books, software, study groups—whatever was needed to enable my child to be self-taught, to figure things out independently through a process of trial and error. This method worked quite well when my kids felt passionate about a subject or were intrinsically motivated to develop a skill.
3. Become proficient enough to be the teacher.  

Admittedly, the third option requires a bit of ingenuity. How could I teach something that I had yet to learn myself? The most sensible thing would have been for me to teach subjects in which I had received formal instruction in the past. To some extent, I did exactly that when I helped my kids with math, science, and writing.

At other times, there were subjects or skills I was happy to learn along with my kids. My geeky self reveled in the whole process of sifting through books, researching subjects, exploring, asking questions and (eventually) finding answers. I loved discovering things together. I savored the moments when my kids surpassed me and became the ones doing the teaching.

How Does It Work, Exactly?

When I agreed to teach classes to groups of homeschooled kids who weren't my own, I took the job very seriously. Essentially, I did what I had been doing all along with my own kids, but I approached the task in a more focused, organized way. I assigned myself the following responsibilities:

1. Choosing resources carefully. I researched books and related materials to find gems that would be worth using. This was probably the most time-consuming step in the process but well worth it to avoid the mind-numbing drivel that's marketed as "educational" but can only be described as tedious. 
2. Preparing a tentative reading list (supplemented by a movie list, project list, field trip list, etc.). These proposed lists would always be significantly more extensive than what I would ever end up using during the year, but they weren't wasted effort. Having a readily available list of alternatives made it easier to improvise and come up with substitutions when something that looked good initially was disappointing. 
3. Planning and preparing well enough to stay one step ahead of my kids. Before I could teach, my understanding of a subject had to be at least a few grade levels ahead of what my children were learning. This was easy when they were very young but got progressively harder as they got older. By the time we were homeschooling high school, I had to be consulting college and graduate-level texts. 
4. Studying in advance, then studying again. Prior to the start of the school year or semester, I would typically read the books (and watch the movies) I intended to recommend to my children plus one or more advanced texts. Then, during the year, I would re-read all the books in parallel, as my kids read them. So, for example, as they read about the American Civil War, I read about the American Civil War—in their books and mine.  
5. Continuing to learn alongside my kids. By re-reading, or at least skimming, all the books as my kids read them, I was able to keep certain subjects in the forefront of my mind so I'd be prepared to respond to questions and recognize opportunities for related projects or activities. So, while I might not have been an expert on the American Civil War all the time, I was at the time they needed me to be. I also used the internet and connected with experts to get answers to questions that we couldn't answer on our own. 

Did I do this for every subject, every year? Of course not. I picked the subjects I would "teach" from one year to the next, and then I worked with my kids to cobble together a reasonably well-rounded course of study that included autodidactic, experiential and teacher-led learning (for the subjects that I wasn't as interested in studying along with them).

The Challenge

Were there any drawbacks to this approach? The short answer is yes. I recognized all along that my relative lack of expertise could be considered a disadvantage—for example, a more knowledgeable teacher could have provided with confidence more immediate, accurate answers to students' questions. When I was asked, "Is this right?" I always wanted to respond with a simple yes or no. There were times when it would have been so much easier if only I could have known the answers instead of having to grapple and search and say "I'm not sure." What made me think I could teach history or psychology or political science without a degree in those subjects? Was I overconfident, unable to see this approach as a case of the blind leading the blind?

I think all home educators—likely all teachers—know what it feels like to be asked questions we can't answer because we lack the expertise in a particular subject. I can't shrug the feeling off as inconsequential; it can be painfully frustrating and discouraging to feel useless in that moment. However, I'd argue the experience makes us even more conscientious about checking answers to be sure the ones we do give are either accurate or clearly identified as in need of verification.

The Optimistic Model of Error

In her fascinating book, Being Wrong, Kathryn Schulz describes an "optimistic model of error." According to this model, there is value in making mistakes. Not getting things right the first time or all the time leads to all sorts of benefits. As Shultz writes in Chapter 14 ("The Paradox of Error"): 

"Awareness of one's own qualms, attention to contradiction, acceptance of the possibility of error: these strike me as signs of sophisticated thinking, far preferable in many contexts to the confident bulldozer of unmodified assertions." 

"When we are aware that we could be wrong, we are far more inclined to hear other people out. [...] In love, as in medicine, as in life more generally, listening is an act of humility. It says that other people's ideas are interesting and important; that our own could be in error; that there is still plenty left for us to learn." 

Being an effective guide alongside means being willing to admit you have "plenty left to learn." It doesn't mean there's no such thing as a correct answer. It just means you haven't cornered the market on them.

The Most Useful Lesson

I believe "I don't know" is a beginning, not an admittance of defeat. Maybe that's why I've always felt there was something beneficial about my not having all the answers as a home educator, because it allowed me to show my kids by my example that we all start out by not knowing. Instead of being an encyclopedia filled with answers, I was a role model for a work in progress. I showed them that solving problems, conducting research, and developing new skills is a process of trial and error, not something that gets handed to you in a neat little curriculum package. Of all the things my kids learned, I think that lesson has been the most useful to them.

Homeschooling and the Transition to College

It seems ludicrous now, but when I first began homeschooling, one question that arose was, "What about college?" My oldest child at the time was barely seven years old, and college seemed a long way off to me. Besides, I had other things to worry about, such as how I was going to manage to teach anything—never mind college-preparatory academics—to my precocious second grader when I also had an inquisitive four-year-old and a rambunctious one-year-old (not yet weaned) who were constantly vying for my attention.

I decided early on that we'd just have to take it one day at a time. We'd think about college "later." Still, the question of "What about college?" nagged me, especially when well-meaning friends or family members asked it.

So, when I had a spare moment to myself, I researched the topic. I started by reading Homeschooling for Excellence by David and Micki Colfax (1988). The book came to me highly recommended, and the authors wrote—without seeming to brag—about how three out of four of their children were accepted into Harvard after being homeschooled. (Not just accepted: I found out they went on to become doctors and lawyers. One of them is even a doctor and a lawyer.)

While the book reassured many who had doubted whether homeschooling could ever lead to college, personally I was overwhelmed and intimidated by it. It gave me an inferiority complex the size of the moon. The Colfaxes were incredibly industrious homesteaders: they built their own home from scratch, wired the power lines to it, grew their own food, and cleverly incorporated math and science lessons into practically everything they did.

Are you kidding me? No wonder their kids were accepted into Harvard!

It's time for me to confess: the closest our family ever came to building a house was banging a pile of boards together to create a modest tree fort (with heartfelt thanks to my husband for making that happen). On a good day, we were able to sprout beans between two paper towels, or keep a few "sea monkeys" alive, but we weren't exactly capable of self-sufficiency.

If our family had had to rely on our meager garden for food, we definitely would have starved to death.

Luckily for us, the ability to transition from homeschooling to college depends on more than "life skills." While my kids might be glad they learned how to knit, sew, cook and do their own laundry, it's unlikely those skills are what helped them get into college. As far as I can tell, the acceptance process seems to be all about extraordinary achievements and academic credentials, sprinkled with a little luck and storytelling ability.

In a recent article about "Highly Selective College Admissions for Homeschoolers" (from HomeschoolSuccess.com), homeschoolers are reminded that "competition is fierce" and "the fact that homeschooling is great and your kid is homeschooled isn’t enough." If your student is aiming for a top college, the article insists, there are a few things to keep in mind:

• College applicants, whether they are homeschooled or not, need a well-documented academic record with challenging courses. As the article points out, "A basic expectation for students who wish to be competitive in highly selective admissions is that they have a rigorous high school education with strong development in all of the core areas: math, English, social science, science, and foreign language."

• For homeschoolers who don't have an official transcript from an accredited high school to submit—as was the case for two of my three kids—the "documentation" can get complicated. Selective colleges typically want records that have been validated or provided by an outside source: letters of recommendation from teachers, mentors and coaches; community college or other formal course transcripts; evidence of awards won, especially at the national level; and various test scores. 

• And about those test scores . . . although some colleges are now "test optional," meaning they do not require SAT or ACT scores, "test optional policies may exclude homeschoolers." In other words, homeschooled students sometimes need to submit test scores that schooled students are not required to submit. For example, my son learned too late that Northeastern University (as of 2013–2014) requires applicants to the College of Engineering to submit scores for the SAT or ACT plus two SAT subject tests, one in mathematics (which he had taken) and one in physics (which he hadn't). These are in addition to: the required list of all textbooks used; the School Report portion of The Common Application (which includes a special set of questions required only for homeschooled students); and a transcript of high school courses, prepared by the parent or an outside agency.

• "Most [homeschoolers accepted to selective colleges] also have used the flexibility afforded by homeschooling to develop some special area of talent or extracurricular interest." For the Colfaxes, it was homesteading. Other homeschoolers have built robots, started a business, or excelled as artists, musicians or athletes. MIT, Yale, and Princeton all emphasize the importance of doing something extraordinary as a homeschooler, rather than simply assuming your homeschooling will serve as a Golden Ticket (Willy Wonka style) for admission. 

In spite of all these hurdles, it's certainly possible for a homeschooled student to be admitted and to excel in a selective college. Although the data is sparse on exactly how many and where homeschooled students attend college, there's this list of Colleges That Admit Homeschoolers as well as my own, anecdotal evidence: my kids were offered admission as well as merit scholarships to several colleges, including Simon's Rock College of Bard, UC Berkeley, Northeastern University, and Worcester Polytechnic Institute (in a year when only 10% of applicants were accepted). Their friends got into Vassar College, Bennington College, Berklee College of Music, and many other schools. Did these kids also receive rejection letters? Yes, just as their schooled peers did.

Homeschooled students can go to college. They can do well once they get there (for example, see Exploring Academic Outcomes of Homeschooled Students, Journal of College Admission, 2010). The real risk is assuming that the doors to selective colleges will be held open, or kept closed, simply because a student is educated in an unconventional way. It's up to students and their families to work hard, keep good records, be aware of any special admission requirements, and prepare the best application they can when the time comes.

What Now? The Conclusion of My Home Education

"He is so completely dependent upon me," marvels the beautiful young woman standing in front of me. She looks happy, perhaps a bit tired, and sweetly amazed and overwhelmed by the sense of responsibility she clearly feels for the newborn baby swaddled snugly against her chest. Her infant son fidgets slightly and attempts to suckle on the fabric near his tiny mouth, and I am flooded with memories.

I remember well how it felt to be a new mother—that paradoxical mixture of infatuation and terror. I empathize with what she must be going through and wish I could express all the sympathy, excitement, and compassion I feel for her and her husband in that moment. But suddenly my throat tightens and I'm unable to speak, so I simply smile back at her instead. My husband, standing next to me, is equally quiet, and I suspect he is as moved as I am by the unexpected sight of this baby.

It would be impossible for us not to think of our own son, who happens to be away this week and will soon be leaving home to attend a residential college out of state. I think to myself, "He is so completely not dependent upon me (anymore)." I have to breathe carefully to avoid bursting into tears.

My "baby" boy's years of physical dependency are in the distant past; these days, when I try to do something for him, he is as likely as not to reject my attempts at mothering. Most of the time, I admire his independence, and rationally I understand that this is all good; it is how things are supposed to be. My job from the beginning has been to help him grow progressively less dependent upon me and more confident in himself, and now I know I have been successful because he has grown into a capable and conscientious young man, ready to go out into the world and seek his fortune.

My son follows in the footsteps of his two older sisters, who have likewise asserted their independence, gone off to college, and settled in places of their own. I am proud, happy and excited to see them as young adults. I enjoy spending time with my children as much now as I always have.

But, in spite of my understanding, I can't help mourning the loss of that intense closeness we once shared. The everyday routine of living, learning and questioning that is normal for a homeschooling family was what made my life wonder–full. I can't believe it's ending! My heart aches—not metaphorically but in a very real and physical way—when I think of my youngest child leaving for college this fall. I am going to miss him as immensely as I already miss his sisters. More than that, I am going to miss being a home educator and spending my days with the homeschooling friends I have made over the years.

And yet, how many people can say they have no regrets? What an extraordinary adventure the past 17 years have been! I have seen, done, and learned so much as a home educator. As a mother, coach and mentor, I feel as though I have gone through all the grades several times over, learning and relearning every subject along with my kids. (That's more interesting than it sounds: I have studied some topics as if for the first time—prompting me to wonder: did I ever really learn about European history back when I was in school?—and I have rediscovered other subjects from a newer, fresher perspective.)

With each question or problem that arose, I moved deeper into various areas of expertise as I explored what worked, what didn't, and why. Fascinated by the subjects I was teaching and the pedagogies I embraced, I continued to be enriched by the ongoing process of mutual education. Many times over, I enjoyed the thrill of the "Aha!' moment, when everything at last became clear.

Could anything ever be as satisfying to me as homeschooling has been? I have trouble imagining it, but then I never imagined myself as someone who would spend nearly two decades as a home educator. Life can be surprising, so I'm keeping an open mind as I look for work and consider how the skills I've developed as an educator might be useful in a different context.

Bridging the Divide Between Amateurs and Professionals

Benjamin Spock

For a while now, I've been writing about home education, online resources, and creative learning experiences. However, a few weeks ago, I saw a post in a Google+ forum that unnerved me—I haven't written anything on this blog since then.

Was the post hostile? offensive? obnoxious? No, it was polite and vaguely solicitous, written by a professional educator who mentioned she had a PhD as she wrote about her desire to instruct home educators. Although she had no experience with homeschooling, she was about to start homeschooling her daughter, and she was enthusiastic about the idea of helping other homeschoolers learn how to become better teachers.

I like to think I would have been open and receptive to this woman's kind and charitable intentions on a better day, but my immediate, less admirable reaction was anger and annoyance. "What makes her think she can start dishing out advice to home educators when she has no experience with homeschooling?" I thought to myself. I then became painfully aware of the hypocrisy in that question, because for quite some time I had been imagining that I (an amateur, home educator) might have something worthwhile to add to the ongoing conversation among professional educators about how to make teaching more effective.

Ye Without Training, Proceed No Further

Disheartened, I began to scrutinize everything I'd said or written about education while wondering how a professional educator might view my attempts to contribute. During this period of intense self-doubt, I began to question the entire premise of this blog and my tentative plans for working in partnership with faculty and students to create effective online content.

I was disillusioned even more when I read a post by respected author and consultant Tony Bates, who questioned the effectiveness of faculty who have received no training in teaching methods ("Online Learning, Faculty Development and Academic Freedom"). He writes:

" . . . [W]e don’t allow pilots to fly commercial aircraft without training, we place very high standards on doctors before they are allowed to practice medicine, and we wouldn’t tolerate engineers building roads, tunnels or bridges without very high levels of training. Then why is it OK for faculty to spend 40% or more of their time doing something for which they have had no or minimal training, and which for most students is the most important thing they are paying tuition fees for?" 

Now, of course, I don't imagine Dr. Bates was aiming his question directly at me—most likely, he wasn't thinking about home educators at all—but as I read his words I started to construct a rebuttal. I recalled the talented professors I've known who had become insightful instructors without explicit teacher training; the trained, certified teachers I've met who were uninspiring; and all the non-professional educators (like me) who have no formal training but who somehow do a decent job of nurturing learning in others.

Enter, the Power of Participation

All of these thoughts about what it means to be "qualified" were on my mind as I spent the past few months exploring articles and TED Talks about "cognitive surplus" (to use Clay Shirky's term) and the power of online participation. Initially, my focus was on preparing for upcoming classes (Thriving in the Digital Age), so I hadn't planned to connect what I was learning about collective intelligence to my concerns about being an amateur in a professional field (i.e., education). Fortunately, as I continued to read and browse, the connections were impossible to ignore.

One of the major concerns addressed by Clay Shirky, Howard Rheingold, Steven Johnson and others, is whether amateur participation is a good thing. "Won't all those lesser contributions to online content," the reasoning goes, "merely add to the already overwhelming volume of information without improving the overall quality?" Put another way, aren't we amateurs just adding to the noise and making it harder for people to find the truly useful content?

It's a valid question. What makes Jane Average think her blog is worth reading? Why should people regard a news report tweeted by the guy next door as noteworthy? Or, getting back to my original quandary: What makes a home educator think her experiences and curated content might be valuable to those who already have years of training and experience as professional educators?

Shirky et al argue that the benefits of expanded participation more than make up for the "noise." So, even if my naive reflections and nascent thoughts about education aren't revolutionary, perhaps what I share will help someone else make an important connection. As Matt Ridley explains in his TED Talk ("When Ideas Have Sex"):

"What's relevant to a society is how well people are communicating their ideas, and how well they're cooperating, not how clever the individuals are. [. . .] It's the interchange of ideas, the meeting and mating of ideas between them, that is causing technological progress, incrementally, bit by bit. [. . .] Because through the cloud, through crowd sourcing, through the bottom-up world that we've created, where not just the elites but everybody is able to have their ideas and make them meet and mate, we are surely accelerating the rate of innovation."

In Conclusion

I began this post with a photo of Dr. Spock intentionally, because he was a professional who advised parents to trust themselves. His book, Baby and Child Care, came out at a time when people seemed to have stopped believing in their own ability to be good parents.

"Before [Dr. Spock] came along, advice to parents was very didactic. He opened the whole area of empowered parenting. He gave parents choices and encouraged them to think things out for themselves" (T. Berry Brazelton, quoted in the New York Times).

Giving people choices and encouraging them to think for themselves is what I believe education is all about, too.

I don't care whether you're an amateur or a professional. If you're passionate about learning and helping others to learn, then we already have something in common. Let's exchange ideas and work towards making the world a better place. If any of my writings are useful to you as we learn and grow together, I hope you'll let me know.

Thank you.

Teachers Learning From Each Other

Last May, I wrote about "Homeschooling, Big Picture Learning and the Met," because I was excited to see some overlap between Big Picture Learning ideas and homeschooling. I wrote, "As public schools begin to offer more interesting educational opportunities for students, homeschoolers may want to take a closer look at their local schools. Perhaps there's some common ground that hasn't been explored, some mutually beneficial ideas we can share with each other.  Hopefully, those of us who feel we've learned a thing or two about education will feel inspired to ask, 'How can we work together to improve the educational alternatives for all the children in our communities?'"

If we were to aggregate all the experiences of home educators, teachers, mentors, coaches, and other types of youth leaders, imagine how much we would learn from each other. We have a wealth of experience from which to draw, but too often doors are closed and people are unwilling to subject themselves to public scrutiny. As a home educator, I certainly understand and respect the desire for privacy. I also recognize the risks of exposing ourselves to criticism—or worse—especially when our methods are unconventional. Yet, as scary as it may be to show others exactly how we do our jobs, I'm beginning to think it's perhaps the best way to illustrate a new way to learn. 

Minnesota New Country School

As a participant in the Deeper Learning MOOC (DLMOOC), I had a wonderful opportunity to take a virtual glimpse inside the Minnesota New Country School (a public charter school serving grades K–12).  It was enlightening for me to see how teachers were offering personalized learning experiences and taking student choices seriously within their school setting.

If you would like to see for yourself, watch "Deeper Learning Through Personalized Learning Plans," one of many Vimeo videos available from TeachingChannel.org.

This on-the-spot glimpse into the Minnesota New Country School shows how teachers and students use personalized learning plans for their projects. What I find especially interesting is how much overlap there is between the Project-Based Learning (PBL) approach and what I would describe as child-led learning, or "unschooling." Specifically:

1. Students are encouraged to choose their own projects, which increases their level of interest and sense of control.
2. Students select an adult advisor with whom they can establish a longterm (more than a single semester or year) connection, which leads to a greater sense of continuity, familiarity, mutual understanding and trust.
3. Students work at their own pace, uninterrupted by bells.
4. Adult mentors assist with planning and record-keeping. 

As you may have noticed if you've been reading this blog, I've always believed in involving kids in decisions about their learning. Even though I wouldn't allow my kids to avoid entire disciplines (math or writing, for example), I could still talk to them about why a particular subject was important enough to merit their consideration. I could also help them find ways to connect topics to their own interests. At a minimum, they could choose the specific topics within a general subject to be explored. They've always had a voice—a say in what they were doing—and a range of choices.

Along with seeing the similarities between child-led homeschooling and project-based learning, I noted some obvious differences:

1. Standards. Teachers in an accredited school must consistently evaluate the work being done by students in terms of mandated standards (state curriculum frameworks, Common Core—or whatever comes next). In contrast, even in "The 8 Strictest States for Homeschooling" (as of 2012), home educated students generally have more freedom to deviate from the norm than their schooled peers. 
2. Documentation. Students in a school prepare extensive formal documentation to demonstrate what they have learned; students in a home setting keep records but tend to rely more on dialog and informal assessments (with formal evaluations typically conducted once a year to satisfy state requirements).
3. Resources. I should probably state the obvious here: I envied the equipment and materials those students had at their school. Although homeschoolers have virtually unlimited access to an astounding variety of craft and science supplies sold by hundreds of vendors, there are still budgetary and practical limits to what makes sense in a home. A school, by comparison, can obtain large or expensive equipment and (potentially dangerous) lab materials. Overall, I think my kids did a great job of cobbling together what they needed for various projects, but how wonderful it would have been to have everything at our fingertips day after day! 

Our experiences don't have to be identical to be worth sharing. By observing the interactions between teachers and students at New Country School with an open mind, I have been able to evaluate what I do as a home educator from a different point of view. I have also gained a more optimistic outlook on how schools are striving to meet the needs of their students. Although a teacher in a classroom may be working with different constraints and resources than I am, I can still learn from watching how he or she teaches. Reciprocally, as I present the experiences I have had as a home educator, I hope I will help someone who is interested in exploring a different approach to teaching.

If you're a teacher, have you been willing to share your work openly with others? Tell me, what has that been like for you? In what ways have you been able to learn from your students and other teachers?

Writing for a Purpose—Not for the SAT

My kids are not pleased. My oldest took the SAT in 2005, the year the Writing Section was added. "This writing test is so stupid!" she complained, "Who writes like this in real life?" Her younger sister agreed, as she took the SAT a few years later and was equally frustrated by the arbitrariness of the scoring. My youngest, a senior in high school, just finished taking the SAT last year. He was as annoyed with the writing test as his sisters had been.

So, you can imagine their collective reaction when they heard the recent announcement:

"The SAT Writing Section will no longer be required."

"Seriously?" they asked. "Why did they ever add it in the first place?" 

Good question. Why had it taken nine long years for the College Board to realize that a high-stakes, time-pressured, standardized test is a terrible way to assess writing skills? In what other situation would anyone be asked to prepare a handwritten (no pens or typing allowed), five-paragraph essay in under 25 minutes—with no access to reference materials, no time for review or revisions—and perfect on the first try?  Such a contrived scenario goes against everything I have tried to teach my kids about writing as a way to learn and communicate. 

Ask any writer. Writing isn't about getting points; it's about discovering your voice and articulating your thoughts in a clear, compelling way. A first draft of prose hastily cobbled together might be interesting—it might even be grammatically correct—but it doesn't really tell you much about the writer. Competent writers need to care enough about their writing to persevere during the iterative process of investigation, discovery, drafting and revision. A writer without any mettle probably isn't going to be much of a writer, no matter how impressive her initial draft of a five-paragraph essay might seem. 

When it comes to writing with a purpose and caring enough about your writing to keep working at it, William Zinsser (On Writing Well, Writing to Learn, and others) is an extraordinary mentor. Zinsser truly understands the connection between thinking and writing, and how the two reinforce each other.

"Writing is how we think our way into a discipline, organize our thoughts about it and generate new ideas" (p. 202, Writing to Learn).

By clarifying our thoughts in writing, we come to understand them better. That's why I've recently asked a group of homeschooled high school students to create and maintain their own blogs. Their feelings about the assignment are mixed: some are enthusiastic, others are dreading it. In an effort to encourage and inspire them, I've asked them to examine other blogs of their own choosing to determine what qualities they might like to emulate—or avoid. What purpose would they like their blogs to serve?

I've also provided them with a set of blogging resources—a small collection of videos, articles and brief tutorials to help them get started.

My next step is to work with the students to define the criteria they'll use to evaluate the design and content of their blogs (most likely, we'll create a variation of this Rubric for Evaluating Student Blogs by Karen Franker). I'll be asking them to comment on each other's blogs, too.

Yes, I've heard that "Blogging Is Dead" (from Fast Company), so there's a chance these students will abandon their blogs not long after they begin them. And, certainly, one could argue that there are too many bloggers out there already (as Jeff Goins acknowledges in "Bad Writing Is Essential to Good Blogging"—the 100+ comments in response to his post are interesting).  But honestly? I'm not expecting my students to achieve fame or fortune as bloggers.

People blog for many different reasons, often quite personal ones, and my students can decide for themselves what they want to learn about through their writing. They can pick and choose what they want to release to the public. Of one thing I'm sure: their blogs will be a more meaningful assessment of their writing skills than the dreaded SAT Writing Section ever was.

Self-Assessments: "How Am I Doing?"

Every year at the New Hampshire Homeschooling Coalition Spring Workshop, a handful of experienced homeschooling parents, serving as panelists, answer questions about homeschooling. The workshop typically begins with an overview of the NH Home Education law (RSA 193-A). Panelists are then asked about their personal experiences. Why did they choose to homeschool? How did they get started? Where do they find educational resources? How do they connect with other homeschoolers?

At some point in the middle of the workshop, there's one question that's always asked:

"What are your goals and how do you know you’re accomplishing enough?"

While (as a panelist), I realized this question was about educational goals, I couldn't answer without stating the obvious: my highest priority as a parent was my children's well-being. I wanted them to have fond memories of our time together, so I focused on how they learned—I adamantly refused to use a system of rewards and punishments to manipulate, coerce, or shame them into reaching academic milestones. If my kids didn't feel loved and respected and valued for who they were, no amount of accomplishment would ever make up for it.

If I'm honest, though, I have to admit: knowing whether we were accomplishing enough wasn't easy. Most of the time, I went through an informal process of trial and error. When my kids seemed bored, I tried to help them find more challenging work to do. If they were frustrated or stuck, I encouraged them to slow down and take things one step at a time. "Assessment" was generally something that happened dynamically and continuously as I had regular conversations with my children about how they were doing, what interested them, and where they were struggling.

More formally, I could see my kids were making progress when I helped them assemble their annual portfolios at the end of the year. Their portfolios included a written summary of the major milestones in their lives, photos, samples of work, programs from performances, and other evidence of what they'd done during the year. It was always obvious that they had accomplished much, but was it "enough"? How much was enough? That was difficult for me to evaluate without comparing what my kids had done to what other kids the same age were doing.

All of which leads me to these questions: What can an educator reasonably expect from a student? What should students—or lifelong learners—expect from themselves?

Can You "Teach Like a Pirate"? Should You?

I first heard about the "Teach Like a Pirate" approach from DLMOOC classmate, Tim Flanagan (see his Storify about Student Voice and Choice). Curious, I looked for more information online.

I discovered that the idea comes from professional development speaker, Dave Burgess, who has written a book about it: Teach Like a PIRATE. I found one of Dave's seminars, recorded as a TEDx Talk (unfortunately, the sound quality deteriorates at 4:25, but skip ahead to 6:00 and it clears up again):



I have great admiration for anyone who can bring passion and energy to a classroom presentation. I've seen other educators who are entertaining, engaging speakers, and I would happily pay to attend their classes. For example . . .

Professor Linwood Thompson delivers World History lectures  in full costume and character.



Professor Edward Burger adds a touch of humor to his Great Courses lectures (the "Joy of Thinking" is my favorite) and Thinkwell Math instruction, as in the example below.



And then there's the renowned Professor Walter Lewin, famous for his physics lectures.



So . . .  Should YOU Teach Like a Pirate?

No doubt, these teachers are extraordinary. Certainly if you think you would love teaching like a pirate and have simply been afraid to try, don't hold back. As Burgess says, "We need people who are willing to try new things." You could be the next Burgess, Thompson, Burger, or Lewin.

But, what if you don't want to teach like a pirate?

When I see educators (at home or in schools) designing extraordinary projects, putting on shows, and keeping their kids entertained with engaging performances, I feel inspired by them but also discouraged. I can't imagine myself doing the same things. By now, I know myself well enough to know I wouldn't enjoying "teaching like a pirate," especially not as an everyday practice. When I first started homeschooling, though, I second-guessed everything I did.

Unfortunately, it is human nature for us to compare ourselves to others, whether we intend to or not. I think home educators are especially prone to self-doubt. Few of us are trained educators, and all of us confront skeptics who question whether we should be teaching our kids. Understandably, we look to each other for encouragement and advice. 

At parent gatherings, we discuss how to inspire our kids when they seem to lack motivation. I've noticed there's always at least one person who advocates what I call an "entertainment method" of teaching. With the best of intentions, she'll talk about how she "makes learning fun" for her kids by planning elaborate games and projects. She knows how to turn every road trip into an educational experience. As long as she keeps performing, her kids seem to stay interested. I don't mean any of this as a criticism: homeschooling parents with this much energy and enthusiasm are great resources, full of wonderful, creative ideas. 

"Can I do this?" 

However,  I think parents who are new to homeschooling, the ones who come to homeschool gatherings looking beleaguered, are more likely to be asking themselves, "Will I be able to homeschool my kids successfully if I'm not able to do what this other person does?" They need to feel empowered to chart their own course, to know there's more than one way to be an effective educator. 

I also believe that, while there's nothing intrinsically wrong with keeping kids entertained to promote learning, educators don't have to become the entertainment. I've witnessed unnecessarily high levels of stress and burn-out when educators (parents or teachers) fear this is the only way their kids will learn. There's no guarantee that making subjects entertaining, enticing kids to learn, will result in deeper learning—but I'll leave that topic for another time.

If teaching like a pirate doesn't appeal to you, trust your instincts and try something else. Kids respond to role models who are authentic—a compassionate, reserved teacher who believes in her students can be just as successful as one who puts on a good show.

Personalized Learning and Student Choice

"It is frankly difficult to understand how anyone can talk about school reform without immediately addressing the question of how students can be given more say about what goes on in their classes." —Alfie Kohn, "Choices for Children: Why and How to Let Students Decide"

I'm going to play Devil's Advocate for a moment and ask, "Why talk about school reform at all?" The old school model of "I teach, you learn" works—sort of. During the twelve years or more when students are in school, a large percentage of them manage to learn. If not everything, at least something. Most graduate and eventually get jobs.

It isn't a perfect system, but what is? Why not continue to teach our children in the same way that our parents and grandparents learned?

If this doesn't strike you as absurd, then you may be the type of learner for whom the system was designed. You might like following instructions, knowing what to expect, and having everything planned in advance for you. Perhaps you learn well from books and lectures and are very good at recalling what you have read or heard. Maybe you get high marks on standardized tests. There isn't necessarily anything wrong with learning in this way; in fact, I happen to be one of the people for whom this old-school model works pretty well. It simply isn't optimum for all people, all of the time.

There's another problem with doing things the same way we've always done them: it doesn't result in progress. To improve upon an idea, we have to be willing to try something new. Even if we acknowledge that the old model "worked" well enough to provide an adequate education for large numbers of students, no one would describe our current educational system as flawless. There's always room for improvement. No educator deserving of the title would be satisfied with "good enough," so we have to keep asking ourselves: How can we do a better job?

Here's where I agree with Alfie Kohn: one way we can do a better job is by giving students "more say about what goes on in their classes."

I'm familiar with Kohn's books (Punished By Rewards, The Case Against Standardized Testing, The Schools Our Children Deserve) and was pleased to see his article listed among the course materials for Week 4 of DLMOOC. Kohn summarizes the benefits of including students in the decision-making process, such as an improved sense of well-being, better self-discipline, greater academic achievement, avoidance of burnout (student and teacher), and democracy in action. He writes:

"There is nothing new about the idea that students should be able to participate, individually and collectively, in making decisions. This conviction has long played a role in schools designated as progressive, democratic, open, free, experimental, or alternative; in educational philosophies called developmental, constructivist, holistic, or learner-centered; in specific innovations such as whole-language learning, discovery-based science, or authentic assessment; and in the daily practice of teachers whose natural instinct is to treat children with respect."

The theme for Week 4 of the Deeper Learning MOOC has been personalized learning, student voice, and student choice—topics I have written about in several earlier posts (see, for example, Choices: Too Many, Not Enough, or Just Right? and Treating Students as Equal Partners). I'm delighted to have been introduced, through the DLMOOC, to many people who are working hard to create opportunities for students in schools to have a say in what and how they learn. The panelists for this week's discussion were inspiring.



Keven Kroehler, Executive Director for Edvisions Schools, talks about creating a "level playing field" in schools, where the contributions of students and teachers are equally valued and respected. He comments that "students think of things that teachers hadn't thought of," which reminded me of a few situations I faced last year (When Your Students Know More Than You Do, and Lessons Learned). Kevin also emphasized the importance of offering students authentic choices—the ability to make decisions about things that matter to them—rather than false choices, as in, "Which of these two preselected, mandatory activities do you want to do?" Kids know when they are being manipulated.  

Likewise, I appreciated panelist Kathleen Cushman's perspective on student voice. She talked about students being "citizens, not subjects," and described student voice as an "equity issue."She asks teachers to consider: "Whose voice gets listened to? Who gets to speak?" She recommends what I call "The Smorgasbord Approach," exposing students to a variety of things and allowing them to choose what interests them (as I describe in my post on Nurturing Interest-Based Learning). 

Panelist Brandon Wiley, Director of Asia Society's International Studies Schools Network (ISSN), talked about the importance of "recognizing students as key constituents, clients, customers," and giving them "a seat at the table," and I nodded my head in agreement. If students are the "key constituents," then it's inconceivable for them to be left out of the planning, implementation and evaluation of their work. This requires us to change how we think about everything: what students learn, how they learn it, and how they demonstrate their learning.  

I enjoyed hearing the DLMOOC panelists describe their iterative design process (similar to what I blogged about in Kindergarten-Style Planning), and it was interesting to me to see how this approach works in a school setting. Teachers collaborated not only with their students but with other teachers, parents, and members of the community. They developed a student's plan of study incrementally, continually learning and building upon what they discovered as they went along. During each stage of the project (planning, implementing, assessing), all the people with a vested interest were consulted and given opportunities to provide feedback. While this must have complicated the decision-making process, it also helped everyone make new connections, personally and cognitively.

The students who were on the "Lens into the Classroom" Student Panel for Week 4 were engaging, too.


Allowing students to have a say in how they learn is a school reform that has clearly made a big difference in the lives of these students. While this doesn't prove that all students' learning would necessarily be deepened in a High Tech High type of school, it seems likely that it would. Even the students who prefer a more traditional approach would benefit, because they could choose that method for themselves.

When my youngest daughter was fourteen, she said she wanted to attend the public high school in our town. Up until that point, she had always been homeschooled and free to choose what, when and how she learned. Why would she want to give that up? There were a variety of reasons—she wanted to see what school was like; she was interested in meeting more kids her age than she could find in the homeschooling community; she wanted to learn in a classroom setting. Ultimately, what mattered most was that she had a choice. She could return to homeschooling at any time, and she knew that was an option. That made all the difference in how she approached her education. She evaluated her own needs, assessed what the school had to offer, and figured out how to make the best use of her time there.

Giving kids choice doesn't mean deciding what that choice should be. It means we allow kids to figure out who they are and what they need to grow and thrive. A structured classroom with a teacher lecturing in the front isn't necessarily going to prevent deeper learning, but it shouldn't be the only option.

Deeper Learning Goals Require a Supportive Infrastructure

“A life worth living, and work worth doing—that is what I want for children (and all people), not just, or not even, something called 'a better education'.”—John Holt

It isn't easy to walk the fine line between mentoring and meddling, between offering support and insisting on "helping." Over the years, as I have been experimenting with a curriculum-free approach to education, three things have helped me more than anything else:

1. Permission to make mistakes. I had to give up the notion that I would get it right the first time. I had to be able to admit—to myself and my kids—when I had erred on the side of providing too much guidance (or too little). I had to experience a sinking ship a few times before I could turn things around. 
2. Trust. Patience, faith, trust—whatever it takes to step back and observe instead of interfering when things aren't progressing exactly as one might like them to be. When it comes to helping another person become who they are meant to be, there's so much we can't possibly know. There's a temptation to deal with the uncertainty by trying to control everything, but that seldom succeeds. 
3. Support. I could not have stayed the course if I had not had a community of people who were willing to listen, empathize, and share their own stories with me. 

When my kids were learning according to the expected or traditional timetable, and they chose academic subjects that educators have typically valued (reading, writing, math, science), it was easy for me to trust that everything would work out fine, regardless of the teaching method I used. The hard part was having faith when their interests were unconventional, bordering on obsessive, or proceeding at an unusual pace. I had to ask myself, "How resolved am I, really, to allowing my children to learn according to their own, unique internal plans?" If one of my children was" falling behind," what did that mean? Did I need to be concerned, or could I trust that he or she would eventually "catch up"?

Knowing when to intervene and when to trust the process is difficult but extremely important.

Most of the time, I simply had to learn to trust my kids and myself. It was not particularly helpful when concerned strangers would ask what I was doing, or how I was doing it, or "exactly what my kids were learning from playing all afternoon."If I had been required to report regularly to an oversight committee or school official, the days when it seemed like nothing was being learned (or everything was falling apart!) would have been much harder for me to recover from. I imagine the same might be true for teachers who are trying to encourage deeper learning in their classrooms. 

It takes courage to do something unconventional, and educating children without knowing for sure whether or not you are going to be successful is terrifying, especially when the stakes are so high. No adult wants to be responsible for messing up a child's future, so the pressure to do the job well is immense. Having others you respect say, "It's going to be OK, you are doing fine," or "Here, this is what I did, and it seemed to work," can make all the difference.

What Is Deeper Learning?

I am currently participating in Deeper Learning MOOC (DLMOOC), a free online course that lasts for nine weeks. It will be the second, massively-open online course—or MOOC—for me. The first one was Learning Creative Learning, which I blogged about last year (starting with the post "The Biggest Class I've Ever Attended"). Once again, I am excited to be sharing ideas and learning from others who feel as passionate about education as I do.

The first week has been spent on introductions and setting up subgroups, but online discussions are already getting underway.

So, what exactly is deeper learning? For a definition, I began by referring to the suggested readings for Week 1. According to an infographic on Deeper Learning:

"Deeper Learning ensures that students master core academic content, think critically, solve complex problems, work collaboratively, communicate effectively, direct their own learning, and develop an academic mindset." 

Two phrases contained within that definition—core academic content and academic mindset—require additional explanation, but allow me to return to them later. Scanning the rest of the infographic, I see cute cartoons that represent four types of (presumably, deeper) learning:

1. Learn! Personalized Learning
2. Do! Project-Based Learning
3. Apply! Work-Based Learning
4. Show! Competency-Based Learning

I imagine the exclamation marks after the commands (Learn! Do! Apply! Show!) are intended to convey excitement, but I feel as though I'm being issued directives. I wonder how students will feel if they are told to "Do!" or "Apply!"without being given much choice in the matter?  

Also, while I'd like to think that "personalized learning" means students will be allowed to learn at their own pace and make meaningful decisions regarding what and how they learn, the mention of "core academic content" makes me skeptical. I'm not sure exactly how much personalization will be permitted if learning is core-driven rather than student-driven. No doubt, there's value in learning from projects, real-world experiences, and student demonstrations of competency, but I feel what is most important is for the students to be the ones asking for those activities. If they are mandated by teachers, how might that impact the students' opportunities for deeper learning?

What Does Charisma Have to Do with Learning?

"Charisma has nothing to do with energy; it comes from a clarity of WHY, an undying belief in a purpose or cause." —Simon Sinek

When I put Start with Why on the reading list for Thriving in the Digital Age, it was because I wanted to encourage the kids in my class to think deeply about leadership. Specifically:

• What exactly do we look for in a leader? 
• What type of person inspires us to act—and why? 
• What qualities would we, personally, like to develop in ourselves to become stronger leaders?;
• How might we inspire others to follow our lead (for example, if we wanted to convince others to actively support a cause we felt was important)?

In his book, Start with Why, Simon Sinek argues that "energy excites" and "charisma inspires." To illustrate his point, he compares Microsoft CEOs Bill Gates and Steve Ballmer.



Gates isn't a very energetic speaker, yet he inspires people to follow his lead. Sinek says this is because Gates is optimistic and devoted to what he believes in. Presumably, he has that elusive and hard-to-define quality known as charisma. In contrast, Ballmer can stir up a crowd with his high-energy performances but, according to Sinek, he is not likely to inspire enduring loyalty, because:

"Only charisma can inspire."

While I agree that charismatic people do tend to attract devoted followers or "true believers," something about the exclusivity of Sinek's claim doesn't sit right with me. Was Sinek implying that those of us who lack charisma are incapable of inspiring, destined to become followers? I couldn't accept this conclusion, and I was curious to see how the teens in my class would react. Would they agree with Sinek? If so, how would they describe their own levels of charisma or, more importantly, their chances of becoming inspirational leaders?

What Do We Look for in a Leader?
As we talked about the people whom Sinek describes in his book—Martin Luther King, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Herb Kelleher (founder of Southwest Airlines), and several others—we considered what we felt were important leadership qualities. The students said they valued honesty and being able to communicate effectively, because "No one will follow you if they can't trust you or if they don't know what you're talking about." Talent, passion, vision, integrity, commitment, and empathy were also added to the list.

What Type of Person Inspires Us to Act—and Why?
Responding to the question about who inspires them, the students considered the power of commanding rhetoric (e.g., Obama's speeches), the limited effectiveness of reward systems (especially as sources of inspiration), and the extraordinary impact of impassioned, transformational leaders, such as Malala Yousafszai.



Do We Need to Have Charisma to Be Leaders?
When our discussion turned to the subject of charisma, I asked the group, "If charisma comes from 'an undying belief in a purpose or cause'—as Sinek claims—do we all have the potential to be charismatic?"

The responses I got from the students were insightful, and I'd like to share some of what I learned from them here. One student surprised me by quoting Lawrence of Arabia in his reflection:

"It's always been my view that leaders are not people with a Why, or people with a driving motivation. I mean, of course they have those but so does everyone else. What makes leaders unique is their ability to bring their Why's into reality. In other words, I agree with this quote from T. E. Lawrence (also known as Lawrence of Arabia), 'All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.'"

This student went on to explain that he interpreted Lawrence's use of the word "dangerous" in a positive way, as meaning "adventurous" or "disruptive to the status quo." He also made another observation worth sharing here:

"Everyone has some greater driving motivation as to why they do what they do, and everyone has something that they are passionate about. We don't need other people to give us a why; we want someone to help us realize our own why."

I imagine all students saying this to their teachers. "We aren't asking you to tell us who we should be (whether it's interested in Subject X, aiming for College Y, or preparing for Career Z); we are asking you to help us discover who we already are."

Another student, a young woman who is passionate about music and theater, talked about what it means for a performer to have charisma. She recalled with enthusiasm an article from the New York Times ("A Gift from the Musical Gods" by Zachary Woolfe), which asks the question, "How is a performer a leader?" Woolfe writes:

"To experience a charismatic performance is to feel elevated, simultaneously dazed and focused, galvanized and enlarged. It is to surrender to something raw and elemental, to feel happy but also unsatisfied. Charisma calls forth a melancholy, a vaguely unrequited feeling. I’ve caught myself, after certain performances of an aria or a movement, leaning forward, as if drawn against my will. . . . Charisma requires that you acknowledge a new, larger set of possibilities."

So, not unlike leaders in other fields, charismatic performers inspire people to stretch and reach for loftier goals than they would otherwise. Unfortunately, according to Woolfe, "Rigorous training enhances and focuses [charisma], but it cannot create it." So, either you've got it—or you don't.

The young students in my class seemed to agree, saying,"People can know their why, but perhaps not have charisma, or vice versa . . . charisma isn't something that can be taught—one is born with it." However, one student described Sinek's definition of charisma (as a "clarity of WHY") as "half-true,"noting that:

Maria Callas, EMI Classics

"Charisma is strengthened when the leader or performer knows what their WHY is. For an actor especially: if they haven't asked 'Why?' to each and every line and aspect of the character's notions, it won't be a truthful performance—and even if the performer has the god-given talent of charisma, their performance will lack relevance and the strength to hold the audience's attention. And the same goes for other great leaders. Being able to harness both natural talent and 'the clarity of WHY' together is what leads to a very successful performance."

The same student also argued that an opera singer like Maria Callas is successful not only because she is naturally charismatic but also because she has a clarity of purpose, a genuine passion, that comes across in performances.

So, What Does Charisma Have to Do with Learning?
No matter what we do, whether we are incredibly charismatic or less so, it seems our success—as leaders or followers—is enhanced if we have a clear sense of who we are and what drives us.
This is why I feel it is vital for a student's education to be a process of self-discovery. Returning to Woolfe's article, I'm drawn to the following observation:

"What we generally consider the 'content' of the arts — the notes, the libretto, the bowings, the plot — is actually just the structure that makes possible the crucial thing: watching a performer who is able to connect with fundamental realities. It is not that a singer’s charisma makes a colorful aria sound even better but that the aria provides a platform, a vessel, for us to experience the charisma."

Would it be possible to think of learning in a similar way?

"What we generally consider the 'content' of education — the curricula, the scope and sequence, the technologies, the projects and activities — is actually just the structure that makes possible the crucial thing: helping a learner connect with the fundamental reality of who he or she really is. It is not that a student's aptitudes enable him or her to perform well in class but that the class provides a platform, a vessel, for every student to experience who they truly are."

What do you think?