Are You Drinking Water From a Firehose, or Casting a Line Into a Stream?

As part of my research for a high school course on "Thriving in the Digital Age" (course website), I have been reading Net Smart: How to Thrive Online by Howard Rheingold. In Chapter 2, he writes, "The real-time Web is not a queue . . . but rather a stream. Don't even try to keep up. Learn to sample." He goes on to describe techniques for sampling, by "tuning your antennae for the right signals" and "bringing the right information to you."

I felt a sense of relief as I read this. For weeks, I had been struggling to assess the overwhelming variety of Web 2.0 social media tools. Naively, I was trying to review every tool and learn everything there was to know, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of information. "So," I thought to myself, "this is why people frequently compare using social media to drinking water from a fire hose." I needed a new approach, and Rheingold's mention of a stream opened my eyes to a different (though still watery) metaphor.

 I began to picture a beautiful stream, beckoning to me, inviting me to cast a line into the water. I thought about my husband, an avid fly fisherman, and how relaxing it is to watch him practice his art. The graceful motions inspire feelings of patience, serenity, inner calm and, on a lucky day, the thrill of the catch. It's not at all like the image of a fire hose, which I associate with scary, high adrenaline experiences: buildings in flames, mobs out of control, intense pressure and violent release. I would prefer my experiences in the online world to be more like catching fish than catching hell. I'm looking for quality, not quantity.

Rheingold writes about the importance of mindfulness when we use technology. To avoid unnecessary distractions, it helps to decide in advance what we hope to achieve in a given day, or year, or lifetime. Sure, those pictures of kittens are really adorable, but how much time do we want to devote to them? When, where, and how do we want to focus our attention? Ideally, online tools should help us to filter, organize, and limit the content that fills up our screens and lives. Used wisely, they can be as useful to us as the right fishing lure is to a fisherman.

An article from Steffan Antonas, "Drinking from the Social Media Firehouse—Six Lessons Learned," offers sage advice on how to use social media in a sane and meaningful way. He reminds us that "Social media interactions are meaningful only if you’re sharing remarkable ideas, being memorable, helping people achieve their goals, connecting to people and (most importantly) converting those connections into real offline relationships."

Obviously, we have to be selective about what we consume and create. The question is: do we want to be the ones doing the selecting, casting our lines strategically, or are we content to wait and see what hits us in the face at random? When I take time to learn how to tailor an RSS feed, set up a dashboard, or use tags and keywords to filter news reports, I feel it's time well spent. Like an experienced fisherman selecting the right lure, I can increase my chances of hooking something of interest while allowing everything else to flow past. Of course, I won't catch everything, but that doesn't need to be the goal for the experience to be rewarding.

Pushing Beyond the Comfort Zone

The only thing I enjoy more than a great TED Talk is a compendium of great TED Talks, all thoughtfully woven together with clever commentary and interesting interviews. That's why TED Radio Hour, hosted by Guy Raz, is without a doubt my favorite NPR program.

The most recent TED Radio Hour, "To the Edge," focused on adventurers who push themselves to their limits at the edges of the world. The program featured a polar explorer, a spelunker, a woman who rowed across oceans, and a high-wire enthusiast. Of all the stories, Roz Savage's ocean-going adventures fascinated me the most. Here was a woman who had been working in an office for many years until, one day, she decided to cross the Atlantic Ocean—in a rowboat. I mean, really, who does that?

Coincidentally, at the moment I tuned into the show, I had just been thinking about ordinary acts of bravery. My homeschooled son was away from home, living and learning for five full weeks at the Advanced Studies Program at St. Paul's School. The program is known for being intense, challenging, and extremely well loved. Past attendees (my younger daughter included) rave about it with a devotion bordering on zealotry. 

Thriving in the Digital Age

I've fallen behind on my postings but have been working steadily on plans for the course I described in earlier posts. The website for the course, Thriving in the Digital Age, is now available for browsing! Although the course is still a work in progress, most of the overall framework is solid at this point.

I've made some changes to my original plans. In Building on TED Talks: A Course for High School Seniors (Part I), I identified four tentative themes for grouping the talks and readings:

1. How We Think About Ourselves
2. How We Think About and Use Technology
3. How We Relate to One Another
4. How We Offer to Help Those Who Need It

I've since changed the themes for the course slightly to suit the needs of the students who will be participating. After discovering that one of my students was planning to take a college course on Global Social Issues this fall, I decided that much of what I had in mind for the fourth theme ("How We Offer to Help Those Who Need It," which included TED talks and related books by Jacqueline Novogratz, Dan Pallotta, Paul Collier, and Melinda Gates) would be too redundant. In a way, this was a relief to me: I was already worried that the focus of the course was too broad, and I was searching for a way to narrow it. Also, two of the books I was considering—The Bottom Billion by Collier, Charity Case by Pallotta—seemed as though they might not be a good fit for a few of my other students. 

So, I set aside the fourth theme, did some reorganizing, and ended up with the following themes instead: 

1. Empowerment, Personal and Political. What makes us feel empowered (or disempowered)? What types of situations or social conditions encourage more people to participate (online, face-to-face, at work, in our communities, or in general)? How does the internet influence who participates—and how and why do people feel empowered to do so? Why are some people effective leaders, able to motivate people to get involved, while others are not? (This theme is essentially a combination of "How We Think About Ourselves" and "How We Relate to One Another" from my initial planning phase, described above.)
2. Harnessing the Power of Distributed Expertise—How can we optimize our use of massive amounts of aggregated data and collective human brainpower? Major topics include Wikis, gaming, crowd sourcing, hive mind, and "cognitive surplus" (a term coined by Clay Shirky). The emphasis here is on intellectual collaboration.
3. Using Technology Mindfully for Sharing and Collaboration—How is technology changing the way our society functions, or how we are meant to coexist within our society? How might it alter the way we acquire, use and dispose of our "stuff"? Major concepts to be discussed include collaborative consumption, sustainability, open source, and (time permitting) "Sensible Cities." The emphasis here is on economic collaboration.

To explore these themes, I've found wonderful TED Talks and RSA Animates (posted on the Videos page), books (listed in the Syllabus), and websites. I'm excited about the idea of using student and class blogs to encourage discussions outside our weekly class meetings, so I've also added a page on Blogging. And, inspired by Howard Rheingold's admonishments to use technology mindfully, I've recently added a light-hearted page on Procrastination (with links to TED Talks by Vik Nithy, who offers advice on how to stay on task, and Dave Windass, who extols the merits of procrastinating). 

Currently, I'm working on developing ideas for class discussions and projects. I'll post more on those later.

Are Video Games Helping or Hurting Our Kids?

For as long as we've had computers in our house, my husband and I have struggled with decisions about how often (and for what purposes) our kids should be allowed to use them. Like most parents, we tried to shield our kids from inappropriate online content and potentially harmful contacts, and we regularly encouraged them to go outside and "play in the real world." 

At some point, though, it became obvious that the benefits of allowing kids to use computers outweighed any disadvantages. As someone who has used computers productively for many years, I couldn't see the point in telling my kids they couldn't use computers at all. So, my questions about computer usage soon changed from "whether" to "what" and "how much." While my kids were still young, I supervised their usage and tried to steer them to safe websites or games that seemed educational (such as Reader Rabbit, Treasure Mathstorm!, and The Oregon Trail). However, as they got older, and the video games got less "educational," I started to worry about how much time they were spending in front of a screen. Had I made a big mistake in allowing those games into our home?

I admit there were days when I was tempted to pull the plug and ban video games entirely, but then I was reminded (probably by my kids) of my interest-led approach to homeschooling. Did I really believe what I had been saying about allowing children to follow their passions? If my son was fascinated by video games, shouldn't I try to learn something about them? Did I really know enough to pronounce them "a waste of time"?

My reason for writing this blog post is to share what I learned about gaming. First, I recommend the following two articles, which debunk the most common myths about video games:

• "Reality Bytes: Eight Myths About Video Games Debunked" by Henry Jenkins. An essay on the impact of gaming. Accessed from the PBS companion site for The Video Game Revolution, KCTS Television, 2004.
• "Video Games Don't Cause Children to be Violent" by Michael D. Gallagher, U.S. News and World Report, May 10, 2010. 

Starting with Why

"All leaders must have two things: they must have a vision of the world that does not exist and they must have the ability to communicate it." —S. Sinek

I've recently finished reading Start With Why: How Great Leaders Inspire Everyone to Take Action by Simon Sinek. His TED Talk ("How Great Leaders Inspire Action") interested me for several reasons.

1. As a home educator, I have worked to inspire not only my own children but also others who have questions about home education, such as: What do I need to know to teach my own children? Where do I find curriculum? How can I start my own support group? 
2. As someone who would like to see better alternatives to traditional education, I am curious about why some teachers in schools are able to inspire students while others are not. By studying what makes teachers effective leaders, perhaps I can become a more inspiring teacher myself.
3. As a mentor, I wanted to explore Sinek's ideas about leadership so that I could share those ideas with young adult students who are interested in becoming leaders themselves.

Leadership isn't just for CEOs and Presidents. As Sinek describes it:

"Just about every person or organization needs to motivate others to act for some reason or another. Some want to motivate a purchase decision. Others are looking for support or a vote. Still others are keen to motivate the people around them to work harder or smarter or just follow the rules." 

When Your Students Know More Than You Do

As a home educator, I quickly discovered that one of the problems with using a pre-packaged or "canned" curriculum is that they are usually sold by grade level. For each grade, standardization prescribes a specific set of topics within arbitrary categories (such as "math," "science," and "social studies"). There are various pros and cons to this approach, but one of my main concerns is that there's little consideration for what a child may already know. If the curriculum is designed for a preschooler who has had little exposure to the world, lack of novelty may not be a major concern: most of the material in a packaged curriculum will likely still seem new (although not necessarily interesting); however, for a high school student who has grown up with access to the internet, there's a very good chance that large portions of the curriculum will cover familiar subjects. Not surprisingly, students who aren't learning anything new are likely to become bored and may even resent being "taught" something they could just as well teach themselves.

I've always enjoyed pulling together a custom curriculum. I'm thankful to writers like Rebecca Rupp (author of Home Learning Year By Year: How to Design a Homeschool Curriculum From Preschool Through High School) and others who have helped me with the do-it-yourself approach. I've seen how home educators who are willing to create their own curriculum can build on what their children already know. They save time by avoiding unnecessary repetition and seize opportunities to connect one learning experience to another. Almost unconsciously, we draw on our families' existing knowledge and shared memories to enhance our understanding of new problems and concepts.

Similarly, when I have offered brief workshops or year-long classes for homeschoolers, I've generally either known all of the kids well (as friends of the family) or have had an opportunity to get to know them as I continue to offer classes, year after year. This makes it easier for me to choose topics, readings, and activities that are most likely to interest them. There is, however, a difference between assuming I know what these kids will want or need to learn and asking them to tell me. Even if the kids are my own, or are kids I have known for many years, I usually ask them outright what they want to know or do. Recently, I made the mistake of not asking, assumed too much, and felt embarrassed by my ignorance.

I was busily planning a course on Digital Literacy (Building On Ted Talks) when I learned that several students who (I hope!) will be in my class next year were actively collaborating on a blog ("King Lear"). How exciting and humbling it was for me to discover that they were already sophisticated bloggers, skilled at writing interesting posts, incorporating eye-catching images and relevant links. Suddenly, my plan to ask them to read Tris Hussey's Create Your Own Blog: 6 Easy Projects to Start Blogging Like a Pro seemed lame. Sure, some of the other kids in the group—the ones who hadn't spent much time online or weren't yet experimenting with blogging—might need help, but they wouldn't need nearly as much tutoring or encouragement as I had imagined. They could just as easily learn from their peers as from me.

Now that I realize my mistake, I wonder what other assumptions I've been making. In what other ways are these teens "thriving online" (to use Howard Rheingold's phrase)? What do they know how to do, and what would they still like to learn? What experience or wisdom might I still be able to share?

I've started to re-examine my plans for next year. I intend to meet with the kids a few times over the summer to ask for their input, discuss what we will study, and decide how we will structure the class. Although I have some definite goals in mind, I'm trying to stay open and flexible.

In the future, I hope I will remember how essential it is to truly know students before imagining I have something to teach them. What interests them? What skills and subjects have they already mastered? What might they be able to teach me or their fellow students?

Reflections on the Learning Creative Learning Online Course

The final session of the Learning Creative Learning (LCL) online course, hosted by MIT Media Lab, was presented on Monday, May 13. I'm grateful I had the opportunity to participate in the course. It helped me to reflect on my beliefs about education: the power of interest-based learning, the "guide alongside" model for teachers and mentors, the advantages of open educational resources, and the importance of tinkering and self-discovery. 

I was glad to be reminded that learning is a two-way conversation, not only between teachers and students, but also as a process of peer-to-peer (student-to-student and teacher-to-teacher) collaboration. It's not enough to take in or "consume" information by reading, watching, and experimenting; we also have a responsibility to reflect on the process and share what we learn with others as we go along. Although many of us have a tendency to keep to ourselves (myself included), I know the LCL course would not have been nearly as good if everyone had chosen to "lurk" instead of posting their questions, reflections,  and experiences. I learned as much from the participants as I did from the course itself. For example, from one of my classmates (Shane Freeman), I learned about Problem-Based Learning at Sammamish High School: 



Shane also freely shared his creative presentation on "The Authentic Classroom." 

Like me, some people ended the course by writing their own blog posts on what worked well, what didn't, and what they learned (for example, see these excellent posts by Suzi Wells and Peter Taylor). Others added brief comments to the LCL Google+ Community, which in response to popular request will continue to be available for past and future participants.

Other classmates offered pointers to helpful resources, such as: the Rise Out blog ("High School Without High School," for Boston-area teens); the School of Open (free online courses); and Code.org (for learning how to program). TED Talks were popular for sharing, too: for example, Nima Zahedi directed us to the TED Talk, "Teachers Need Real Feedback," by Bill Gates:



This talk, along with the SurveyMonkey questionnaire I was asked to complete at the end of the LCL course, encouraged me to create a survey for my own course (The Real Wealth of Nations). By asking my students to give me meaningful feedback now, I am learning how to improve the way I design and teach future courses.

Although the LCL course has ended, I feel my studies are far from over. I plan to continue reading and writing about creative, innovative ways to teach and learn.