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?