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6x6

The Kindness in Thinking It Through

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This past week has been a whirlwind of logistics and duct tape as we successfully launched the Access in Action conference. The speakers were amazing, and each one reinforced a shared idea: accessibility is less about grand gestures and compliance checklists and more about the everyday choices that make learning easier to participate in and engage with.

Late last week, I started to plan how to thank our speakers. I’ve always been a “thank-you card” person, so that felt like the most genuine way to express my gratitude. When I paused to think about how that gesture would actually be received, it became clear that I needed to adjust. One of our speakers is blind, so I need to make adjustments to the format, but not the intention.

Using a braille machine to create a thank-you note shouldn’t be something we frame as “going above and beyond”. Creating an accessible experience should be the expected minimum. If I’m going to make thank you cards for all my speakers, I’m going to make thank you cards for all of my speakers.

Kindness, at its core, isn’t about effort or novelty. It’s about taking a moment to reflect on how our actions land, and whether they fully and completely communicate the care we intend.

As a homeschool student, I vividly remember many, many trips to the Burton Barr Central Library, particularly for a lesson on Helen Keller. What left an impression with me wasn’t the lesson itself, but a small moment: a librarian taking the time to show my sister and I how the braille embosser worked and printing our names so we could feel them on the paper. It wasn’t presented as anything special, just someone noticing curiosity and responding with an act of kindness. I’ve remembered that moment for more than twenty years and that moment led to recognizing an opportunity to express gratitude in a more appropriate format.

My identical twin sister recently recommended Unreasonable Hospitality by Will Guidara. Although it’s rooted in the hospitality industry, I’ve been surprised by how closely it mirrors Higher Education. Both are service-driven spaces that succeed when people feel considered rather than processed. The book emphasizes how small acts of intentional kindness and proactive thinking can help others to feel seen, heard, and cared for in a way that creates a sense of belonging and leaves a lasting impression.

This act of kindness wasn’t complicated; it just required intention.

Finding a braille embosser was difficult, but it did require asking the right questions and making a few phone calls. With Burton Barr under renovation, I followed the trail to the Mesa Public Library, where a librarian and I learned to use the machine together and printed the note. I got to play with a really neat piece of technology (ask me sometime, this thing is COOL), and I now have a note for our speaker. Now that note is winging its way to Tony, and my handwritten thank-you cards are on the doorknobs of our other speakers. Mission accomplished.

This story isn’t about getting to learn a new technology (which was AWESOME) or hunting down a memory of my childhood (thought both were genuinely meaningful). It’s about demonstrating a commitment to kindness and recognizing when our practices don’t effectively serve our audience. It’s about recognizing that sometimes what might at first glance seem “unreasonable” or “above and beyond” is really just the minimum expression of demonstrating kindness and consideration.

I could have very easily sent an email or made a phone call. But the spirit of our conference is all about the choices and efforts we make in our interactions with students and each other to make our lives easier. To remove barriers and to remind those around us that they are valued members of our community… and that’s what this week’s act of kindness embodies.

Genuine gratitude isn’t about writing out the card with meaningful words, cursing my handwriting skills when my letters get sloppy, and delivering the cards to offices. The true act of gratitude lives in reflection. When we write a card, or send an IM, or tell someone “great work!” in passing, kindness shows up through intention, consideration, and the pause we take to think about how our message will be received.

So let me leave you with this thought:

Where in our lives can we pause to consider kindness? What small adjustment could help build a sense of belonging or show someone how much we value their role in our community?

In a world with so much unkindness surrounding us, it costs us nothing to practice kindness and be that light.

And maybe we’ll learn something new along the way… 

6x6, Adjunct Faculty, advice, empowerment, engaging students, risk-taking, Student Engagement, student success, teachers, Worthiness, Write6x6

I’m not a Teacher, I’m a Storyteller | A Story

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This may not be a radical idea… in fact, there are several fantastic articles on the topic I’ve linked below from others like me. But to a first-semester adjunct, this story I’m about to share was a groundbreaking moment of discovery, something we weren’t taught in “teacher school.”

This is a story about identity, development, and collaboration, and what it means to teach in collaboration with students.

I am not a teacher.

I was once asked in a marketing class to describe myself in one word, which is an impossible task for anyone who knows me. I’m an actress, a facilitator, a technology nerd, a stuntwoman, an entrepreneur, a caregiver, a DIYer, and a lifelong student with an endless list of interests. My degrees and certificates span culture, art, and technology, reflecting my refusal to decide what I want to be “when I grow up.”

But when I looked at all of those mismatched puzzle pieces, I realized they were all doing the same thing: telling or engaging with stories about people, ideas, systems, and experiences. So, I claimed the identity that fit all of them.

I am a storyteller.

No real big surprises there!

In my late teens, I was genuinely confused when a close friend asked if I’d ever considered teaching, after I’d given a laundry list of careers I was determined to have in my lifetime. Teachers, in my mind, were patient, gentle, steady, and meticulously organized. They were nurturers and experts. They were Ms. Frizzle, Gandalf, and Yoda made real. Don’t get me wrong, I was good at facilitating workshops; it was something that had sparked this recommended career path. However, a sixteen-week class felt apocalyptic for my hypothetical students, and for me. I was going to get attached, I was going to be a fixer of problems, I was going to hold them to too high standards, I was going to be a chaotic ball of energy with a little too much enthusiasm for the most mundane topics. I am a Storyteller, not a Teacher. I had some of those magical traits, but not enough to even consider the title, let alone the position.

Nearly seven years later, a coworker suggested I gain classroom experience if I wanted to become an instructional designer. I nodded politely while internally panicking. I loved the idea of giving back and sharing what I’d learned, but the same thought echoed in my head: I wasn’t a teacher. I could share my experience, I could show, listen, and explore with them. But was that enough?

Then, by a twist of fate, I was asked to fill an emergency opening to teach Photoshop. A program I’d been using for years, and one of my favorite classes I’d taken as a student. To be honest, I think I was already drafting an email asking for a course shell before the acceptance email fully left my inbox. I was excited about the opportunity to design a learning experience; the reality of “teaching” hadn’t quite hit me yet.

I started building something I’m passionate about. I can disappear for hours in a module, reworking, reorganizing, researching content, aligning, and anticipating. It was pure heaven as I built this world for my students to come play in with me. I started worldbuilding. The competencies became plot points. Each module became a chapter. I imagined my cast of characters (students) before I met them. I could see each of them: the non-creatives, the already-proficient, the ones relying on the Computer Commons to complete their work. I adjusted due dates. I planned support. I made sure my characters had what they needed to take this long journey with me and prepared myself for them to surprise me and help me revise my ideas as they grew.

On the first day, I walked in ready to play the role of “teacher.” I had taken classes on the art of teaching. I knew how to explain things. I had a color-coded “script” (lesson plan). I was so ready.

Nothing inherently traumatic occurred during that first class (despite every technical issue imaginable). We went over the syllabus, opened the program, and started exploring together. I asked questions and used my energy to draw the students out of their shells. It went (objectively) very well. I’d been told over and over again, “Facilitators aren’t Teachers”, and I internalized that meant I didn’t belong in this space. But that’s okay, I’m an actress, I’m used to playing in spaces that aren’t my own… but my identity as a Storyteller also informed my feelings over and over again… I wasn’t a Teacher. I walked out of that first class feeling like a facilitator who had just run a great workshop… but that wasn’t enough. The disconnect felt palpable, but I couldn’t put my finger on what was holding me back. It came back to identity. I’m not a teacher; that must be why this nagging feeling of “wrongness” was creeping in. Real teachers don’t feel like this!

I struggled for weeks with the tension between who I thought a teacher was supposed to be and who I was when I taught.

Then one week, exhausted and defeated, I “gave up” the fight to lean away from my facilitator roots. We were discussing typography, specifically kerning, when a student asked, “Is that why the Skyfall poster looks so weird?”

I could hear the angel chorus start to ring as I paused the lesson. We pulled the poster up, and sure enough, the letter spacing was dramatic. I dropped the poster into Photoshop and demonstrated how we would adjust the kerning in real time. The room changed instantly, and I’ll never forget the excitement as students dove for their keyboards to find more examples. This was the magic of improvisation I felt every time I presented a workshop, facilitated open conversation, and led with the story.

It was a frantic, somewhat chaotic moment as we found momentum in the uncharted territory, but it felt like settling into a familiar space.

Suddenly, we weren’t talking about fonts; we were examining how we, as humans, relate to shape, weight, color, and spacing, and using storytelling to do it.

I abandoned my carefully crafted PowerPoint. I scribbled the vocabulary and key points on the board. Students Googled their favorite posters, albums, advertisements, etc. We analyzed them together to see what worked, what didn’t, and what the design communicated about character and tone. How what we were learning popped up in the real world and (more importantly) how learning this tool would inform their future design work. They used the vocabulary. They debated the meaning. They connected design choices to narrative intent.

At the end of class, they sat outside in the commons, still talking about font pairings and correcting one another, using the language we’d just learned. Their work that week left a huge smile on my face. They didn’t just “get” the lesson; they internalized it. They were making creative connections and using examples from class and from their own research to do it.

The students connected to the story in a way they hadn’t to a more traditional style of curated, guided instruction. They were finding personal application and discovering motivation through the momentum of exploration.

The next week, they were still referencing those posters while discussing color theory. Their assignments showed more care, more intention, more thought.

That’s when it clicked.

I wasn’t failing at being a teacher by facilitating.

I was succeeding at being a storyteller.

I wasn’t delivering information; I was facilitating the journey toward discovering meaning. I was connecting lived experience and observation to new knowledge. The course wasn’t broken (and I wasn’t broken). I didn’t need to become someone else.

I didn’t have to become a teacher.

I just had to tell the story and invite the students to make the lesson a part of their own journey.

I’d built the world already. I knew who my students were and what they hoped to get out of the class. I just needed to guide them in the right direction and build momentum toward discovery.

Now in class, every session started with a rehearsed PowerPoint-based launching point to set our foundation… and then I turned the students loose on the topics with guiding questions: “So where have you seen this?” or “What does this remind you of?” or (their favorite) “Walk me through this concept/tool/idea.” Every class is an adventure (literally and figuratively). There were a few times we found ourselves on the edge of a rabbit hole, and I had to pull us back on topic, but the energy in the room was incredible. The collaboration and exploration were infectious… and I had so much fun witnessing it.

So, to me, a teacher is a little like the “Wise Guide” archetype, providing wisdom and experience for a hero and their journey. But this Guide doesn’t have to tell their Padawans all the answers or hit every bullet point on the lesson plan with perfect phrasing. They paint a picture, create a world, tell a story, and lead students through key concepts toward the big “aha!” moment at the end.

Teaching is storytelling.

There is no one type of teacher, just like there isn’t one genre of storytelling.

Every great teacher is a master at facilitating learning in their own way, showing students how to make meaning and breathe life into a concept by guiding them through the world (content) we love, helping them fight dragons (challenges), and watching as they become the heroes of the story (making independent meaning).

Deeper Reading (Storytelling as an Educational Tool)

The Educational Benefits of Storytelling
The Power of Storytelling to Facilitate Human Connection and Learning
The Value of Storytelling as a Learning Tool

Write6x6

“It’s Complicated”

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Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

Like many educators, my initial reaction to AI was visceral rejection. When ChatGPT joined the scene in Nov. 2022, I felt shock and isolation. Would my assignments become obsolete? Would my role as an educator be reduced to managing prompts and outputs? Was my job going to turn into the philosophy I slip into in tough times–“shit in, shit out”? I’ll admit it—I had a minor panic attack about the future of my career as a composition teacher.
But I was curious. I started experimenting with AI tools like Claude, Poe, and Perplexity. I could see an appeal. I saw them assisting in tasks that would typically take a long time. I got a little excited about the possibilities. AI could free up time for more meaningful student interactions or help me with RSI. Maybe it could help level the playing field for learners who struggle with specific tasks. I became more enthusiastic and eager to share these tools with colleagues and students.
Then I got deeper into the AI ecosystem after reading numerous books; I started to see some complexities lurking beneath the surface. The environmental cost of training large language models is staggering—the water and energy consumption is similar to that of small cities. Then there’s the human cost: the invisible labor force in the Global South, working under challenging conditions to label data and moderate content. These AI systems, while impressive, are potentially widening the digital divide between those who have access to cutting-edge technology and those who don’t.
I am adopting a more nuanced stance now. I still use AI tools, but with greater intentionality. I am trying to balance their benefits with their drawbacks, and I’m trying to be thoughtful about how I present them to my students. Instead of positioning AI as either a threat or a salvation, I frame it as a complex technology that requires critical engagement.
My relationship with AI has evolved from rejection to enthusiasm to careful consideration. The relationship is not over, and I’m not sure where it will head next. I want to help my students understand the tools but also to think critically about their use. So my relationship status remains: “it’s complicated.”

6x6, GCC, GCCAZ, Glendale Community College, Write6x6

Milestones Define the Student Journey

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The student educational journey is filled with important milestones and new thresholds that they pass on a regular basis. It’s our job as educators to help them navigate each new step. So, let’s have a frank conversation about what that even means to us as Student Success professionals.

At the community college, students come to us from all stages in their lives. We encounter the new-to-college student who just turned 18, experiencing adulthood for the first time, all the way to seasoned adults coming back to reeducate for a new career or promotion. No matter where they come from or at what stage of life they are in, every single one of them is looking to us to help them navigate these milestones. The million-dollar question is always: How?

The simplest answer is, there isn’t one way. Years of student service tells us that national best practices and strategies in student success always comes down to the amount of human interaction we can give to our students. What makes a Guided Pathway model so successful is not just the concept of gathering similar academic programs into one cohesive group, it’s the experience the student has with the advisor in that area who helps them to explore their options. The online FAFSA form students and their parents can fill out within minutes isn’t what helps them to feel confident in their ability to fund their education, it’s the financial aid representative that takes the time to explain the process. Even early alert systems with their ability to help us flag students in crisis are meaningless without the person reaching out to the student to discuss their issues. Academia is great at thinking up innovative strategy to approach student success, but each student and their journey is unique. Implementing strategy is never enough, it inevitably comes down to the that one person on campus interacting with the student, that often times yields the best results.

Like I said before, the student’s journey is a collection of milestones and thresholds. They encounter something new in almost every step of the way. When we work with a student it’s our job to assess in that moment where the student is coming from, what is the issue, and how best can we help. Active listening is paramount to understanding and allowing the student to fully explain or express their questions or concerns before we start telling them the solution. Listening is essential to not only giving the most accurate info, but to also validate who they are and what they are dealing with. In our experience, most students, when they walk into our spaces seeking our help, are just looking for that connection. They are more than ok when we tell them we don’t have an answer for them. Often times our best tool is to sit and listen. Getting to know our students is the first step in providing the right kind of help at the right time.

As a rule, we encourage our students to come back and see us multiple times a semester, not because we feel they need tracking, but because we get to know them and vice versa. Each visit is an opportunity to cultivate mutual respect and trust. Before long the student feels comfortable coming to us when they don’t understand something or encounter a new experience. Our relationship allows us to help them navigate in a way that makes sense and in a manner that makes sense. Which then equates to a better student experience overall. They aren’t intimidated by something new, because they know they have allies who can help them through it.

I challenge you to get to know your students, to evaluate your processes and put student learning and experience at the center of your decisions. Can we take our time during these interactions to allow for better understanding? Can we relate our own stories to help us connect to their experience? Can we remind ourselves that our interaction with our students is the purpose of our work?

engaging students, GCC Students, risk-taking, Teaching Ideas

Weekly Gaucho Podcast – Try Something New

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You may not know that GCC has an unofficial student podcast. In this bonus episode for the Weekly Guacho podcast, I explain a little bit about the podcast and how I get students to contribute episodes as part of our journalism class, JRN213: Writing for Online. You can visit our blog and podcast here: http://weeklygaucho.com/?s=podcast

Students are very creative when given the opportunity, so my message to you is to “just jump.” Try something that might make you nervous for fear of failure. You’ll be surprised by what can happen. If you’re interested in trying it, I added the podcast assignment to Canvas Commons, so you can download it to your class and try it out.

And for an added bonus, here’s a link to my favorite student episode from Season 5.

The Weekly Gaucho Podcast Season 5 Episode 18
Write6x6

Teaching to Excite

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From our prompts, I found myself thinking about one of my favorite teachers. I thought my first favorite teacher would probably have a lot to do with discovering the fun of learning – and I was enthusiastic about learning right from the start. So, Mrs. Salter, my third grade teacher, came to mind, who introduced me to Brighty of the Grand Canyon, (whose shiny nose I have now seen and touched on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon – shiny because of all of the little kids and grown kids who have touched the wonderful nose that Marguerite Henry brought to life for so many) and Misty of Chincoteague Island, another of the many Henry books. But then I realized, I started with books much earlier than that, and I really should give credit to someone who taught me, but was not considered my teacher – my father’s roommate from college – Jim Jensen, who ultimately became a college professor in English.

I always enjoyed having Jim visit. He drove a Karmann Ghia, which I thought was very exotic, and to an extent, still do. Every time he came to our house and visited my parents, both of whom he knew from high school, if not earlier, he always brought me a book as a present. Nothing fancy but a Golden Book of some sort, and I ended up putting my name in all of my books even though I technically did not know how to write yet. I always started with the verticals and the slants and horizontal lines were added more creatively.

Yup, looking below, I knew I’d get mixed up from the first to the second N but after I had done it, I’d know it was wrong. Somehow, I couldn’t cross the vertical lines correctly twice in a row. I had no control or memory of how to do it at that age. And then the E had several lines across it, going down, but I never knew quite how many. More than two, but, in this example, obviously five was too many.

Anyway, Jim got to sleep on an air mattress in our attic, which I also thought was very exotic. I also noticed that when I looked at the air mattress in the morning it no longer had any air in it – so thinking back, it was probably the worst possible “bed” for comfort and little more than sleeping on the floor.

Learning What to and Not to Do

It wasn’t until I moved to Arizona that I heard the word Lifelong Learner, but knew that I was one, but had never heard the expression. It was something that I suggest to all of my students. You are not just learning in this class. You are always learning, and you will learn from every job or opportunity you have whether or not you like that job – so pay attention. Coming from so many different jobs over the years, retail sales, draftsman, receptionist, manager, editor, teacher, word processor, musician, and writer, among other jobs that I don’t even remember – I did know one thing – food service would be a disaster – so I never attempted that. The important thing was that I always paid attention, even if it meant that I would learn not to do something in a particular way because it didn’t make sense to do it the way “they” were doing it.

Favorite Authors

I appreciate some of our 6×6 authors mentioning Ray Bradbury. I went through as much of his stuff as I could find when I was younger, and loved being reminded of that journey, including “Fahrenheit 451,” among others. I’ve tried to read everyone’s work in 6×6 this spring because I’ve felt in previous years people weren’t trying to read each other’s works. I decided to make sure that I did. It’s the spirit of the thing.

I’ve mentioned a few of my favorite current authors, Louise Penny, a Canadian author, who created a wonderful arc between a number of books, to tell a much larger story, Mick Herron, of Slough Horses or Slough House fame, I’ve read even more arcs from his books, and the way he can create an introduction using a spirit is beyond inspirational. If I could write a book, I’d like to write like he writes, but I don’t think I have the talent. He also has short stories that are part of that very large arc, so I really have to pay attention when I read him because he uses so many word references to the back story of characters. My favorite line of his was when an individual was trying to dial a phone in an emergency and he created this beautiful play on words, “his fingers felt like thumbs, his thumbs like bananas.” Who hasn’t been there! Malcolm Gladwell can tell you why we can be “all thumbs” when the going gets tough – it’s psychological! John Camp (I mentioned his pen name in a different writing, but his Pulitzer is under this name), from the St. Paul Pioneer Press, whose works I simply devour – I can’t put them down. I have to re-read them later because I try to read to go to sleep, but find myself still reading at 3 a.m.! I’ve read ALL of his books. Michael Connelly is another fabulous writer. I started with the Bosch books, and have since read all of his books twice. That got me through a broken shoulder where I was in bed for the better part of three months.

I no longer put my name on the inside of books, written correctly or not, and most of what I now read is in a Kindle because my hands and neck can’t tolerate holding large books anymore. We all make adjustments; some are just to allow us to continue reading more and more from those that first introduced us to the excitement of books and learning and where authors can take us on their journeys – Berlin, London, Toronto, Brittany – and I didn’t even mention that French author, or the English one, that put Provence on everyone’s map!

Write6x6

An AI Story: What the AI Can’t Do

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 Since generative AI hit the scene, I've gone through several phases: 

  1. It's too overwhelming to think about and what the hell is the point of teaching anything anymore? This phase is known to me as my teaching crisis. Over my 30-some-year career, these have periodically plagued me. I've managed to get out of each of these usually by waiting it out or reprogramming how I think of the thing that got me into it. 

  2. Maybe I can use this? This phase is where I am really tentative. My brain takes time to process by doing a lot of reading and studying. I might attend webinars or learn from my colleagues.

  3. I think I'm all in. In this final phase, I really start to embrace the thing that started the crisis.

Something happened in my life between phases 2 and 3 when it comes to generative AI. I was eagerly reading about AI news daily, playing with various tools regularly, using it as an assistant, and starting to enter the embracing phase and even planning an upcoming AI-themed composition course.

Then my mom had open heart surgery, and I left to take care of her for a month over the winter break. Where before I had been using Perplexity to learn more about her condition, I was now calling the triage nurses to ask questions about her immediate care, and I called them a lot. I was answering the door to her physical therapist, Lori, or the nurse in charge of her case, Brenda who was there when we had to call 911. For four weeks, I did not think about AI.

 ChatGPT didn't help me at all, and it didn't help any of the people helping me who had to rely on their excellent training to troubleshoot in the moment. It couldn't give me a reassuring look or meet me just outside the door to have a private chat. It couldn't take the car to the garage to get it checked out and ready to make it through winter. It didn't take me out for a beer like my brother did. I didn't expect it to do any of those things. I also didn't miss it for a month. 




 

Write6x6

NeuroDiversity – Changing Our World

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They told her that her organs were shutting down and at some point they would have to deliver the baby – no matter what. The answer to the question was that her life was to be spared – period – but they would hold off as long as they could because it was still too early.

Each nurse greeted the woman with “You will not seize on my shift!” and the woman thought, “I didn’t even know that was an option,” lying there, the clock not ticking but jumping hours, missing parts of days until they said, “Baby’s in trouble.” It was said, back then, surgeons had less than three minutes in this situation; I’ve heard from some it’s more like 90 seconds before things can go incredibly wrong. Timing is critical.

The baby remained in the hospital for three and a half months; first in the NICU, (the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, in an isolette) then the Special Care nursery – in an isolette without a top – now that he could regulate his temperature better. He never made it into the “regular” nursery – the one that everyone visits where they have balloons and ooh and aah over recent deliveries. “Ooh, I think she has your nose;” “No, I think he looks more like his father,” “Well, at least he doesn’t look like Aunt Edna!”

Fast forward down the road about twenty years. One of the doctors of this million dollar-March of Dimes baby (and yes, that’s probably what he cost – in 1990s dollars) mentioned that people (referring to colleges because the mother was having difficulty with the college’s Disability Services) would never know how far the boy had come because these individuals couldn’t imagine where his road had started at one pound five and one half ounces.

The starting point. . . How much one has been through and now that individual’s road with varying difficulties with sensory problems, learning, and communication issues, has led to the doorstep of a college. Speaking as a college professor, I’ve found that the colleges (and universities where I’ve taught) seem to concentrate on the doorstep. It’s easy not to admit someone, but to truly admit someone when that individual has special needs or is on the spectrum might be a better place to start on that road.

Not realizing how tremendously far an individual has come, remember, timing is critical, the obstacles overcome, the communication deficits struggled with and achieved is really where the conversation begins. The physicians know how incredibly smart that student is because of testing to the nth degree, witnessing the determination to achieve even while lying in an isolette trying simply to gain a few ounces. Remember, the next time someone shows up on your doorstep, that individual’s IQ might be equal to or higher than yours, but the road that person took may have been riddled with unbelievable obstacles and may have taken much longer to get to and through this doorstep. It won’t show in traditional ways.

“If we make it difficult, or at least, not any easier, maybe he’ll go away.” Is that how you want to be remembered – for making it difficult for someone else to learn? I’ve been surprised by unlikely sources as I witnessed this happen, but I believe we need to help people learn. I know that GCC has been very good in helping students, but I’m casting my net at a wider audience.

Dr. Temple Grandin, the gifted autistic author, scholar, and expert animal behaviorist, credits those with autism (just one of the many kinds of disabilities in our world) as the people who truly change our world through their new ideas. Think about it.

Remember the March of Dimes and Autism Awareness.

Dr. Anne Kilstofte volunteers with Silver Spur Therapeutic Riding Center of Cave Creek for children and adults with SPECIAL NEEDS and works very hard to ensure that her students’ disability needs are met in her Musicology classes at GCC. She is pictured below at a fundraiser for SSTRC with “Rhoney.”

words, Write6x6

Remember This

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 I have always been a lover of words, and as I've grown older, I find myself relying more and more on them as reminders of things I've forgotten. 

orange spiral wire against black background
Photo by Kiarash Mansouri
I lean on words.

I let words encourage me.

Words inspire me.

Words can take me back to a place or time worth remembering.

Words remind me of things my mind and body too easily forget. 

And so my office space has become a place where words surround me. 

There are hand-scrawled messages--names of two students I don't want to forget, the CTLE values, names of mentees, and my section of the honors program alphabet for reviewing their work. 

There are short sayings, inspirational messages I've acquired over the last couple of years given to me or collected by me. They are mostly taped near me, so I can see them daily. 

"Setting goals is the first step toward making the invisible visible." Tony Robbins

"...it's never too late to be whoever you want to be." Eric Roth

"If it's both terrifying and amazing then you should definitely pursue it." Erada

There are small cards on the wall and around my desk that contain messages meant for me on a particular day, and I keep these around me:

"I choose to let go of fear."

"I know that focusing my attention on things I cannot control distracts me from my journey." 

"My ability to conquer my challenges is limitless." 

There is a December calendar image and saying--a cat with bells around its neck. The quote reads, "Jingle all the way, nobody likes a half-assed jingler." And this will stay up even though it's no longer December because.

Finally, there is a small poster, and it was the first put up in my office. It says, "Let that shit go," and it is in my direct line of vision. That is my most important reminder of all. 

Write6x6

High on Learning

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When given the choice to write about AI or learning this week, I jumped at the latter. I absolutely love all things  learning. And if AI and I were in a relationship, right now we would not be speaking. I’ll look to my Write 6X6 colleagues’ posts on AI this week to help me find footing in this rapidly changing tech hellscape landscape. But back to the learning prompt:

When was the last time you learned something new? What was that like?

It’s the second question that caught my attention. Learning feels a-maz-ing. And that shouldn’t be a surprise due in part to the role of dopamine in the learning process. The human brain is attuned to novelty, and when we learn something new the reward center in our brain is activated.

For example, take this quick geography quiz:

1) Which city is farther west – Reno, NV or San Diego, CA?

2) Which city is farther north – Philadelphia, PA or Rome, Italy?

Perhaps you can remember the feel-good rush of mastering where different places are located on the globe. Geography provides unending opportunities to learn something new.

I’ve become obsessed lately with a Facebook page entitled Simon Shows You Maps.  On the page are wacky maps such as “The World According to Frank Zappa,” (who once said you can’t be a real country unless you have a beer and an airline). Another post shows the percent of people in various countries who believe in life after death. Yet another entry shows the location of various Seinfeld scenes on a map of Manhattan.

But a map that caught my attention lately is one provided by Google showing my own travel history (for as long as I’ve toted along a cell phone, at least):

Now that I have sufficiently distracted you, back to the geography quiz. San Diego is farther west, and Philadelphia is farther north, right? *Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt*

According to research on cognitive maps, people often use a rotation heuristic, which means we tend to see figures as more vertical or horizontal than they actually are. So, people tend to envision the coastline of California as vertical, even though it is curved:

And other research demonstrates the alignment heuristic, which is our tendency to line up two separate geographic entities. An example of the alignment heuristic is that many people place the center of the United States directly across from the center of Europe. But Philadelphia (in the northern US) sits at approximately 40 degrees north latitude, whereas Rome (in southern Europe) is actually farther north of Phili at around 42 degrees.

So how do you feel right now? If you’ve never heard of the rotation and alignment heuristics, you might feel a little glittery after-glow from the novelty/surprise of it all. Our students are just as attuned to novelty and surprise as we are. As such, injecting the new and unexpected in our lessons is a powerful way to stimulate learning.

And yes, the irony of the first paragraph of this post is not lost on me. AI is nothing if not novel, and I know I’ll get a little buzz from reading everyone’s AI posts this week. So, thanks in advance for the learner’s high!