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Write6x6

Rest is Holy; It is Not a Reward

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I organized my office to be a place of comfort, both for myself and my students. There are scrolls, books, fidget toys, plushies, small hard candies, and comfortable seating specifically to encourage students to be comfortable when they stop by. Students regularly tell me that my office is “Cozy.” What they notice first is the comfortable chair with the soft pillow and the shelf of fidget toys and hard candy. What they don’t notice is a small, bright yellow Post-it note, set at exactly my eye level, beside my computer. It is not particularly prominent to anyone but me. But for me, it is the most important thing on that wall.

It reads: Rest is holy; it is not a reward.

I place a lot of value on my productivity, which is not a particularly healthy mindset to have. Sadly, I gained that mindset in my previous employer. Before my current position, I was employed at a toxic work location that had a lot of negative attributes. One of those was the expectation that employees would be productive in all situations without reward. As a parent of small children, I worked in that environment under a cloud of fear that I would be fired. I was undervalued and underpaid, and the experience left lasting scars on how I operate in the workforce. I also have a streak of perfectionism that gets in the way of just getting the work done. So, I may finish my work, but since it is never perfect, there are times I will spend a lot of effort and energy to fix those things that don’t necessarily need to be fixed. I have learned to remind myself that I “can’t let perfection get in the way of good enough”, but that is a discussion for another day.

So, this is how I found myself in Spring Break of 2021, running on empty.

I recognized that I had not taken a break in over a year. I had been in the same basic situation the year before with the COVID flip to online, and my teaching over the summer had meant I had little to no actual breaks. I chose to use my winter break to refine the OER textbook I had worked on, and I had even added additional work with the district OER committee. I could hear my internal voice telling me that I really needed to take a break, but I kept thinking that I needed to prepare for my class stuff with the computer issues, and I felt guilty about “letting my students down.”

Dear reader, have you ever felt guilty about taking a break? Were you ever afraid that stopping would cause more problems than just getting through it all? Have you ever said to yourself, “I will rest when…” and then just continued? Because that was the frame of mind I was in. I kept charging forward. I just need to make it to Spring Break. I just need to make it to Summer. I just need to get through Summer School. When you push yourself that hard, something is going to give.

I have been teaching for over 25 years now. I hit burnout at year 15 and had to take a year’s sabbatical to find myself and my love of teaching again. Having gone through it once, I could see the signs in myself. The passion that had carried me through years of teaching was fading out. And my body, which had been keeping score all along, finally sent me a bill I couldn’t ignore. I had to take that sabbatical to find my way back to the love of teaching.

And so, here I was, winding my way into a similar situation when I found myself in a conversation with a dear friend. When I pushed back on all of the things that I needed to do before I could rest, he said, “Rest is holy; it is not a reward.” A light came on in my brain. I came to the sudden realization that I had been treating my rest as a reward for my hard work rather than something I deserved, regardless of the level of effort I had been putting in. I wrote down his words on a Post-it note that now sits at eye level beside my computer as a reminder that I can’t decide to put off the break I need. I need to take those breaks, or I will be the one to break.

That which is holy is something to be protected and adhered to. And so I had to flip the script.

For me, making rest holy meant a change in how I approached my days, my weeks, and my vacation days. For my days, I allotted an hour of rest where I walk with my husband and share my day. It allows me to relax, talk to someone I care about, and get a little exercise. For my weeks, I have one day each week that I save as a day of rest. I might schedule family or friend activities, but it is a day when I plan my time to avoid thinking about work-related tasks. Sometimes that day is a weekend day, and sometimes I will reserve that day during the week, but there is always one day of rest where I don’t check my email, don’t look at my to-do list, and if something comes up, I will send myself a note to look at it when I am not resting. Because that rest has to be protected.

For me, gardening has become a big part of my rest. I spend time cultivating my plants and forming my own sanctuary just outside my door. The joy I felt when my pomegranate tree cutting got its first new leaves, or my amaryllis bloomed, that joy is like a deep, cleansing breath of fresh air to the soul.

For my vacation days, I set clear boundaries for myself. My proclivity for working and staying productive means that I can’t just sit around and do nothing. At least, not yet. But I am working on it. I sit in the garden with a cup of tea and watch the wildlife dance around the plants. I sit in the rocking chair in my home office and read a book that has no other purpose than to be entertaining. I walk with my family or friends and talk about all the things happening in their lives and mine.

And here is what I am learning. While I find myself more productive after my rest, I am coming to realize that my true goal is to recognize and embrace the value of rest for the sake of rest. That rest itself is the payoff. And that by continuing to treat rest as holy and not a reward, I will eventually come to value rest as the goal. Rest will be how I get back to being the me that is filled with passion for painting, scuba diving, and herpetology. Rest will be how I return to doing those fulfilling things that I enjoy but have been putting off until “I have more time”.

So, dear reader, as I am reflecting on my goal to make rest holy and to stop treating rest as a reward for my hard work, I invite you to reflect on your own treatment of rest. Are you rewarding yourself with your days of rest, or are you making your rest the important and holy time that is necessary to sustain the best you that you can be?

If I could go back to the Spring Break of 2021, I would tell myself to stop stressing over all the work I thought I needed to get done and take that breather that I should have been taking. Because I needed a break. I may have taken one 8 weeks later, but rest is not something we can afford to keep putting off.

I have to remind myself regularly that rest is not a reward, which is why that Post-it still sits on my wall. I am just as busy today as I was then, but honestly, I am in a much better place. Because I am finally learning how to rest.

6x6, Write6x6

A GCC Pot Pie

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This time last year, Mary Anne posted “Mary’s Teaching Pie,” and more recently, Lore posted “A Cake Made of Purpose”, which inspired me to write a recipe post of my own. If my work at GCC were a recipe, it would be a pie: A GCC Pot Pie, a recipe for something warm, structured, and nourishing.

Every semester, when I step into the metaphorical kitchen of GCC, a hot and busy location filled with activities and opportunities, I am delighted at what is produced. My GCC kitchen is the classroom, the Gaucho Urban Garden, the faculty senate meetings, and the “pit” where the dragons are slain.

Pot pie isn’t particularly glamorous or exciting. Rather, a hot pot pie is something warm and wonderful; humble, hearty, and made with care. It is a golden crust holding together the hot, tasty filling. It is my work at GCC.

The Crust

A good crust is firm but not rigid. It holds the shape without immediately crumbling under pressure, and provides a foundation for the rest of the pie. This would be the structure, the rubrics, defined expectations, and purposeful lessons.

Starting the Filling

Students walk into the classroom carrying their doubts and fears; their worries and expectations. So a gravy of patience is necessary to loosen it up. Encouragement is necessary to make that gravy thick and hearty.

Mentoring students, being willing to work with them even after the classes are done, encouraging them to reach their potential, and having them continue to stop by years after they have completed my courses with the knowledge that they are always welcome, that is one good gravy. It is my way of keeping the kitchen warm enough to help those students rise.

Fold in Vegetables

GCC sits in a food desert, one of many around our state. I have talked many times about my work with the English students in the Gaucho Urban Garden. Well, my time with Dr. Angela Schwendiman and Mr. Jared Mann has led to conversations and now action on the creation of a campus food forest. The food forest will be a living statement that we grow what our community needs. I have had the pleasure to watch my students grow in more ways than one as they help to plant and harvest vegetables and fruits as part of their research. And their involvement in this burgeoning project is more than a little exciting.

Then there is the club work. Being a club advisor is incredibly rewarding, particularly when the other advisors are from different departments. The Dungeons and Dragons Knights of Pen and Paper club offers the students a place where they can find fellowship. Students who might otherwise be reluctant readers are transformed into storytellers, and recently, the club collaborated with the library on a club READ poster. These students are declaring quite clearly, “We Belong at GCC”. This is a literal and metaphorical folding in of vegetables.

Seasoning

Faculty senate work is a seasoning. As a faculty senator, I try to make sure my colleagues’ voices are heard and carried into rooms where decisions are made. I bring back concerns and try to make sure those concerns are addressed.

The Secret Ingredient

The thing that makes this pot pie work is one special ingredient. Belonging. Belonging is the focus of my doctoral research, and the longer I study it, the more I see it in everything I do. The students who keep coming back because they feel welcomed; the D&D tables filled with different ages, backgrounds, cultures, and majors; the garden where composition lessons have become something the students can hold in their hands; the classroom where every week the students are reminded that they are supposed to be there, that they belong. Research tells us that students who feel like they belong are engaged, take risks, and persist. They come to class, to the garden, to the D&D tables because they feel like they belong to something special. We Gaucho Back has solid meaning.

Belonging isn’t a seasoning or a garnish; it is in every layer: the crust, the gravy, the vegetables, even the seasoning. It can’t be tasted in isolation because it is what makes this pot pie work.

In my recipe, belonging is the first thing added, and the last.

Bake and Serve

Spoon all that wonderful goodness into the shell and lay the top crust over, pressing down the edges. This dish has a lot going on inside, so there needs to be a few vents to allow it to breathe. Bake in Arizona temperatures. When the crust is a golden brown and the filling bubbles up through the vents, it is ready to serve.

Make sure to serve while still warm. Pot Pie is best while it is still piping hot.

That is my recipe for the work I do at GCC.

Bon Appétit!

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

GCC Students, Glendale Community College, student success, Write6x6

Coming Full Circle

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Many years ago, I was a student at Glendale Community College, couch surfing to avoid homelessness and struggling to finish a successful semester. An instructor noticed, offered support, and helped me when I needed it most. Today, I stand in front of my own classroom at GCC, given the opportunity to pay that kindness forward. This is the power of community colleges, and it’s why I chose to teach here.

Community colleges have always existed to bridge gaps. When Joliet Junior College opened its doors in 1901 as a direct connection to the high school, it addressed a fundamental inequity: higher education was largely reserved for white, moderately wealthy, male landowners. The 1944 GI Bill expanded this mission, and when John W. Snyder’s report on “The Veteran and Higher Education” challenged President Truman to examine what higher education could become, the resulting Truman Commission report transformed the landscape. The Commission wanted students of all social and economic backgrounds to access higher education, to create better citizens and a stronger society. Their vision worked. Campuses became more inclusive, enrolling Black students, women, and other minorities in unprecedented numbers. Today, community colleges exist in every congressional district in the United States, continuing that mission of access and opportunity.

In 2022, I was part of a conversation with then Under Secretary James Kvaal of the U.S. Department of Education that crystallized why this mission still matters. He spoke about the inequities perpetuated by institutions that are “proud to turn students away” and emphasized that community colleges have a vital role, particularly for students at “lower and medium income levels.” Higher education, he said, needs to meet students where they are and consider their mental health and financial needs as a whole person, not just an enrollment number.

This is exactly what community colleges do. We try to do so much for everyone, working to remove the barriers to education. And in doing so, each of us makes a tangible difference in students’ lives.

In my first semester teaching as an OYO, fresh back in the United States after a decade abroad, a student confided that he was couch surfing at different friends’ houses because he was homeless. The situation was affecting his ability to complete coursework. As a new hire, I wasn’t yet familiar with all the campus supports available, but I knew some community resources. I brought him information and suggested places on campus where he could study and complete homework with reliable access to technology and space. That student finished the semester successfully.

Years later, as a newly hired probationary faculty member, I worked with a student facing financial issues that threatened to derail their entire educational pathway. This time, I knew exactly what the college could do to help and how to connect the student to those resources. They not only finished the semester successfully but went on to enroll in a bachelor’s program, which they’re on track to complete.

I used to work at universities where, as Mr. Kvaal noted, some were indeed “proud to turn students away” from their educational hopes and dreams. The perspective at Glendale Community College is drastically different. Here, instructors not only have the opportunity to support students, but that support is available, accessible, and actively encouraged.

For me, GCC represents a full-circle life experience. I was that struggling student once, uncertain about my future, navigating homelessness while trying to get an education. An instructor saw me, helped me, and changed the trajectory of my life. Now, I get to do the same for my students. I am living proof of the difference we make in the lives of our students, and I teach at a community college that does its very best to make that difference every single day for our students and our community.

6x6, AI, empowerment, engaging students

The Art and Science of AI in Education

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The Need for Deeper Examination

Educational Technology, as a field of study, is all about recognizing how technology helps (and hinders) student learning. Recognizing how we support “old school” practices with technology, and temper “new” practices with proven strategies. Ultimately, it’s about recognizing balance as an essential tool for success… and sanity.

Cue AI’s continued dramatic entrances into our sacred spaces of learning and tranquil chaos. AI has become a destabilizing force for industry, arts, education, and society at large. Higher education, especially, has met AI with hesitancy, distrust, and a healthy dose of skepticism. We’ve all thought it and heard it:

“AI is going to make teachers irrelevant!”

“This generation will never learn core skills because of this technology!”

“Our students will become too reliant on technology at the expense of critical thinking!”

“This technology is going to destroy industries and cost jobs!”

I offer you this sobering thought… similar concerns have been presented during several technological revolutions of our past:

  • The Printing Press (1450s)
  • The Personal Calculator (1970s)
  • The Personal Computer (1970s)
  • The World Wide Web (1991)

Ironically, each of these technologies is now central to Higher Education and can be credited, in part, with our continued survival. Personally, as a Tech Enthusiast and a born-and-raised Computer Geek, I feel we should always meet technology with a healthy dose of cynicism. Does this technology actually make our lives better/easier? Do we actually need this technology, or is it a “nice to have”? One of the many lessons learned from the Pandemic is that technology has its limitations, but can also be a surprisingly powerful source of connection and creativity.

Let’s explore these two questions as they relate to AI and the wider world…

Does AI make our lives better/easier?

Every time I ask myself this question, it gets harder to answer.

As a creative, it’s made my industry quite frustrating. It’s led to debates questioning whether the value of artists and artistry outweighs profits and efficiency. Is the value of art rooted in its ability to be consumed, or in the act of its creation? More on this in a bit.

As a Graduate Student and a notoriously slow reader, AI was a lifesaver. Being able to use programs like NotebookLM each week to generate a podcast summary of my readings allowed me to focus on the big picture first, then strategically consume the sections that resonated and challenged my views, rather than skimming everything and hoping for the best. It was also a lifesaver to ask AI to help me find a quote or statistic in my readings, instead of having to sift through hundreds of readings from the whole semester in the hopes that I wasn’t just hallucinating the idea.

As a facilitator and trainer, AI has helped me break down ideas and concepts into more digestible steps. Helping me rephrase, re-examine, and find new ways to engage. I can’t describe the number of times I’ve asked AI, “Does that make sense?” and been humbly reminded that I need to remember what it was like to learn and not assume shared knowledge or experience.

Do we need AI in education?

The short answer is no.

Educators will keep on educating without any assistance from AI. Education predates the internet, the printing press, and even our ability to make tools. We’re just fine without AI.

But let’s circle back to rephrase that earlier question about artists. Is the value of knowledge and education rooted in the ability for it to be consumed/absorbed, or in the act and experience of learning itself?

What does it mean “to learn”?

  • Is the point of learning math solely in the ability to complete math worksheets, or is it about teaching students to learn to reason, recognize patterns, and think critically about how we solve the problems of our world?
  • Is the point of learning how to replace the engine in a car only about the exact placement of the nuts and bolts? Or is it also about developing workflows and processes that promote accuracy, efficiency, and anticipate problems before they arise?
  • Is the point of learning to write an essay rooted in our ability to write a perfectly formatted paper? Or is it about learning to express our thoughts and emotions, develop our sense of self, reason, and build meaning, and share with others?
  • Is the point of learning to act the ability to memorize and recite a monologue from Shakespeare? Or is it about recognizing the universal emotions and experiences across time and space, about developing empathy, about recognizing and clarifying our intent as we navigate the world?

I’d like to challenge you to take a look at your subjects and look at the core of the lessons your field has to offer (not just the skills!). Then ask yourself whether that is something AI can replicate.

For most of us, the answer is no.

The Art and The Science

When I used to teach leadership, we’d talk about the two sides. The Art and the Science. The “science” of leadership is what you’ll hear from every TED Talk and CEOs’ latest book. It’s a series of processes and proven strategies… It’s a formula. However, the Art of leadership is about application. I can put every leadership problem into a formula, but do I have the soft skills, empathy, communication skills, experience, humility, etc., to put the output of my formula to good use?

In teaching, we often focus on that “science” aspect. If we want students to learn to write, we ask them to write an essay. We give them the tools they need, the expected formula, and the rules. However, all AI knows is the “science” of writing. The patterns and formulas we so carefully teach our students. But what about the Art of writing the essay? Not the ability to phrase words “prettily” or use an Oxford comma in a way that would make our High School English Teachers weep with joy. No, it’s about formulating ideas and expression. AI can imitate this, just like a leader can imitate the formulas they’ve read about, but it will be hollow until we add that art… that sliver of imperfect humanity.

So, should we ask them to write the metaphorical essay? I beg the question: what about that essay can’t the students ask an AI to do for them? Or, perhaps more importantly, in what ways can we use the essay as a tool to facilitate a larger lesson on the importance of discovering our voice and finding a balance between expectation, efficiency, and expression of ideas?

Education doesn’t need AI

Our students don’t need AI

Our World doesn’t need AI

But it’s here, and we’re all still trying to find a balance between technology and humanity because of it. We need to find our path to collaborating with AI in a way that furthers our fields, rather than saturates them.

Collaboration with AI in education doesn’t mean outsourcing thinking or chasing efficiency for efficiency’s sake. It means approaching AI as something to question, critique, edit, and wrestle with. Our role isn’t to compete with AI or to ban its use out of fear. We’ve been given an opportunity to reflect and redesign learning experiences that ask students to do what AI can’t do: make meaning, exercise judgment, reflect on values, and develop a sense of voice and intent.

Our students will enter a world that invites, tempts, or requires the use of AI. Are we preparing them for that world? Higher education has long been a space where we help learners navigate the complexity and ambiguity of our society with thoughtfulness and preparation. This moment offers us an opportunity to reexamine what we value most about learning and to intentionally teach students how to balance the science of efficiency with the art of being human.

Write6x6

Six Songs Sum It Up 🎶

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One Huge Hit for My Instructor Role

You know how some people take the scenic route through college? Well, I took the cross-country road trip version. As a first-generation college student, I ended up on the nine-year plan to earn my bachelors degree. I went full-time, dropped out, came back part-time, and eventually turbo-charged my way to the finish line with 12 credit hours in one summer because nothing says “I love suffering” like cramming an entire semester’s worth of work into two months. To fund this grand academic adventure, I typically worked two or three jobs at once and picked up some side-hustle (babysitting, bartending at weddings, etc.) when available. Despite the chaos, I made it! So to all students, the ones who struggle especially, my song is “Don’t Stop Beliving” by Journey.

The Playlist of the Rest of My Day

After surviving the slow-burn sitcom that was my college experience, I now have a real grown-up job. But let’s be honest, work comes with its own theme songs.

🎵 “Another One Bites the Dust” – Queen
Coming back from vacation is never relaxing because the minute I open my inbox, I see a mountain of emails. That first day back? It’s me and the systematic destruction of unread messages. As each email gets answered, I hum this song like a victorious warrior in battle.

🎵 “Misbehavin’” – The Righteous Gemstones
When I need a good laugh, this ridiculous song from The Righteous Gemstones is my go-to. It’s weird, it’s catchy, and it makes me giggle like an unsupervised child. A+ entertainment.

🎵 “Under Pressure” – Queen & David Bowie
Some days, the to-do list is longer than a Costco receipt, and deadlines are coming at me like an over-caffeinated freight train. That’s when this song kicks in, and I dramatically stare at my workload like I’m in a high-stakes poker game that I am determined to win!

🎵 “Game of Thrones Theme” – Fender Custom Shop Edition
Academia is basically Westeros, but with fewer dragons and luckily no whitewalkers. Like the nine great houses of Westeros, each Maricopa school has its own agenda, every department has its own demands, and navigating it all feels like spending a week in Kings Landing where no one feels truly safe. To keep my balance, my background music is the Game of Thrones theme, where in the end, good triumphed and evil failed. I am especially fond of the version with Brad Paisley because he is hot, and Tom Morello (Rage Against The Machine), Scott Ian (Anthrax), and Nuno Bettencourt (Extreme) because they are all bad ass!  

🎵 “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” – Cyndi Lauper
My favorite part of my job? Event planning. Every semester, the CTLE hosts a conference, and my main goal is to make sure everyone has a blast. So naturally, my theme song for these events is Cyndi Lauper’s iconic jam because if learning isn’t at least a little fun, what’s the point?

And there you have it friends, my work life in music. Whether it’s battling inboxes, dodging deadlines, or throwing an academic party, there’s a song for every situation.

Write6x6

For The Love Of Dogs

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If you know me, you know I love dogs. Actually, I love all animals, but let’s be honest, dogs are my absolute favorite. My husband and I take our pups everywhere, including our favorite watering hole, because what’s a cold beer or mimosa without a little dog hair in it? Also, please take a moment to appreciate my “Dog Mom” hat—it’s basically my crown.

Now, being the devoted Dog Mom that I am, I even found a way to incorporate my dogs into my Psychology 101 class. Enter Sophia, my adorable, all-white pup, who just so happens to be deaf, but can still perform an impressive lineup of tricks. She’s living proof that positive reinforcement works, which makes her the perfect assistant for my lecture on reinforcement and punishment. The plan? Bring her to class, let her show off, and wow my students with her talent. Easy, right? WRONG.

The Great Trick-Tastrophe

My class starts at 5:30 p.m., so earlier that day, I brought Sophia to campus with me because timing is everything when you’re managing both psychology lessons and a diva dog’s schedule. Naturally, I spent the afternoon parading her around like a proud stage mom, showing off her tricks to colleagues while showering her with treats. Because, obviously, when you’re a star, you deserve unlimited snacks.

Fast forward to class time. I set the stage, tell my students to prepare for an awe-inspiring demonstration, grab a treat, and give Sophia the hand signal for a trick. The students lean in, ready for the magic to happen. And then…NOTHING.

Sophia stares at me, looks at the treat….then casually turns her head away like I just asked her to file my taxes. Okay, no problem. Maybe she’s just getting her bearings. I move to face her, give her another hand signal. She turns away again.

I try once more. Nada. Zilch. Zero effort from the star of the show.

Meanwhile, my students are giving me the look, you know the one that says, Uh-huh, sure, lady. Your dog does tricks. And I’m the Queen of England.

At this point, panic sets in. I’m flailing. I start doing the tricks myself, demonstrating each one as if my body flopping around like a fish out of water is somehow going to inspire Sophia to follow suit. ‘Sophie sit!’ I desperately request with exaggerated hand signals, then I sit down on the floor explaining this is what Sophie would do. “She rolls over!”  I roll over. “She spins!” I spin in a dizzying circle. I am now fully performing my own dog’s tricks in front of a room full of bewildered college students!!! I’ve become the entertainment.

The Peanut Butter Plot Twist

At last, I accept defeat. I remind my class that I train Sophia solely with positive reinforcement, no punishment, just rewards. And even though she didn’t perform, she still deserves a special treat.

So, I pull out the good stuff – a peanut butter bone, her all-time favorite.

Suddenly, Sophia’s head whips around so fast I’m pretty sure she invented a new canine dance move. She sniffs the air, locks eyes on that peanut butter prize, and BAM – she’s in full performance mode! Trick after trick, with the energy of a dog who had definitely not just spent the last ten minutes ignoring me.

The students go from skeptical to cheering in seconds, applauding Sophia’s newfound enthusiasm. And me? I take the opportunity to turn this epic disaster into a teachable moment: positive reinforcement only works if the reward is actually valuable. After a day of tiny treats, Sophia was over it. But the legendary peanut butter bone? Now that was worth working for.

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, no matter how well you plan, things fall apart in a spectacularly humiliating fashion. But when disaster strikes, just roll with it – literally, if necessary. Because at the end of the day, the show must go on! And if you can’t convince your dog to perform, at least be willing to steal the spotlight yourself.

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.