Oh So Meta: Learning About Learning

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Playing Chess

image via williamhartz on flickr

One of the interesting things about being a learning designer is the metacognition I now have about my own learning. It changed my perception of my abilities and my willingness to try new things.

Historically, I learned new things fairly easily, and when I didn’t, well … I just assumed it wasn’t for me. I never really let myself struggle with much – I was either good at something, or not. Fortunately, I happened to do well in the one environment young people spend a lot of time in: school. And I got a lot of positive feedback from adults for academic successes. But that environment, with it’s controls, metrics, and rigid schedule, does not really translate to the real world all that well.

It was only when I learned about the importance of failure in learning that I realized I had benn robbed of many opportunities to safely fail. And that I had deprived myself of many of those chances in adulthood out of a fear, out of a lack of practice at failing, and persevering anyway.

Now, when I get frustrated with a new task, it’s much easier to detach and recognize where my frustration comes from. It’s not that the process is stupid (even when it is), or that I simply can’t do that kind of task (even when I can’t), but that I didn’t try enough yet. It’s freeing in a way to grant myself much more control over tackling new challenges, rather than resign to a neat dichotomy of things I am good at/things I am not.

My fear of failure runs pretty deep, but the recognition that it is that fear, and not an inability to do something, that most often holds me back, has helped me to face it more courageously. And I’m enjoying learning a lot of new things in the process.

What’s an Instructional Designer?

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I have a hard time succinctly explaining to others what I do. Most conversations go something like this:

“What do you do?”
“I’m an instructional designer.”
“Oh, that’s cool. An industrial designer.”
“No, an instructional designer.”
“Oh …” *loses interest and looks around for someone with sexier job to talk to*

After I recover from being less interesting than expected, I usually give a rambling explanation of what an instructional designer studies. Or I say, “I build online courses.” Which is what I do in my current position, but does not encompass all the practical applications of instructional design. Visually, instructional design is:

instructional design venn diagram

Or, the systematic design of instruction. Which has two sinister implications: 1) that  instruction is often not well-designed (true), and 2) robots are taking over education (not true … yet). It’s the practical understanding and application of educational psychology, systems thinking, and design that distinguishes instructional designers from teachers and trainers, who often have expertise in pedagogy, but not necessarily the other areas.

Educational psychology is the How -  How do people learn? How do we recall information, use it in context? How does one demonstrate mastery?

Systems thinking is the What – What is the training need? What are the instructional goals? What is the best way to meet those goals?

Design is the Why. Ok, no it’s not, but I’m running out of good question words. And I always have a lot of why questions around design – like, why do you think making the text hot pink will help the learner? Why do you like that animated dancing bear, and what does it have to do with clinical psychology? The design goal in an instructional context is to create intuitive, organized learning events and spaces and to use elements of design (typography, space, media) to ehance learning rather than distract.

Instructional design is one of the many fields that few young people ever hear about, but attracts professionals from myriad backgrounds – teachers, trainers, engineers, programmers, graphic designers, technical writers, project managers, etc. It’s proven to be a good fit for me, given the balance in creative and organizational skills the profession demands. It can totally be as sexy as industrial design.

Blogging, High Expectations, and NaBloPoMo

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super woman

image via Jimmy Tyler on flickr

November seems to be National Ambitious Endeavor Month, whether NaNoWriMo (which I’ve “failed” twice, maybe three times), NaBloPoMo (whose acronym reads vaguely like a comic book fight), or Movember (I’m thinking mutton chops this year). Which makes perfect sense to me. Why not attempt glory in this in-between month, right after the hedonism of summer, and before the sloth of winter (my nickname, by the way)? Throw in an elaborate turkey dinner with family, and November becomes the month of highest expectations.

I always begin writing projects with the highest expectations. And I’m learning that it is often these expectations that are my undoing, simply because I can’t live up to them. At least not right away. I haven’t persisted past the trough of disappointment to see if I could live up to them, given enough time and practice.

NaBloPoMo is an ideal exercise, because the emphasis is on the practice. On just showing up. So that’s my goal for the month – just to “show up” and write. And to not get bogged down in categories. I have no fewer than 11 blogs, with maybe a total of a month worth of posts between them. Each born from an idea of relative merit, and soon abandoned when the next idea came along. I have a strong need to categorize, to compartmentalize. But I realize that the only way for blogging to be successful is to integrate more, to reconcile my selves to one voice.

So it begins. Day one of NaBloPoMo. Shut up. I know it’s day two. I’m always late for everything.

What Instructional Designers Can Learn from Guitar Hero

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When it comes to the rabid popularity of the video game Guitar Hero, there are two camps: those who think Guitar Hero brings with it the end of any real future guitar heroes, and those who think that a new generation excited about Purple Haze is the best thing to happen to guitar since Jimi Hendrix.

I am with the latter group. Against all odds, I am obsessed with Guitar Hero. From the first time I put my hands on the color-coded fret buttons on the controller and played the dizzying array of notes on screen, I loved this game. And this 30-year-woman hasn’t liked (or really played) a video game since Space Invaders.

But Guitar Hero has done more than facilitate drunken evenings of pretending that I’m a rock star. It actually encouraged me to take drum lessons. I have never played a musical instrument before, and suddenly I have a room in my house dedicated to both my simulated drum controller and a real drum kit. When I explained to my 22-year-old drum teacher that I’m taking lessons because of Guitar Hero, he just looked at me incredulously, but I wonder if there are more and more music instructors out there hearing the same thing.

As a user, Guitar Hero is simply an infectiously fun way to listen to music, play video games, and hang out with friends (a.k.a – the band).

As an instructional designer, I know that Guitar Hero is compelling because it is designed so well. And IDs and GH skeptics alike would do well to poke around under the hood and understand why the game is so effective.

GH simulates the real thing. The game design closely simulates the experience of being a rock star, from practicing in your mom’s basement to going on a bus tour to hearing adoring (or booing) fans. The user gets to immediately play full length rock songs, instead of beginning with the do rei mi’s.

GH is in the “zone.” Like other video games, GH is designed in increasing levels of difficulty that consistently challenge the user as he or she improves. Or, as Vygotsky would say, the game play is pleasantly frustrating. Not so with real instruments. For many, playing a new instrument is just frustrating. The learning curve is steep, and many learners don’t persevere across the chasm that is the first note to anything resembling a song.

GH uses skills in context. Okay, so maybe hitting the red button isn’t anything like strumming a note, but the game design makes use of musical skills in a context. Players can develop rhythm, timing, and a good ear while going on a virtual tour playing gigs in Europe. While the music student struggles to understand why she must play scales over and over again, the video rock star is practicing a hard guitar solo over and over to beat the game.

GH is social. GH is a social game, and not only allows up to four players locally, but also any number of people online. The first night we competed online against other players, we improved immediately because the players online were just better than we were. The community of practice for GH is huge, and fosters healthy competition and social interaction. It’s like bandmates meeting up for practice in the garage and then competing in a battle of the bands, except the GH player can do it at any level of ability and find community.

Guitar Hero has had an invigorating effect on the gaming and music industries alike, and time will tell what impact the game will have on students of music. GH has made a gamer and a drummer out of me, though those two things are not mutually exclusive in my case. My simulated drum playing improves my real drumming, and vice versa, and I chalk it all up to good design.