By Susan Fein, Instructional Designer, OSU Ecampus
I recently volunteered to lead a book club at my institution for staff participating in a professional development program focused on leadership. The book we are using is The 9 Types of Leadership by Dr. Beatrice Chestnut. Using principles from the enneagram personality typing system, the book assesses nine behavioral styles and assesses them in the context of leadership.
At the same time, a colleague asked me to review a book chapter draft she is co-authoring that summarizes contemporary learning pedagogical approaches. These theories are derived from every conceivable arena, including psychology, philosophy, epistemology, neuroscience, and so on. In both of these situations, I found myself immersed in far-reaching and seemingly unlimited perspectives, principles, beliefs and approaches to explain the constructs of human behavior.
Was the universe trying to tell me something?
Here’s What Happened
To prepare for the book club, I completed five or six free online tests designed to identify my predominant enneagram style. Imagine my surprise when my results were all different! A few trends emerged, but the tests failed to consistently identify me as the same enneagram type. Does that mean the tests were flawed? Certainly that may be a partial contribution. After all, these were not the full-length battery that would be used if I were paying for an assessment administered by a certified enneagram practitioner.
But frankly, I think the variation had more to do with me. My mood, the time of day, my frame of mind; was I hungry, was I tired and a myriad of other factors likely affected my responses. The questions were subjective, scenario-based choices, so depending on my perspective in that instant, my selection varied, producing significantly different results. I suddenly realized that I wasn’t the same person from moment to moment!
Does that sound absurdly obvious? Was this a “duh” moment? At one level, yes, but for me, it was also an “ah-ha” moment. As educators, do we expect students to respond or react in a predictable and consistent way? Is that practical or realistic? I don’t think so.
Now I was intrigued! How could my role as an instructional designer be enhanced and improved through recognition of this changeability? How might I apply this new insight to support the design and development of effective online learning?
I didn’t have a clear-cut answer but I recognized a strong desire to communicate this new-found awareness to others. My first thought was to find research articles. Google Scholar to the rescue! After a nearly fruitless search, I found two loosely-related articles. I realized I was grasping at straws trying to cull out a relevant quote. I had to stop myself; why did I feel the need to cite evidence to validate my incident? I was struggling with how to cohesively convey my thoughts and connect them in a practicable, actionable way to my job as an instructional designer. My insight felt important and worth sharing via this blog post, but what could I write that would be meaningful to others? I was stumped!
I decided I should talk it over with a colleague, and that opened up a new inquiry into design thinking. Rushing back to my computer, I pulled up images of the design thinking process, trying to incorporate the phases into my experience. Was my insight empathy? Did it fit with ideation? Once again, I had to force myself to stop and just allow my experience to live on its own, without support from theories, models, or research.
In desperation, I sought advice from another trusted co-worker, explaining my difficulty unearthing some significant conclusion. We had a pleasant conversation and she related my experience to parenting. She said that sometimes she lets stuff roll right off when her teenager acts out, but at other times, under nearly identical circumstances, she struggles to hold it together and not scream. Then she mentioned a favorite educational tool, the grading rubric, and I was immediately relieved. Yes, that’s the ticket! I can relate my situation to a rubric. Hurray! This made sense. I rewrote my blog post draft explaining how rubrics allow us to more fairly and consistently assess student work, despite changes in mood, time of day, energy level, and all the other tiny things that affect us. Done!
Satisfied, I asked a third colleague to review my draft and offer comments. Surely she would be approving. After all, there were no facts, tips, tools, research or actionable conclusions to correct. What could she possibly find to negatively critique? She felt that the ending was rushed and artificially trying to solve a problem. Oh, my, how on target she was! I realized that I had no idea how to elegantly extricate myself from this perilous journey I’d started. My blog posts are usually research-based summaries of the benefits of active learning, blended learning and the like. Safe and secure ground. What was I doing writing a personal reflection with absolutely no solid academic foundation? This was new and scary territory.
Who Cares? I Do
In the end, I had to let go of my need to cite valid research-based arguments. I gave up my desire to offer pithy words of wisdom or quotes from authorities. Ultimately, this was a personal reflection and, as my colleague gently reminded me, I had to be vulnerable.
So what, exactly, is my point? What is it about those chameleon-like outcomes that feels important to share? What do I want to say as a take-away? Honestly, I’m not sure. I only know that in recognizing the influence of human factors on my moment-to-moment reactions, I was unexpectedly expanded. I felt more empathy for the faculty I work with and the students they teach. (Maybe I can fit design thinking in here after all…kidding!) I sensed a stronger connection to my humanity. I deepened my compassion. But is any of this important? I mean, really, who cares?
I do. I care. I work with people and for people. I work to support student success. My job allows me to partner with instructors and bolster their confidence to have positive impact on their students’ futures. If I am more open, more inclusive, more humble, more willing to consider other people’s ideas or perspectives, that’s not such a bad thing. And I don’t need research to validate my experience. It’s okay for me to just be present to a new awareness. It’s okay for me to just be human.