“Prediction is very difficult, especially about the future.”
It’s been two weeks since we kicked off this year’s university teaching project–two weeks largely filled with the flood of details that need attention to launch the school year. The University Teaching Project brings faculty members to work in small groups to revise one of their courses and to develop a portfolio of their reflections and decisions along the way. The process focuses on common instructional tasks like defining course objectives, tying assessments to objectives and having colleagues visit your class to help develop new perspectives. Every once in a while, though, Dean Schwartz throws in a zinger to keep things interesting.
For me the first zinger came early in the planning process. The question was phrased something like, “if you were to run into a student from the class you’re restructuring 10 years from now, what would you want them to remember about the experience?” Answering that question really requires an act of imagination to envision the kind of world our students will be inhabiting 10 years from now and how their learning today might fit into that world.
Back in 1693 it seemed safe to assume that the world would be pretty similar only a decade into the future, but that’s certainly not the case today. John Seely Brown, the former Chief Scientist at Xerox PARC, suggests that we consider the impact of the “digital power law” when we try to get a vision of the future. He contends that our access to learning and information will be shaped by the interaction of three technological trends and one human inclination.
The trends have been playing out for the last 20 years. The processing power of a desktop computer has doubled roughly every two years, the speed of a network connection has doubled each year, and the amount of storage you can buy for a dollar has doubled each year. These trends will probably slow a bit in light of the recent economic unpleasantness, but it seems unlikely that they’ll stall altogether. Even with moderating growth, in 10 years, we can expect that the average faculty desktop computer:
Will be around 10-30 times faster than today, depending on the ability of the software to catch up with the hardware. (The machines that we are installing now on faculty desktops have about 200 times the processing power of the 486′s from a decade ago.)
Will connect to the network at speeds 10-20 times faster than today. (When we finish the current upgrade, the average desktop will have 100 times the bandwidth it had a decade ago.)
Will come with 10 times more storage and a seamless easy way to back it up. (The average desktop machine today has about 1000 times more storage than a decade ago.)
JSB contends that the overall digital potential of this kind of growth can be estimated as the product of these three growth rates. (His heuristic suggests that our current computer user has 200 X 100 X 1000 times more raw computing power that was available a little more than a decade ago. A decade from now, our average user will have 20 X 20 x 10–about 4000 times more computing potential than is available today–even with conservative estimates.)
If he’s even close to correct, 10 years from now our students will living in a world where their computing devices–however they are configured–will have almost unlimited power to calculate, manipulate text, create and edit audio and video, and to perform tasks that we can’t even imagine right now. What they do with that power may well be shaped by the classes they take as William and Mary undergraduates.
Even though I live with this stuff all day, it’s hard for me to envision how much different that world might be. When I came to William and Mary in April of 1998, Google didn’t exist as a company–that would have to wait until September. Now not a day goes by without multiple trips to Google search, mail, maps, and YouTube. (My own record of predication is actually pretty terrible. I’m still trying to live down telling Courtney that wireless was too low and insecure to ever have any future in higher education). Trying to figure out how our classes today can best prepare our students to use that potential truly is a zinger.
Next time, I’ll write about the human inclinations and how they might might shape the way these trends might impact on higher education.
For more thoughts on the future of educational technology, check my personal blog at generoche.net.
Source of Quote: Niels Bohr, Danish physicist (1885 – 1962)
More information about JSB and the digital power law is available at CreatingThe21stCentury.org .
Photo by http://www.flickr.com/people/adrian_s/
What Should Our Students Remember
“Prediction is very difficult, especially about the future.”
Back when I was in journalism school–writing my stories for Daily Texan on a IBM Selectric–everyone was expected to develop a “beat.”
Your beat might be the night court and police station, the athletic
complex, the theaters, or some other part of the institution that you
knew better anyone else in the newsroom. Your goal as a beat reporter
was to build up a base of knowledge and a web of contacts that allowed
you to uncover news that others might miss. (For a while there actually
was a Pulitzer prize for “Beat Journalism.”)
Faculty bloggers don’t have formal beats the way that news reporters
do, but we do have areas of the college that we have inside and
specialized knowledge about. Some of those are formal and tied to our
jobs–I think a lot about emerging technology, classroom design, project
management and learning theory because my understanding of those topics
shape the decisions that I have to make every day.
My “beat” also includes lots of contacts in lots of places that
aren’t tied directly to the job. I spend about six hours a week on the
Arc Trainer at the Rec Center, some quality time on path or in the
halls chatting with other social scientists and a little time most days
at the Daily Grind. Those non-work related contacts provide some of the
most interesting insights into life at William and Mary, like this one
overheard at the Daily Grind.
Student A: One thing I want to be sure to do while I’m here is to take a class from Scott Nelson.
Student B: He’s great. When I grow up, I want to be like Scott Nelson.
Student C: That’s nothing. When I die, I want to come back as Scott Nelson.
In preparing for a presentation on course planning for Blackboard last week, I came upon a great course design tip sheet
at the Derek Bok Center for Teaching and Learning at Harvard. The sheet
begins with a couple of general questions and suggests that teachers
not think specific content until after they have thought carefully
about their overall purpose and about the expectations, capabilities
and needs of their students. Hidden in the midst of that checklist was
a question that has really captured my interest: “What’s the story line
for this course?”
I’d never thought of my courses as having “story lines”, but they
clearly do. The story is what pulls the disparate activities, topics
and conversations of a course into a meaningful whole. Each participant
constructs an individual narrative that persists long after the “facts”
and much of “the content” is forgotten. The story weaves the actions,
reactions, motivations, emotions, thoughts and behaviors into an unique
experience with the capacity to shape participants as active creators
of our own learning. As teachers we don’t control the entire story, but
we do get to shape it somewhat by the activities we choose and by the
way we interact with our students.
When we look back at the learning that has been most significant in
our own lives, we generally relate our experience as narrative. As
Gardner wrote about Professor Elizabeth Phillips:
I remember the room where I first heard her speak. No
one in my immediate family had been to college. I had no idea what to
expect. After that class, I left the room feeling dizzy, giddy, elated,
and not a little anxious, for everything had changed, and I knew I had
to at least try to be answerable to that revelation.
All of my classes have a common story line. My goal in the 15 weeks we’re together is to help all of us learn how to learn
more effectively. The central issue is developing new flexibility and
capacity in learning; content provides the tools by which we develop
those capacities. As the catalog outlines in the emerging technology
class, we’ll be thinking, talking and writing about a variety of topics
including past innovations, present applications, and future advances
in educational technology. We’ll look at these topics through multiple
theoretical lenses, including change theories, diffusion of
innovations, and learning theories. But the ultimate story of the
courses goes far beyond that–at least I hope it will.
My goal in designing the course is to prepare educators who are
confident in their ability to navigate in a world that is increasingly
dominated by information technology. If we’re successful, we’ll be more
prepared as teachers and administrators to help our own students deal
with increasing pace of change in their lives. Some of the themes that
I expect to emerge during my next class include ways that we can help
Manage their participation in government so that their rights to
privacy, security and access to information are protected from both
government agencies and corporate interests.
Keep personal information management skills up-to-date so that they can continue to be employable in a rapidly changing economy.
Manage their personal information both at home and at work to
protect themselves—data, passwords, and personal identity—from
intrusion and damage.
Use technology to overcome parochialism to become more active and effective citizens.
This has all the potential for a fascinating story.
This is the point in the year when many of us in the academic community begin to think really seriously about time. When “the summer” began last May, there seemed to be plenty of time to complete our projects, however optimistic or unrealistic our expectations. Now with 5 days to go before our faculty orientation time doesn’t look the same. My project list is longer than it was when I started, and my conversations on the path with others suggest that I’m not alone.
This summer, these final reflections on my time and how I invested it have been inescapably colored by the death of Randy Pausch, a man I never met but who I feel I know somewhat through the miracle of the internet. Last night I watched parts the “nuts and bolts” presentation on time management he did at UVA and thought about what a gift it was to be reminded of the importance of the individual decisions we make every day about meetings, phone calls, email and the other things that shape our lives.
We’re doing an experiment in the next month to track how those of us in the Academic Information Services group spend actually spend invest our time. Just a few days into the project, it’s already clear how extraordinarily difficult it is to try to focus energy and time on things that are important. Over the years, we’ve filled our lives with actions and decisions and habits that probably need to change to deal with the realities of our work lives now. Change of this magnitude is always tough, but letting others determine the directions of our lives is tougher in the long term.
A colleague of mine recently likened the course planning process to what goes on inside a sausage factory:
Over a century ago, the German statesman Otto Von
Bismarck supposedly said, “If you like laws and sausages, you should
never watch either one being made.” Same point can be made about the
way I construct course syllabi…
While some folks may be shocked by realities of how faculty members
plan their courses, I think there is real value to opening up the
process. In that spirit, I’m planning to use this blog to reflect on my
activities in preparing the Emerging Technologies in Education course that I’m planning for the fall. The planning model that I use looks something like this.
For me, course planning involves balancing three sets of
interlocking goals: the learning goals of the individual students, the
constraints (and affordances) of accomplishing those goals in a
credit-bearing college course, and the “institutional press” of
conducting the class within a specific institutional culture. When I
plan a class, I try to structure our time together in a way that does
justice to the complexity of these three sets of expectations. In a
perfect world, the goals would be largely aligned, but in the real
world of practice they seldom are.
As a course planner, I make decisions about structure, sequence,
timing, grading and the myriad of other details based on my individual
interpretation of the context of the class. There are at least four
lenses that I use to focus on the particulars of a class.
Educational Philosophy: Since the earliest scientific studies on curriculum, planners have noted that course design is a reflection of individual educational philosophy, and there is tremendous variation
in the fundamental world views that shape teachers’ decisions. While my
practice draws on a variety of perspectives–liberal education,
progressivism, sometimes even behaviorism–my primary decision-making
lenses are humanistic education and individualized instruction.
Authentic Learning: As an intellectual and genetic descendent of John Dewey, I’m committed to building classes that advance authentic learning:
learning that uses real-world problems and projects and that allow
students to explore and discuss these problems in ways that are
relevant to them.
Authentic Teaching: One of the dangers of a
scientific approach to teaching and learning is that it devalues the
relationship between teacher and learner. In planning courses, I try to
find topics, techniques and problems that connect to my genuine
interests and concerns. In Parker Palmer’s terms: “Our deepest calling
is to grow into our own authentic self-hood, whether it conforms to
some image of who we ought to be. As we do so, we will also find the
joy that every human being seeks–we will also find our authentic
service in the world. True vocation joins self and service, as Fredrick
Buechner asserts when he defines vocation as ‘the place where your deep
gladness meets the world’s deep need.’”
Communities of Practice:. I’ve come agree with
John Seeley Brown that one of the major goals of education is to bring
students into contact with divergent communities with distinct
understanding of knowledge and distinct ways of judging what is
interesting, valid and significant. The focus of a community of
practice is “learning to be” rather than merely mastering a body of
knowledge. A major question in my courses is what does it mean to be an
effective learner, citizen, teacher or administrator in a time of
unparalleled technological change.
Translating those broad principles into practice—a set of activities
and interactions, bounded by time and constrained by the realities of
“institutional press”—make the course planning process an enormously
complex one, but one that constitutes the heart of effective teaching.
Some time ago I was responsible for a camp in the Ardirondacks with
a big dam that controlled our lake. One summer we had some problems and
had to bring in an engineering firm to do some work, and one of the
engineers was explaining why building dams is so expensive. Generally
about 90% of the work is invisible: rerouting stream beds, pouring
footings and installing other infrastructure elements that, on the
surface, have noting to do with stopping the flow of water. While
that’s true, the entire project has no value unless you finish the job
and do the last 10% that actually stops the water.
In some ways many academic IT projects are a little like that, but
with the numbers reversed. Buying and installing hardware and software,
configuring systems and running pilot tests all take time and technical
expertise. But for many of our projects, the real work that produces
gains in teaching, learning or productivity just begins when those
initial projects are completed. Producing those gains may take years of
communication, evaluation, training and re-engineering. I wonder how
many of us really understand that and commit to finishing the job when
we launch some new initiative. Would we focus our time differently if
we were more realistic about what we were committing to?
One of my students came back to visit me after more than a year
working with African refugees. During the time that he was away, he
said that one of the things that he dreamed when he got back to US was
drinking a tall glass of cold orange juice. When he got back his home
in western New York, he headed down the the local Wegmans grocery store
make his dream come true–only to find that he had to chose from more
than 60 kinds–pulp, no pulp; with calcium or without; from concentrate
or not from concentrate. After a year living with virtually no choice
of what he would eat or drink or wear, he was so overwhelmed by the
possibilities that he left without making a decision.
Most Americans assume that choice is a good thing–and that more more
choice is better. Psychologist Barry Schwartz challenges central tenet
of western societies: freedom of choice. In Schwartz’s estimation,
choice has made us not freer but more paralyzed, not happier but more
dissatisfied. For a great introduction to Schwartz’s thinking on this
topic, check out his Ted Talk.
We see the problems with too much choice all the time as we help
users integrate technology into their teaching and research. Few users
even scratch the surface in using the software they purchase. Experts
find that most Word users utilize fewer than 5% of the features–even
those for whom word processing is the central productivity tool for
their work. One of the most difficult–but most important–tasks for
those of us in the Technology Integration Program is to find the
balance between unfettered choice and a unwarranted centralization that
chokes off creativity. We need to take the leadership in exploring new
technologies, recommending those that have the widest potential to
improve learning and then developing support mechanisms that help
faculty adopt new tools quickly and efficiently.
I’ll be writing more about these focused research projects as the
summer goes on, but I owe Susan three posts in the next three days, so
I’m going to bring this one to a close.
This is a quick follow-up to my last post
about choosing a writing strategy for your for your blog. In the last
post, I talked about treating your blog as an a forum to explore all
the interesting things that you learn about through the web, reading,
conversations, and all the other sources of information that come into
your personal information universe. Readers will seek out your blog as
a way of entering into your world and of finding resources that they
never would have found on their own.
Another strategy is to pick out a particular area of expertise and
write deeply and extensively about issues within that area. Readers
come to your site because you know more about this topic than almost
anyone else in the world. (Or at least on the internet.) The goal of
this type of blogging is summed up in this quote from Ron Gross’s book The Independent Scholar’s Handbook:
Max Schuster was not a man to mince words or to warm you
up with small talk. His words were well honed; he obviously had
delivered this message before and knew exactly what he wanted to say
and how he wanted to say it. Fixing me with a firm eye over the
glistening mahogany desktop he declared: “I have one bit of advice for
you–not just for success in this business, but personally. Begin at
once–not today or tomorrow or at some indefinite date, but right now,
at this precise moment–to chose some subject, some concept, some great
name or idea or idea in history on which you can eventually make
yourselves the world’s supreme expert. Start a crash program
immediately to qualify yourself for this self-assignment through
reading, research and reflection. In his librarylike office, such a
program did not seem impossible, as a generous slice of the world’s
wisdom was within arms reach.
In a world defined by the long tail, just about every topic needs its experts. One of my favorite examples has been
43 Folders where Merlin
Mann has turned his own inability to manage his time and his life into
what appears to be a full-time job. If you have a passion, no matter
how narrow, your blog can be a place to find others who share it.
This is a part of a series of
posts I’m doing in anticipation of my new role as a member of the
community of official bloggers at the College of William and Mary. The
goal is to identify some guidelines for blogging that have emerged from
my work with students and academic blogging over the last half decade.
People visit websites because of the content. Once you’ve figured
out why you’re becoming involved in this blogging business at all, it’s
helpful to do plan what you’re going to write about. The vast majority
of bloggers write primarily to share information with a few friends or
relatives, and the content flows naturally from their everyday lives.
Their blogs are filled with hilarious anecdotes about their cats, tales
of fabulous meals at local Mexican restaurants and occasional musings
about the meaning of life.
Professional blogging is a little different. Since you can’t count
on your cat to provide the content for your posts, you need to come up
with a focus that will attract readers to your site and engage them
with your material. There are at least two general strategies for
making that decision: the BoingBoing strategy and 43Folders methodology.
Writers following the BoingBoing strategy emulate the success of BoingBoing.net.
which seeks to be a world-wide directory of “cultural curiosities and
interesting technologies” and draws readers by providing a mix of ideas
that readers might miss if left to their own devices. (For most of the
history of the blogosphere, BoingBong has been the internet’s most
popular blog, though it now appears to have been surpassed by the Huffington Post.)
A typical BoingBoing session includes topics like the following:
US seizes Danish dress-shop’s payment to Pakistan in the name of “terrorism”
First-ever video of human ovulation
Denial-of-coffee attacks affect networked coffee-maker
Recycled teacup lights
Bloggers using the BoingBoing strategy are a lot like the producers of the Today Show. Readers are attracted to the mix of stories
and the particular sensibilities of editors. They return to the site to
be entertained, challenged and enlightened. One of the best examples of
this strategy in the educational arena is the far-ranging writings of Gardner Campbell,
covering topics ranging from John Donne to Douglas Engelbart, the
Beatles, Beach Boys and fish tacos. Gardner’s blog has been the model
that I’ve used most often to introduce my students to blogging, and
most of them have adopted the generalist strategy.
There is, however, another method for organizing your blog, and I’ll write more about that tomorrow.
For most people, writing is hard work.
Writing for a public forum on the internet is hard, scary work. Once
you push the “submit” button, your words are out there for everyone to
see and respond to, instantly searchable, and living in perpetuity in
the Google cache or deep in the Internet Archive. Yet, tens of millions
of folks all over the world overcome their fear to post their content
on the web–including 64% of American teens who are “content creators“, according to surveys by the Pew Research Center.
One good bit of advice for beginning bloggers, and more experienced
folks who are starting a new project, is to “think first and type
later.” Before making that first post, take a few minutes and answer
three questions. (A number one pencil and a legal pad are the perfect
tools for this part of the process, but it’s OK to type if you’ve
forgotten how to use a pencil.)
Purpose: Why am I doing this?
Content: What am I going to write about?
Process: How am I going to do it?
There are lots of good reasons to publish on the web. For me,
posting regularly is a discipline that accomplishes two goals. First,
it focuses my attention by forcing me to look the mass of
information that I’ve been exposed on any particular day and evaluate
the usefulness (or interestingness) of that information. The half-hour
that I’m investing in writing this post could be spent in an infinite
number of other ways. What, if anything, justifies the time and energy
to highlight a particular idea, pie and hold up for further inspection?
The possible stories come from everywhere–something that I read, a TV
or radio program, podcast, conversation or just a random thought that
popped into my mind. Focused attention helps to make sense from the
torrent of information.
The second discipline is to try to figure out the utility of writing
about a particular topic for the reader. One major reason for
publishing is to allow others to benefit from what I’ve learned from my
experience. In my writing, I’m always searching for some way to help
members of my community to broaden their perspectives, to look at their
information universe a little differently, or to think of ways to
improve their practice.
As an official faculty blogger, my purpose is a little different
than it has been for other writing I’ve done. We know that the most
frequent visitors to the site are from outside William and Mary, some
of whom may not be interested in the nuts and bolts of our technology
infrastructure. My task here is to look what’s happening at the college
from my personal perspective and post about topics that be interesting
and helpful to parents, prospective students, alumni and members of the
larger educational community. By merging my personal perspective with
those of the other writers on the project, we provide an additional
window into the William and Mary experience that is emergent,
individual, authentic and vibrant.
In my next post, I take a look at how to translate that purpose into
something more concrete by looking at the second question: what am I
going to write about?