After two weeks off for family travel, I returned to my usual Zumba class last weekend only to find a substitute teaching the class. I admit it threw me off a bit. In the five months or so that I’d been going to the weekly Zumba class, I’d only ever had one instructor. Now here was someone else doing the same moves, but oh so different . . .
As I followed along, another part of my brain was trying to name the differences I was observing. Her movements seemed more “textbook,” each part segmented into discrete units. Was that it? She gave expert cues, so you could anticipate what was coming next. She was enthusiastic, encouraging, and singing along to the music. I could tell she was an experienced instructor. But something still felt off. There were fewer of us in class than usual and others must have felt the difference too, because the energy in the room wasn’t the same. I felt a little bad for not enjoying the class as much when the teacher was trying so hard.
Kristi, the regular teacher was back the next weekend, much to my relief. And I tried to discern the difference again – why did her class feel more fun? The sub’s movements were more staccato; Kristi’s, more legato. There was a looseness to the latter’s moves, the arms and hips more relaxed. Where the sub seemed to be putting fitness movements to music, my teacher’s class felt more like dancing. Or, maybe it’s just that one teacher’s dancing style jibed more with mine than the other’s. Same steps, same music, very different feel. Why did that matter?
This experience made me think about the vibe or style a teacher brings, and what allows them to click with their students or not. With one teacher, it was easier to “get into” the activity, to turn my full attention to following her moves and feeling the rhythm of the music in my body, and not think about much else. The full engagement is what made it fun. And in a way, that is what effective teachers do: they direct and hold your attention so that you’re not distracted by the million other thoughts – the to-do’s, the what’s next, the worries, the random musings – that swirl around your brain. Instead, you can be present and focused and in the moment, the precondition for learning. This can happen in a Zumba class, a shop class, a writing class, a science class. It’s difficult to hold the attention of a group of individuals for any length of time, but if you can hold it for stretches, and collectively put that attention toward an activity or ideas, you can create something.
There’s a lot of talk in education now about the importance of social-emotional learning (SEL) in both K-12 and higher education. But when is learning not social and not emotional? Some people think of SEL as an additive or enhancer to things like “academic rigor” and “high standards” and “real learning.” Learning should feel hard and serious, they suggest, and SEL is more about the frills and nice-to-haves, i.e. not necessary. The research consistently shows, however, that the social-emotional relationship between teacher and learner is critical to deep learning.
But that relationship doesn’t need to be intimate or personal; teachers don’t need to befriend their students or plumb their emotional depths. My Zumba teacher doesn’t know anything about me, and I don’t know anything about her; she doesn’t share details about her life with the class. There are too many of us for her to interact with us one-on-one, and I have never gone up to talk to her after class even though she invites us to. No, the social-emotional connection I feel is to the overall gestalt of her teaching; it’s not any one thing, so I go back to the words “vibe” and “style.” I’m reminded of some of my college professors who managed to make subjects I didn’t think I cared about deeply interesting and created an atmosphere where my curiosity could overcome my adolescent indifference.
Social-emotional learning, culture and climate, sense of belonging – these educational buzzwords are trying to name all the ineffable human stuff that makes teaching both so challenging and so joyous. Could I learn Zumba from a robot? Can an app teach a kid some math? Sure. But what does it feel like?
Contrary Frog 