Our students do not need yet another reverent speech about literature’s profound importance, especially from English professors like me. They need examples, models of what people actually do with books. 

Which is why some of my favorite texts to teach are the ones in which characters turn to stories to make sense of themselves and their worlds. With a bit of contextual framing, these moments operate like miniature case studies in the uses of reading. The accompanying writing prompts encourage students to see continuity between these literary scenes and their own everyday encounters with stories.

Frankenstein: Reading as self-discovery

In Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel, Victor Frankenstein abandons the being he has brought to life, leaving the newly animated figure to acquire language entirely on his own. While secretly observing a family of cottagers, the Creature gradually learns to read by studying a handful of books—Plutarch’s Lives, Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, and Milton’s Paradise Lost—that he discovers nearby. 

What intrigues my students is how personally the Creature engages with these texts. From Plutarch, he absorbs ideals of virtue and heroism; Goethe gives him a language to express his despair.

But Milton’s Paradise Lost becomes the Creature’s primary framework for understanding himself. “Like Adam,” he explains, “I was apparently united by no link to any other being in existence.” In class, we often linger over the word apparently, noticing how tentative his self-understanding remains. At first, he identifies with Adam because both figures enter the world utterly alone and bewildered. But the comparison quickly collapses: Unlike Adam, the Creature has no loving creator to guide him. Within moments, he pivots toward Satan instead, calling him “the fitter emblem of [his] condition.” The abruptness of that shift is startling: from bewilderment to simmering resentment in just a few lines.

What students often notice is how urgently the Creature reads for self-recognition. He approaches books less as literature than as possible explanations for his own existence. One student compared his reading to scrolling through online personality tests, looking for something that “explains you to yourself.” That observation often leads to conversations about how people use stories and labels to make sense of identities that still feel uncertain or unstable. 

Writing prompts

• Write about a time when a text (movie, TV show, podcast, essay, etc.) seemed to “get” you. What felt recognizable about it?
• Describe a character from a text who you unexpectedly identified with. What did that reveal about you?
• Write about a text that helped you understand a feeling you couldn’t previously explain.

Jane Eyre: Reading as lonely comfort

In Charlotte Brontë’s 1847 text, the orphaned Jane suffers constant mistreatment from her cousins and aunt, Mrs. Reed, who punishes any attempt at resistance. Seeking escape, Jane slips behind a curtain into a hidden window seat with a copy of Thomas Bewick’s History of British Birds. 

Bewick’s book offers little warmth or consolation; instead, Jane gravitates toward descriptions of “the bleak shores of Lapland, Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland,” a catalog of remote northern landscapes whose very names seem to accumulate coldness and distance. She lingers over images of “solitary rocks and promontories,” “storm-beat coast[s],” and “death-white realms” of ice and snow. My students often notice how aggressively isolated this imagery is: jagged cliffs battered by waves, frozen wastelands devoid of human companionship, expanses of whiteness that feel emotionally as well as physically inhospitable. 

Rather than distracting Jane from her misery at Gateshead Hall, the landscapes externalize her emotional world: lonely, neglected, cut off from warmth and belonging.

What students often notice is how recognizable Jane’s reading habits feel. Rather than using books to escape her emotions, Jane gravitates toward imagery that intensifies and reflects them back to her. One student compared the scene to “vibe reading”—like “putting on the saddest song or watching the saddest movie possible when you’re already upset because, somehow, it still feels comforting.” That observation usually opens broader conversations about why people are drawn toward texts that mirror their emotional states rather than distract from them.

Writing prompts

• Write about a time when you deliberately chose a sad, angry, or emotionally intense text because it matched your mood. Why did that feel comforting rather than upsetting?
• Describe a text whose atmosphere or “vibe” mirrored how you were feeling at the time. What made it feel emotionally accurate?
• Write about a time when you used a text as a form of escape. Did it actually distract you from your feelings, or did it deepen them in some way?

“When I Read the Book”: Reading as self-questioning

In Walt Whitman’s 1891 poem, the speaker begins reading a famous biography before suddenly questioning whether any life—including his own—can ever truly be understood or represented in language. 

What initially strikes my students is how quickly Whitman shifts from certainty to bewilderment. The poem opens with the straightforward act of “read[ing] the book, the biography famous,” but within a few lines, Whitman dismantles the very premise of biography itself: “Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of my real life.” My students often pause over Whitman’s description of identity as “a few hints, a few diffused faint clews [clues] and indirections.” 

Students are often fascinated by Whitman’s willingness to admit confusion about his own identity. One student observed that the poem feels “like the opposite of social media,” where people flatten themselves into coherent, marketable versions of who they are. Students discuss the pressure they feel to present stable, fully knowable identities online even though most people experience themselves as far messier and harder to explain.

Writing prompts

• Write about a version of yourself that you present to others online, at school, or in public. How accurate does that version feel to your actual inner life?
• Describe a moment when you realized that someone you thought you understood was more complicated than you first assumed. What changed your perception?
• Write about a time when uncertainty about yourself felt frustrating, liberating, or both. Why do people often feel pressure to have themselves figured out?

“Notes on the Art of Poetry”: Reading as wonder

In this 1951 work, Welsh poet Dylan Thomas reflects upon the astonishment he felt as a young reader discovering literature. 

Rather than presenting books as quiet or orderly objects, Thomas describes them as wild, overwhelming experiences bursting with energy and sensation. One student laughed and described the poem as “so extra,” which perfectly captures the speaker’s sheer exuberance. Thomas recalls realizing that “there were such goings-on / in the world between the covers of books,” before unleashing a torrent of imagery: “sandstorms and ice blasts of words,” “staggering peace,” “enormous laughter,” and “blinding bright lights.” 

But the poem also pushes students to reconsider the strangely subdued way reading is often discussed in academic settings. Thomas describes literature not as information to absorb or skills to master but as something immense and almost physically overwhelming. His language suggests that books can astonish, disorient, exhilarate, and flood the senses. One student remarked that Thomas makes reading sound “less like homework and more like accidentally stumbling into something huge.”

Writing prompts

• Write about a time when a text overwhelmed you in a positive way—when it felt bigger, stranger, funnier, sadder, or more intense than you expected. What made the experience so memorable?
• Describe a moment when you suddenly realized that art or storytelling could do more than entertain. What felt surprising or new about that realization?
• Write about a text that completely absorbed your attention for a period of time. What did it feel like to become so immersed in another world, voice, or atmosphere?

Nichole DeWall is a professor of English at McKendree University in Lebanon, Illinois, where she teaches Shakespeare, medieval and early modern literature, drama, and composition courses. 

The post Show, Don’t Tell: Models of Transformative Reading appeared first on The Teaching Professor.

There are moments in a semester when teaching feels steady, even productive, and yet you feel less connected to the work than you would like. You are showing up, teaching your classes, and meeting expectations, but the deeper sense of meaning that brought you to teaching feels less visible. There is an undercurrent of disconnection, like you are drifting through your classes without fully feeling the meaning of the work.

I found myself in that space not because anything had gone wrong but because I had stopped pausing long enough to notice how I was experiencing my teaching.

Teaching is complex, relational work, and over time, it can become task driven rather than purpose driven. We focus on content, deadlines, and outcomes, often without and stop to consider how our students and we are experiencing the course. Over the years, I have noticed that when teaching begins to feel disconnected from purpose, it is rarely because something is wrong. More often it is because I have become so focused on what I am doing that I have stopped noticing how I am experiencing the work. That realization became the starting point for a simple practice that changed how I approached my teaching.

What shifted this for me was the impetus to adopt a simple practice: paying attention in a way that brought me back to the purpose of my teaching.

Why purpose matters in teaching

Research on well-being distinguishes between hedonic well-being, which focuses on immediate positive feelings, and eudaimonic well-being, which is rooted in meaning, purpose, and a sense of contribution (Ryan & Deci, 2001). In teaching, both are present. There are moments of enjoyment and satisfaction, but what sustains us is often the deeper sense that what we are doing matters.

When that sense of purpose becomes less visible, teaching can begin to feel mechanical. Reconnecting to purpose does not require major course redesign. Sometimes it begins with awareness.

A simple 30-day practice

The practice I began was intentionally small. For 30 days, I tracked my emotional state in relation to my teaching. It took less than 30 seconds at a time.

Before or after each class session, I asked myself: What is my current affective state? How am I feeling right now?

You might notice it as a word, a number, a sensation in your body, or even a color that captures how you are feeling.

This brief moment of awareness also reflects a trauma-sensitive approach to teaching, where noticing internal states supports emotional regulation, presence, and attunement and more intentional engagement in the classroom.

Over time, patterns began to emerge. I could see when I felt most connected to my teaching, when I felt depleted, and when I felt aligned with a deeper sense of purpose. This awareness changed how I moved into my classes and make shifts as needed.

Extending the practice to students

I then began inviting students into a similarly brief check-in at the beginning of class.

It sounded like this: “Take a moment. How are you arriving today? One word, a number, a color or anything that comes up for you.

In an online class, this might look like sharing an emoji in the chat, posting an image or meme, or offering a brief check-in in your own words in the chat.”

The check-in took less than a minute. There was no requirement to explain or elaborate. The purpose was not to spark discussion but to elicit acknowledgment.

This small shift changed the tone of the room. Students began to settle more quickly. There was a noticeable increase in presence. More importantly, the classroom felt more connected. Students were not just participants in a course. They were people having a relational experience.

Even small cues like this can shape how students interpret their place in a learning environment, influencing their sense of belonging beyond a single class session. Research on belonging suggests that even brief moments of acknowledgment can increase engagement and persistence (Walton & Brady, 2017). When students feel seen, even in small ways, it changes how they show up for learning.

What changed

The most meaningful change was when I began to feel more connected to not only my students but also the deeper reason why I was teaching in the first place.

For me, the practice brought awareness back into my teaching. I was no longer moving from task to task without noticing my own internal states. I became more intentional about how I entered the classroom and how I responded to shifts in energy—my own and my students’.

For students, the check-in created a consistent moment of pause. It signaled that their presence mattered. Over time, participation felt more grounded, engaged, and authentic.

This aligns with what we know about classroom environments. When faculty bring emotional awareness and presence into their teaching, it supports a more responsive and engaged learning space (Jennings & Greenberg, 2009).

Why this practice works

The effectiveness of this approach lies in its simplicity: All it requires of us is a shift in attention.

Noticing our emotional states supports self-regulation and awareness (Kabat-Zinn, 2003). When paired with a sense of purpose, it helps move teaching from routine to intentional practice. Importantly, it also models for students that awareness, reflection, and care are part of learning.

In this way, a simple check-in practice becomes more than a classroom strategy; it becomes a way of returning to purpose in the midst of everyday teaching.

What you can try

For faculty interested in experimenting with a more relational approach, the invitation can begin simply. Pay attention to the emotional atmosphere of your classroom. Notice how students are arriving. Create brief opportunities for reflection. Ask yourself not only “What are my students learning?” but also “How are they experiencing this learning?” Those small shifts may reveal dimensions of teaching and learning that are often overlooked but deeply influential.

If you are interested in exploring this approach, begin with one small step. Before your next class, pause and take a moment to notice how you are arriving. Attend to your current affective state and whatever emotions, sensations, or energy you may be bringing into the learning space. Then invite students into a warm check-in: “How are you arriving today?” Finally, at the end of class, consider a warm check-out: “What worked for you today? How are you leaving the learning environment?”

Keep it simple. Keep it consistent. Notice what happens. You may find that the practice does more than improve classroom climate. It can reconnect you to the reason you began teaching in the first place.

Returning to purpose

The relational life of a classroom is often invisible, yet it may shape learning in ways that extend far beyond a single course. As you continue this 30-day practice of noticing, you may begin to see that purpose is not something we find once and then possess. It is something we return to, again and again, through attention, reflection, and connection with our students.

The invitation is simple: Notice.

Notice how you are arriving to teach. Notice how your students are arriving to learn. Notice the moments when you feel energized, connected, or aligned with the deeper reasons you chose this profession.

In a profession that asks so much of our attention, time, and energy, these moments of awareness can be grounding. They remind us that teaching is not only about what we deliver, but about how we show up. Reconnecting to purpose begins with something as simple as noticing how we feel and inviting our students to do the same.

References

Jennings, P. A., & Greenberg, M. T. (2009). The prosocial classroom: Teacher social and emotional competence in relation to student and classroom outcomes. Review of Educational Research, 79(1), 491–525. https://doi.org/10.3102/0034654308325693

Kabat-Zinn, J. (2003). Mindfulness-based interventions in context: Past, present, and future. Clinical Psychology: Science and Practice, 10(2), 144–156. https://doi.org/10.1093/clipsy.bpg016

Ryan, R. M., & Deci, E. L. (2001). On happiness and human potentials: A review of research on hedonic and eudaimonic well-being. Annual Review of Psychology, 52, 141–166. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.psych.52.1.141

Walton, G. M., & Brady, S. T. (2017). The many questions of belonging. In A. J. Elliott, C. S. Dweck, & D. S. Yeager (Eds.), Handbook of competence and motivation (2nd ed., pp. 292–293). Guilford Press.

Mindith R. Rahmat is a core faculty member and program director of the master of arts in clinical psychology program at Antioch University Santa Barbara. Her work centers on compassion-focused pedagogy and the creation of relational, intentional, and humanizing learning environments. Drawing on over 25 years of experience in mindfulness, movement, and trauma-informed practice, she is deeply committed to supporting both student growth and educator well-being.

The post A Simple 30-Day Check-In That Reconnects Teaching to Purpose appeared first on The Teaching Professor.

Summer flexibility presents a pedagogical paradox of sorts. On the one hand, summer is the perfect time to reflect on our teaching, change out required readings, fine-tune assignments, and generally modify course design. On the other hand, come the last day of the academic year, what most of us yearn for is the wide expanse of days with few to no student emails and the flexibility to do whatever we want, a proposition made more attractive by our not being on contract. The good news is that our minds are very good at incubating ideas, and the time we take off may in fact lead to more innovation and insights when we focus on work. All well and good, but there is another way to advance your teaching effectiveness: pedagogical meta riffing.

Have you riffed on pedagogy recently? As academics, we have all have topics we could go on and on about. You may like to riff on why AI will not replace teachers anytime soon (believe me, I do) or on your favorite way to get students to take part in active learning. When we’ve thought about something for a long time, it’s easy to riff on it.

In many ways, riffing is like improvisation. You have a general plan for what to teach and know the content and skills you want to share but are ready for what your class gives you. Student questions and behaviors could take your lesson in unexpected directions, and you must be ready to adjust on the fly. The teacher who can riff on teaching is a bit like the improv performer who can spin a dialogue around whatever prompt the audience gives them. This parallel has not gone unnoticed (Beyda-Lori, 2022); there are sessions at teaching conferences developing improv skills, and the topic has gotten serious academic consideration (Holdhus et al., 2016; Keith, 2011).

Most readers are probably familiar with metacognition, commonly explained as thinking about thinking. While the social scientist in me is quick to point out that metacognition also involves the regulation of your thinking—especially planning, monitoring, and assessing one’s learning (Fleur et al., 2021)—the basic idea is still captured by the phrase “going meta,” the point of being self-aware and keeping your finger on the pulse of your thinking.

Pedagogical meta riffing (hereafter PMR) is when you make the space to reflect on your teaching practices, considering new innovations and techniques to advance student learning. You may use a demonstration or class activity and notice the ways it could be better. A colleague or published paper may describe a way to teach a difficult concept, and the strategy could provoke you to try teaching one of your class’s difficult concepts using a novel activity that riffs on what you read. When you draw your attention to how an activity is working (live, in the moment) or could work (as you plan it), you engage in PMR.

In my science of teaching and learning class, we meta riff a lot! We love PMR. Every few years I have the pleasure to meet twice per week, two hours each time, for a term with graduate students most of whom are instructors as well. We read multiple articles each week, take turns leading discussions, and often bring in examples from the other classes we have taught that week. In every class session I am very aware that I am teaching about teaching. My own meta-awareness of the class design is high as this is truly a chance to practice what I preach. But that’s not all.

As a testimony to PMR, participants try something new during their turns as discussion leads. This is where quintessential PMR takes place. In a recent class, one student modified the children’s game of telephone to create a new way to discuss an article. She wrote out one starter sentence about the target article we were discussing and then passed it around the room. Each member of the class had to add another sentence to the page without discussion. At the end of the page, we looked at how the class collectively riffed on the target article. Given that she had just dreamed up this exercise, she modified the rules on the go if classmates needed more instruction or clarity. Our group was the perfect place for her to kick the tires on a new active learning group collaboration exercise. Our commenting on the exercise as we participated in the exercise was meta riffing at its best. Nearly every member of the class has tried something a little different, and every time we have gotten meta with it.

I am convinced that while instructors can individually try to make time to read research on effective strategies and evidence-informed ways to teach well, having the chance to talk about it with others in person is invaluable. I know not everyone can get to teach a course on teaching. I know that not all of us are on campuses that have faculty learning communities to foster such discourse. Many of us in small departments or don’t have meetings where such PMR can take place. As I riffed on before, creating the space to think can foster creativity. There is a place for solo introspection and removing technological and other distractions are great for that enterprise. Having a chance to see what you think about a new technique you are developing can be stimulating. Then taking the next step to have others reflect on that same technique enables you to gain novel insights.

Here is something to work towards for the months ahead: Create your own group where you can revel in PMR if you are looking for a truly great way to invigorate and recharge your teaching energy banks.

Regan A. R. Gurung is professor of psychological science at Oregon State University. His latest books are Teach Like a Champ and Study Like a Champ. Follow him on LinkedIn.

The post Improving Your Pedagogical Meta Riffing Game for Effective Teaching appeared first on The Teaching Professor.

Early in my career, I interpreted most classroom problems at face value. A disengaged student seemed unmotivated. Missing assignments looked like irresponsibility. Frustration during class activities appeared to reflect lack of effort. But after teaching across middle school, high school, and college classrooms while simultaneously returning to school myself as a doctoral student, I began realizing that many classroom behaviors are far more complex than they initially appear.

Teaching across multiple educational environments changed the way I interpret learning challenges. At every level, I encountered students struggling with attention, organization, confidence, workload management, and uncertainty. More importantly, becoming a student again forced me to confront many of the same frustrations my own students experience: balancing responsibilities, navigating unclear expectations, interpreting feedback, and managing cognitive fatigue. Collectively, these experiences pushed me to reconsider many assumptions I previously held about students and learning.

The expert blind spot

One of the most important lessons I learned through doctoral study was how easily faculty forget what it feels like to be a novice. Ambrose et al. (2010) describe this as the expert blind spot, where instructors unintentionally assume that students possess background knowledge and academic skills that they have not yet developed. Tasks that appear straightforward to experienced faculty may feel overwhelming to students still learning how to navigate academic environments.

For example, phrases such as “develop your argument,” “analyze the reading,” or “outline the key concepts” often seem perfectly clear to instructors. Yet many students do not fully understand what those directions actually require. As Ambrose et al. explain, experts frequently overlook the smaller cognitive steps embedded within tasks because those processes have become automatic through experience.

Returning to graduate school reminded me how mentally demanding academic work can feel even for experienced learners. Managing long-term assignments, organizing readings, balancing deadlines, and interpreting instructor expectations required far more cognitive effort than I remembered. That experience reshaped the way I view confusion and frustration in my own classrooms. Behaviors I once interpreted primarily as disengagement now often appear connected to overload, uncertainty, or undeveloped academic skills.

The same ubiquitous learning challenges

What surprised me most over time was how consistently these learning challenges appeared across educational levels. Whether teaching middle school students or college undergraduates, I repeatedly encountered similar patterns: procrastination, attention difficulties, incomplete work, confusion during complex assignments, and students’ shutting down when overwhelmed.

The behaviors may look different depending on age, but the underlying learning challenges are often remarkably similar. Novice learners frequently struggle because they lack organized mental frameworks for managing new information. Cognitive load theory suggests that working memory has limited capacity, meaning students can quickly become overloaded when tasks require them to process too many unfamiliar elements simultaneously (Sweller, 1988).

For example, a college student submitting an incomplete paper may not be fundamentally different from a younger student avoiding homework. In both cases, the issue may reflect confusion about expectations, difficulty organizing tasks, cognitive overload, or lack of effective learning strategies rather than simple lack of motivation.

Recognizing these patterns across multiple educational settings gradually changed how I respond to struggling students. Instead of immediately asking whether students are motivated, I now more frequently ask what barriers may be interfering with their learning.

What faculty can do differently

One practical shift faculty can make is reducing the number of assumptions we embed within assignments and instructions. Experts naturally compress steps that novices still need explained. Making expectations more explicit through examples, checklists, rubrics, and modeled thinking can significantly improve student understanding. Ambrose et al. (2010) note that clear performance expectations help students better direct their effort and attention.

As faculty, we can also reduce unnecessary cognitive overload by chunking larger assignments into smaller stages. Breaking complex projects into manageable parts allows students to build confidence and fluency before integrating multiple skills simultaneously. This approach is particularly helpful for students still developing organizational and academic self-management skills.

Another important shift is explaining the purpose behind assignments more directly. Students are often more engaged when they understand why a task matters and how it connects to broader learning goals. What feels obvious to us as instructors may not feel obvious to students.

Finally, we should periodically revisit their courses from the student perspective. Becoming a student again reminded me how much invisible navigation higher education requires. Asking questions such as “What assumptions am I making?” and “Which parts of this assignment might confuse a novice learner?” can reveal barriers that we may otherwise have difficulty noticing.

A shift in perspective

The most important change my doctoral studies and varied teaching experiences produced was not additional knowledge but a shift in perspective. The longer I taught across educational systems while simultaneously remaining a student myself, the more I realized that learning challenges are rarely as simple as they first appear.

Faculty do not need to lower standards to better support students. But we may need to reconsider how often expertise causes us to underestimate the complexity of learning for novices. Remembering what it feels like to learn something difficult may be one of the most valuable forms of professional growth educators can experience.

References

Ambrose, S. A., Bridges, M. W., DiPietro, M., Lovett, M. C., & Norman, M. K. (2010). How learning works: Seven research-based principles for smart teaching. Jossey-Bass.

Nathan, R. (2005). My freshman year: What a professor learned by becoming a student. Cornell University Press.

Sweller, J. (1988). Cognitive load during problem solving: Effects on learning. Cognitive Science, 12(2), 257–285. https://doi.org/10.1207/s15516709cog1202_4

Christopher Morales is an adjunct professor of biology at Florida SouthWestern State College and a high school science teacher in Southwest Florida. He is currently pursuing a doctorate in educational leadership at the American College of Education. His interests include scientific literacy, student engagement, cognitive learning environments, and secondary science instruction.

The post The Classroom Problems I Understand Differently Now appeared first on The Teaching Professor.

A business major must tell a teammate their work is jeopardizing a project. A nursing student listens as a patient hesitates, clearly withholding something important. A new professional struggles to push back against an unfair workload. These moments arise in different fields, yet they share a common thread: Each demands calm, clear, and well-practiced communication in situations charged with emotion or uncertainty. 

Students will face conversations like these long before they feel ready for them. Traditional simulations help, but they are often limited by scheduling, space, and staffing. To offer scalable, flexible opportunities for practice, we need new methods. AI avatars provide one such path, giving students a safe and repeatable way to rehearse high-stakes dialogue. 

What argumentative avatars are and why they support learning 

AI avatars use advanced technologies like natural language processing, voice recognition, and real-time rendering to simulate people with complex emotions and motivations. Unlike scripted bots, these avatars are carefully designed by humans (e.g., instructional or simulation designers) to respond authentically to student input. This approach creates engaging, realistic practice opportunities that support learning in new and meaningful ways. 

1. Anywhere, anytime practice:These simulations can occur with or without a human facilitator, in person or virtually. 
2. Authentic communication practice: AI avatars respond like real people would and respond to what students contribute to the conversation. 
3. Repetitive practice: Students can easily start a conversation over or be given multiple attempts. 
4. Immediate, personalized feedback: AI avatars can be trained on rubrics that align to the learning objectives. If students ask for feedback, the avatar can deliver it. 

The possibilities across disciplines are promising. In a business context, for example, an avatar might play an employee who is about to be fired. In nursing, an avatar might portray a worried family member questioning a discharge plan. In any case, students practice listening, empathizing, clarifying, and responding thoughtfully. Repeated, realistic dialogue strengthens these skills. 

Example 

This video demonstrates an interactive AI avatar simulation created in HeyGen. In this scenario, a student practices navigating a difficult workplace conversation with a supervisor. To build the simulation, we provided the avatar with a backstory, role-specific context, and key information; however, the conversation itself is unscripted. The avatar responds dynamically based on the context it has been given and the end-user’s choices throughout the interaction.

This type of simulation may represent an important next step in developing interpersonal and professional communication skills because it more closely approximates the complexity of real-world conversations. Notice how the avatar’s voice, mood, and tone shift throughout the exchange as John works to resolve the situation.

There are limitations with this technology. For one, the avatar’s facial expressions and body language lack emotion. This weakens the realism of the interactions and can be distracting to the end-user. There are also concurrency limits (the number of people that can access the avatar at one time) and time limits for each conversation. Future product updates promise to address these issues, and given the rapid evolution of this technology, we hope to see these updates soon.

The future of AI avatar technology is bright. It allows learners to have authentic, on-demand conversations to build interpersonal skills across a wide array of learning scenarios and disciplines.

Steps for designing effective avatar conversations 

There are five main steps to creating an avatar. 

1. Identify communication skills to target. These are the learning objectives of the simulation. 
2. Build the avatar. First, choose an avatar. Most programs provide a wide variety of Aesthetics and voices to choose from. Then write a description of the avatar. Include their profession, how they will behave, their personality, and their communication style (including sample language). Next, provide background knowledge on the scenario. The more information you provide at this stage, the more realistically the avatar will perform. Finally, test the avatar by conversing with it.
3. Provide a feedback mechanism (e.g. rubric) for the avatar to evaluate the student’s performance.
4. Prep students with preliminary information before the simulation. This might include a link to the simulation, learning goals, and role the student will play.
5. Require reflection or discussion after the simulation to deepen learning. 

Integrating avatar conversations into class activities 

There are numerous ways to incorporate interactive avatars into classroom learning, allowing for flexible and engaging practice: 

• Individual practice sessions for students to rehearse challenging conversations 
• Paired or team reflection activities to discuss strategies and outcomes 
• Peer-reviewed conversations, where students provide feedback to each other 
• Recorded avatar interactions for grading or self-assessment 
• Group debriefs for students to share insights and lessons learned 
• Embedded avatar simulations within course modules or assignments 

These approaches help students build communication skills in a variety of formats, supporting both independent and collaborative learning. 

Common pitfalls to avoid 

When designing a simulation and an AI avatar, the following will decrease the efficacy of the learning experience:

• Not giving the student enough information about the role they are playing in the scenario
• Not giving the AI enough information, context, or behavioral cues
• Not providing a rubric for actionable feedback
• Skipping reflection or debriefing with students 

In our experience, extensively testing the AI avatars can help illuminate design flaws. It’s important to make corrections prior to student participation in the simulation.

Teachers needn’t abandon live role-play or other well-established modalities of simulation. Instead, we offer another tool to the simulation toolkit. Interactive AI avatars can provide safe spaces for students to practice difficult conversations, develop emotional intelligence, and enhance learning. The future of education may lie in creating authentic, emotionally engaging experiences that prepare learners for real-world challenges, and AI avatars represent a promising step toward this personalized, adaptive learning.

John Bellotti III and Becca McLagan are instructional designers at the University of Wisconsin–Oshkosh.

The post Arguing with AI: How Interactive Avatars Transform Difficult Conversation Practice  appeared first on The Teaching Professor.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once wrote, “Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending.” Faculty members practice this “art of ending” every semester as they conclude the courses they teach. Like the finish line of a race, the last day of class can evoke a sense of completion. Researchers have observed that one of the key factors influencing students’ recollection of an academic experience is how it ended. Hence, a well-designed, meaningful, and impactful ending results in increased course satisfaction among students (Stone et al., 2022; Styles & Polvi, 2022).

Unfortunately, as with so many matters teaching related, faculty rarely receive training to close a course in a systematic manner. Teaching new materials on the last day of the course, awkward grade conversations, boring group presentations, and abrupt transitions to summer are some common pitfalls while closing a course. Furthermore, even faculty who keep up with teaching and learning scholarship can find themselves developing last-day-of-class activities by trial and error.

Last-day-of-class activities vary widely according to institutional or disciplinary traditions, the instructor’s teaching style, classroom culture, course modality, and even meeting time. This article provides an overview of common last day activities and can benefit early-career instructors to design an impactful last day. Broadly speaking, these last-day activities can be grouped into four categories: celebrations, preparing for the finals, course reflections, and future connections. Let’s take a closer look at each of these.

Celebration

The last day of the course is indeed a time to celebrate knowledge and hard skills gained during the course. Students also gain soft skills such as critical thinking, public speaking, and a professional attitude. In online courses, instructors commonly award students digital badges or stickers on the last day. For in-person courses, having a potluck (or catered food) is one of the most popular ways to celebrate a milestone in students’ academic journeys.

When food is not permitted in rooms such as labs or studios, faculty members have used other creative ideas. Some celebrate by taking photographs or selfies in class or creating playlists with their students. Depending on the course, students may also enjoy exchanging art pieces, poems, or digital art created during the course. Sharing mementos on the last day can start or continue lasting friendships. It can foster building professional networks beyond classrooms.

Exam review

For most courses, the last class meeting happens before the final exam. As such, exam review is an unspoken expectation. Exam review gives students one last opportunity to ask questions and raise concerns about the subject matter. Professors can clarify the topic and remind students to use available resources, such as study guides or review videos.

Professors can do this in-class exam review in a variety of ways, including creating question banks, mock exams, or group quizzes. If appropriate for the course, using technology solutions can make these reviews more fun. For instance, developing a chatbot for exam review, interactive quizzes, and online platforms such as Kahoot!

Reflections

During a course, certain situations such as grade disputes, disruptive behaviors, and poor academic performance can affect classroom learning environment. Scheduling time for written reflections allows students to reflect on their struggles, their conduct, provide meaningful feedback to the institutions, and get a sense of completion.

Reflections also enable students to focus on their progress. Grades may reflect the knowledge students gained during the course, but they are only a partial picture. When students reflect on how the course prepares them for subsequent courses or careers, it can help them develop a fuller understanding of the course. This seemingly simple exercise can help students feel ready for the near future.

Future contact

While student-professor relationships may end with the course, professional relationships may continue further. For example, students may request letters of recommendation. Using the last day to provide clear guidance for such requests, such as “please include your semester and year when you ask for a letter”—Goldberg (2020) offers a template for such guidelines—is usually helpful. Make it known whether you prefer to use dossier services or are willing to submit letters to individual universities as necessary.

Managing expectations about future connections on the last day of the course can help students. Professors approaching a sabbatical, a job switch, or just a busy phase of life may need to restrict letter of recommendation requests for the foreseeable future. Communicating these limitations on the last day of the course encourages students to move in a different direction with their future academic needs.

In a nutshell, a deliberate and thoughtful ending for the course provides students with a sense of completion and transference of knowledge for future courses. Faculty members can develop last-day course activities, including four themes: celebration, review, reflection, and future contact. These activities benefit students but, more importantly, help faculty members transition to their subsequent academic semesters with meaningful insights.

References

Goldberg, D. S. (2020). “Help me help you”: Implementing reference request guidelines to improve the recommendation letter process. Chemical Engineering Education, 54(1), 32–34. https://doi.org/10.18260/2-1-370.660-115157

Stone, G. A., Powell, G. M., & McGuire, F. A. (2022). “Beginners are many but enders are few”: How to end a course well and why it matters. SCHOLE: A Journal of Leisure Studies and Recreation Education, 37(3), 194–200. https://doi.org/10.1080/1937156X.2020.1760745

Styles, E. B., & Polvi, E. J. (2022). The importance of ending well: A virtual last class workshop for course evaluation and evolution. Teaching and Learning Inquiry, 10. https://doi.org/10.20343/teachlearninqu.10.28

Simantini Karve is a professor of biology at Skyline College in San Bruno, California. She has taught courses in human anatomy, physiology, and neuroscience. She focuses on student success by focusing on student engagement.

The post Approaching the Finish Line: Last-Day-of-Class Activities appeared first on The Teaching Professor.

Curricula evolve. Disciplines shift. Programs respond to changing professional expectations and emerging competencies. In higher education, we give much attention to launching new courses and revising degree requirements. Far less attention is given to the other side of the process: how to conclude a course that is being taught out.

Yet teaching a course during a curricular transition presents distinctive pedagogical responsibilities. As Maryellen Weimer (2013) reminds us, effective teaching centers on the learner’s experience rather than the instructor’s preferences or institutional logistics. That commitment becomes especially important when a course is nearing its final scheduled offering.

I encountered this reality when my institution’s doctor of business administration program discontinued a long-standing required course called Global Business and replaced it with a new required course in business analytics. When the DBA program was founded, Global Business was essential. International trade was expanding rapidly, and a dedicated course ensured that every doctoral student engaged deeply with cross-border economic, cultural, and regulatory dynamics.

Over time, however, global perspectives became embedded across marketing, management, finance, accounting, and other coursework. The standalone course had, in many respects, fulfilled its original mission. Meanwhile, demand from students, employers, and the surrounding business community increasingly emphasized analytics competencies. Revising the curriculum was a logical step.

Still, Global Business had been part of the program since its inception. Students already enrolled had been promised that requirement. Honoring that commitment meant offering the course one final time as a teach-out.

That experience clarified an important principle: Final sections deserve the same rigor as first offerings. When there is no future iteration, it can be tempting to treat the course as a formality. There will be no opportunity to refine it for next semester, no subsequent cohort to benefit from incremental improvements, no long-term continuity to sustain. Faculty may feel that their effort vanishes into a curricular void.

Resisting that temptation is essential. Drawing on both experience and broader insights about managing transitions in organizations (Bridges, 2009), I offer five strategies for teaching a course that is being taught out.

1. Teach it with full rigor

A course being discontinued is not a diminished course. The learning outcomes remain. The expectations remain. The standards remain.

Students enrolled in the final section deserve the same intellectual engagement and academic challenge as those who came before them. If anything, the absence of a next time heightens the responsibility to do it well. For these students, this is not an ending: It is a required part of their coursework.

The integrity of a program depends on consistency across cohorts. Maintaining full rigor signals respect for the discipline and, more importantly, for the students.

2. Maintain professional neutrality about the transition

William Bridges (2009) distinguishes between change (the external event) and transition (the internal experience of adjustment). In higher education, curricular change is inevitable. How we manage the transition for students is a matter of professionalism.

Whenever possible, curricular transitions should be administratively invisible to students. They enrolled in a program with defined requirements. Faculty and administrators may adjust the architecture behind the scenes, but the classroom experience should remain stable and focused.

Administrative invisibility does not require withholding information if students ask. It does require offering clear, neutral explanations. In the case of Global Business, we framed the revision simply: Disciplines evolve, competencies shift, and programs respond accordingly. There was no need to portray the outgoing course as obsolete or the incoming course as superior. The focus remained on learning.

Indeed, the most successful teach-out is often the one students barely notice. Their attention should remain on mastering material, not on institutional decision-making.

3. Center the student experience

Transitions can easily shift faculty attention toward institutional narrative: history, legacy, rationale, or even sentiment. Yet learner-centered teaching, as Weimer calls it, requires that student needs remain primary.

In the final section of Global Business, the emphasis remained squarely on ensuring that students were fully prepared for what came next. Assignments aligned with upcoming program milestones. Discussions emphasized application, synthesis, and scholarly development. We framed feedback in forward-looking terms.

Students are not participants in an institutional epilogue. They are progressing through a degree program. The course should serve that trajectory fully, regardless of its future status.

4. Avoid nostalgia and drama

There can be a temptation to commemorate a final offering: to create symbolic moments, reflective rituals, or farewell gestures. In some contexts, that may be appropriate. In others, it risks shifting attention from student learning to institutional storytelling.

In this instance, Global Business concluded as any other course would. There was no special ceremony and no added “legacy” assignment. The goal was simply to deliver a high-quality educational experience consistent with prior offerings.

Closure is a pedagogical act, not an administrative footnote. Often, the most respectful way to honor a course is simply to teach it well and conclude it with clarity and professionalism.

5. Close deliberately and coherently

While avoiding drama, faculty should still end intentionally. A final session should reinforce key themes and clarify how the course fits within the broader arc of the program.

A concise synthesis discussion, a summary of major insights, or structured reflection that connects course outcomes to upcoming academic milestones can provide that coherence. As with any other course, the objective should be to ensure that students understand what they have gained.

When teach-outs are handled thoughtfully, students experience continuity rather than disruption. They complete their coursework confident that their education has not been compromised by curricular change.

Curricular revisions are part of responsible academic stewardship. Programs must respond to shifting disciplinary landscapes. Courses will be revised, replaced, and occasionally retired. The measure of a program is not only how it launches new initiatives but how it concludes existing ones.

Far from a reduced responsibility, teaching a course during a teach-out period is an opportunity to demonstrate professionalism, consistency, and commitment to students. Final sections deserve the same rigor as first offerings. When handled well, they allow students to remain focused where they should be (on their learning and their progress) while faculty attend privately to the work of change.

References

Bridges, W. (2009). Managing transitions: Making the most of change. Da Capo Press.

Weimer, M. (2013). Learner-centered teaching: Five key changes to practice (2nd ed.). John Wiley & Sons.

Emmett Dulaney is a professor of marketing in the Falls School of Business at Anderson University, a private liberal arts university in central Indiana. Reach him at eadulaney@anderson.edu.

The post Honoring the Final Section: Strategies for Ending a Teach-Out Course appeared first on The Teaching Professor.

We have all been there: sitting alone with a microphone, narrating slide after slide, wondering whether our students feel a connection to the person behind the screen. In online pedagogy, research tells us that social factors such as instructor presence are a key driver of student engagement (Gunawardena & Zittle, 1997; Mayer, 2014; Mayer, & DaPra, 2012, Richardson, & Swan, 2003). But the logistical hurdles—lighting, cameras, and the sheer time required for high-quality video production—often keep us hidden.

This is where a stylized AI avatar offers a powerful middle ground. By using a personalized, animated character to introduce your lectures, you can build a human connection and establish social presence without the hassle of a traditional camera setup. Here is a rapid, five-step workflow to add a touch of “design magic” to your online courses. This workflow transforms a plain video opening to a more personal one, as below.

Step 1: Generate your avatar image

The first step is to transform your profile picture into a stylized avatar that resembles you.

Using AI platforms like Gemini, ChatGPT, and Copilot, you can generate an image that resembles you but remains clearly an illustration. If you are using Gemini, select the “Create image” option in the chat box (①), upload your profile picture by dropping it into the chat box (②), and enter a prompt text in the chat box (③), explaining how the AI should convert the uploaded picture to an avatar image.

When the AI finishes generating your avatar image, you can download it by clicking the download icon.

The benefit: Choosing a nonrealistic, stylized character ensures ethical transparency and avoids the uncanny valley effect.

Step 2: Generate a looping base video

To make the avatar “live” throughout a speech, you first need a short, looping video of the character blinking and subtly moving. You can create one by using an animation tool like Google Flow or Kling. See below for the steps using Google Flow.

1. Open the Google Flow page and click the “+ New project” link to open a workspace.
2. Upload your avatar image as both the start and end frames by clicking on the Start and End boxes and then “Upload image”.

Now you have both the start and end images uploaded.

3. Enter a prompt text in the chat box, explaining how the AI should convert the uploaded picture to an avatar video, and click the arrow button to begin generating.

4. When it finishes processing, you can view the finished video and download it.

Optional: Google Flow generates up to eight seconds of video at a time. An eight-second looping avatar video works for our purpose, but if you want to make a longer looping video, Google Flow allows you to extend the video by selecting Extend and telling the AI to make the first and end frames identical in the prompt.

Step 3: Lip-sync with your lecture audio

Now you will give your avatar your voice. I used DreamFace because it can handle longer audio segments affordably compared to other tools, such as Kling, HeyGen, Sync.so, OpenArt, and ElevenLabs.

1. Log in to your account and open the Avatar Video tab (①).
2. Click Photos/Videos to upload your looping avatar video (②).
3. Click Upload Audio or Video to upload your lecture video (③).

4. The Audio tab now shows the video’s audio. Select the specific portion of the audio—perhaps the first 30 seconds where you introduce the video (①)— then click Generate to start generating a lip-synced avatar video (②). The AI will now map your speech patterns onto the avatar’s mouth movements.

5. Within a few minutes, you have a video of your avatar “speaking” the selected speech audio segment. Click Download to download the video.

Step 4: Layer and refine in your editor

Once you have your lip-synced video clip, bring it into a standard video editor like Camtasia, as in this example, to finalize the presentation. The final step is to layer the generated talking avatar clip over your original lecture video clip, which involves following tasks.

1. Layering: Place the avatar clip on the top track (①), and your lecture clip on the track below (②).
2. Background removal: Use Background Removal or Remove a Color (③) to make the area around your avatar transparent, allowing your lecture clip to show through.
3. Position the avatar: Position and resize the avatar appropriately (④).
4. Mute the redundant audio: Mute the segment of the lecture clip that overlaps with the avatar clip to avoid echoes (⑤) as your new avatar clip already contains the identical speech.
5. Export the video: Use the export option to create a new lecture video with your talking avatar (⑥).

Implications

What’s great about this workflow is its reusability. Your base looping avatar clip only needs to be created once. For every subsequent lecture, you simply need to run the lip-sync step (step 3), which typically takes less than five minutes.

This isn’t just about using a trendy tool; it’s about reducing the affective filter of student anxiety. By shifting from a faceless voiceover to an introductory avatar, you signal to your students that there is a real person invested in their success (Richardson & Swan).

A note on transparency

While generative AI can create photorealistic deepfakes, using a stylized, nonrealistic avatar is often effective in an educational context. It maintains a clear boundary between the virtual and the real, ensuring that students appreciate the personal touch without questioning the authenticity of the medium. As instructors, our goal is to enhance connection, not to deceive; a stylized avatar achieves this with design magic” and total clarity.

In a landscape of automated content, a personal touch—even a virtual one—is often the difference between a student clicking through a slide deck and a student truly engaging with the material.

References

Gunawardena, C. N., & Zittle, F. J. (1997). Social presence as a predictor of satisfaction within a computer‐mediated conferencing environment. American Journal of Distance Education, 11(3), 8–26. https://doi.org/10.1080/08923649709526970

Mayer, R. E. (2014). Principles based on social cues in multimedia learning: Personalization, voice, image, and embodiment principles. In R. E. Mayer (Ed.), The Cambridge Handbook of Multimedia Learning (pp. 345–368). Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139547369.017

Mayer, R. E., & DaPra, C. S. (2012). An embodiment effect in computer-based learning with animated agents.Journal of Experimental Psychology: Applied, 18(3), 239–252. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0028616

Richardson, J. C., & Swan, K. (2003). Examining social presence in online courses in relation to students’ perceived learning and satisfaction. Online Learning, 7(1). https://doi.org/10.24059/olj.v7i1.1864

Koichi Sato is a learning designer at the University of South Florida.

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A senior colleague mentioned to me recently that he had spent the early part of his career overcoming the idea that “teaching is telling,” a common and pernicious misconception, especially among new teachers. The phrase refers to the belief that the key to effective teaching is explaining a concept in just the right way. In other words, there exists some way to explain a concept that is so potently clear and accessible that students will always comprehend and learn it. The goal of the teacher is to find that explanation, tell it to students, and project it on a slide. After that, learning becomes the student’s responsibility. If the students don’t understand, then the teacher just needs to repeat the explanation until they do. The research is clear, however, that the existence of any such magical explanation is a myth. Effective teaching is much more than telling.

Clear and accurate explanations are certainly valuable, but they do not guarantee learning on their own. The Cognitive Challenge Framework (Chew & Cerbin, 2021) describes many factors that affect student learning that are not related to giving good explanations. Here are some of those factors.

Mental mindset refers to students’ beliefs and attitudes toward the class and topic. It plays a critical role in determining whether students will pay attention to your explanation or whether they will think it worth learning. Many factors make up mental mindset. Are the students teachable? In other words, do they recognize both the value in what you are teaching and the gaps in their own understanding? Are they sufficiently curious about the subject matter? Curiosity gives students the motivation to make the effort needed to learn the material. Although curiosity is a trait that varies among students, an effective teacher can create a state of curiosity about the concepts they are teaching that can motivate otherwise uninterested students to learn.

Do students trust you as a teacher? Do they believe that you are competent in both your knowledge of the subject matter and your abilities as a teacher, that you will act with integrity in your teaching, and that your top priority is helping everyone in the class to learn? Students who trust you will pay more attention to you and work harder for you. Students who see you as dogmatic, judgmental, and an obstacle to their success will not learn from you. Students should see that you as a highly trusted and reliable source of information. You have to be better than AI, YouTube, and other resources they could use to learn the information.

Students have to have sufficient prior knowledge to understand what you are explaining to them. Otherwise, you might as well be speaking a foreign language. But just having prior knowledge is not enough. You must activate the relevant prior knowledge in students before you teach the new concepts. Students may possess relevant prior knowledge, but it is only helpful when appropriately primed for use. Furthermore, the prior knowledge that students have may contain inaccuracies and misconceptions. Deeply held, intuitive misconceptions can interfere with learning more accurate information.

Finally, students have to use effective learning strategies as they study, or they will quickly forget the information. Most students prefer to use the least effective study strategies, which yield overconfidence but little long-term learning. Using poor study strategies is one of the main ways that students can fool themselves into believing they have mastered concepts when they really haven’t.

As an example of how ineffective “teaching is telling” can be, consider what happened on Southwest flight 1830 on April 17, 2018. In midflight, one engine exploded and debris crashed through a cabin window, causing depressurization.[1] Emergency oxygen masks immediately deployed, but few people actually put them on correctly. A photo from the flight showed that people failed to cover both their noses and mouths or failed to tighten them around their faces. Before every flight, flight attendants explain and demonstrate how to use the oxygen masks. Some of the passengers on that flight had probably seen the demonstration hundreds of times in many different variations. They probably were certain they knew how to put on the masks and so they stopped paying attention to the demonstration, but their actions showed that they had not really learned the proper procedure. Effective teaching is much more than telling.

[1]. Tragically, one passenger was killed, but the pilot managed to land the plane safely.

Reference

Chew, S. L., & Cerbin, W. J. (2021). The cognitive challenges of effective teaching. The Journal of Economic Education, 52(1), 17–40. https://doi.org/10.1080/00220485.2020.1845266

Stephen L. Chew is a professor of psychology at Samford University. Trained as a cognitive psychologist, he endeavors to translate cognitive research into forms that are useful for teachers and students. He is the recipient of multiple awards for his teaching and research. Author contact: slchew@samford.edu.

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At the end of a course, students complete many things. They submit final papers, deliver presentations, and take exams. We calculate grades. From a faculty perspective, the course is finished.

But what remains for students after the course ends is often something else entirely.

In my experience teaching in a graduate clinical psychology program, I have come to see that what students carry forward is not always what we assess most directly. It is not only the content we taught them or the assignments they completed. More often, it is the ideas that stay with them, the moments that shifted their thinking, and the ways they began to understand themselves in relation to the material.

The difference between what we formally assess and what students meaningfully retain raises an important question for faculty: What, exactly, are students leaving our courses with?

I was reminded of this recently in two courses I taught in the same quarter. In one, we spent the final class moving quickly through student presentations, with a focus on ensuring that everyone completed what was required. In another, we created space for a more dialogical exchange in which students reflected on and debated different therapeutic approaches. Both courses met their objectives. Yet what students carried forward felt different. In the second, students continued the conversation, returning to ideas, questioning assumptions, and engaging with one another in ways that extended beyond the course.

Finishing a course: Not the same as learning

It is easy to equate completion with learning. When students submit all required work and meet course expectations, we understandably assume that learning has occurred. Yet research in learning science suggests that retention and transfer depend not simply on exposure or completion but on how knowledge is organized, revisited, and made meaningful (Ambrose et al., 2010; Bransford et al., 2000).

Students can complete a course successfully and still struggle to recall, apply, or connect what they have learned. Without opportunities to revisit and reflect, knowledge can remain fragmented, making it more difficult to carry forward into new contexts (Agarwal et al., 2021; Pan & Agarwal, 2020).

From this perspective, completion is not the end of learning but only one part of a larger process.

What students carry with them

When I reflect on conversations with students after a course ends, often in informal moments outside structured class time, what they describe remembering is not what I initially expected. They rarely reference a single assignment or lecture in isolation. Instead, they speak about ideas that changed how they think, moments when something became clearer, or experiences that stayed with them.

They carry forward

• concepts that helped them make sense of complexity;
• questions that remain open and generative;
• ways of thinking that continue to evolve;
• experiences of connection, dialogue, and engagement; and
• a growing sense of themselves in their work and in relation to others.

In graduate clinical psychology training, this becomes especially visible. Students are not only learning theories and interventions but also developing skills of professional identity, therapeutic presence, self-awareness, and judgment. What stays with them is often as much relational and reflective as it is conceptual.

This does not mean that content is unimportant. Rather, it suggests that what endures depends on how students engage with that content over time.

Creating space for learning that lasts

If we want students to leave with knowledge that endures, we need to create opportunities for them to recognize, articulate, and integrate what they have learned.

This does not require major changes to the course structure. Small, intentional shifts, like those below, can make a meaningful difference:

• Asking students to identify one idea that changed their thinking
• Inviting reflection on how their understanding has evolved
• Encouraging students to connect course material to future contexts
• Creating space to name what they will carry forward

These kinds of prompts support metacognition and meaning-making, helping students move beyond completion toward integration.

In many ways, this kind of intentional space functions as a form of holding environment. Winnicott (1965) described development as emerging within environments that provide both structure and relational safety. While teaching is not therapy, learning similarly benefits from spaces that are structured enough to guide thinking and open enough to allow for reflection, uncertainty, and growth. When we give students this kind of space, they are more able to integrate what they have learned and carry it forward in meaningful ways.

As Freire (1970) suggests, education is not simply the transmission of knowledge but a dialogical process through which learners come to understand and transform their relationship to the world. Similarly, hooks (1994) emphasizes that meaningful learning emerges through engagement and presence. When we invite students to reflect on what matters to them, learning becomes something they participate in rather than something they complete.

Reflection and retrieval: How learning begins to stay

Research on retrieval practice further supports the importance of revisiting, reflecting, and articulating learning. When we students to recall and apply knowledge, they are more likely to retain it over time, and faculty-facing work on the science of learning suggests that this process is strengthened when students actively bring information to mind and make sense of it over time (Agarwal et al., 2021; Agarwal & Bain, 2019).

Reflection, in this sense, is not an add-on to learning. It is part of how learning becomes durable.

Without these opportunities, even well-taught material can fade quickly or remain disconnected from future use.

Rethinking what we value

Reframing course endings in this way requires a subtle but important shift. Instead of asking only whether students have completed the required work, we might also ask, What will stay with them?

This question does not replace assessment or evaluation. It complements it. It invites us to consider learning not only as something measured at the end of a course but as something that continues beyond it.

What remains after a course ends

When a course ends, students move on. They enter new classes, new contexts, and new challenges. What they carry with them becomes the foundation for what comes next.

As faculty, we cannot control everything students retain. But we can influence the conditions that make meaningful relational learning more likely to endure.

In the end, what students complete matters. But what they carry forward shapes what comes next.

References

Agarwal, P. K., & Bain, P. M. (2019). Powerful teaching: Unleash the science of learning. John Wiley & Sons.

Agarwal, P. K., Nunes, L. D., & Blunt, J. R. (2021). Retrieval practice consistently benefits student learning: A systematic review of applied research in schools and classrooms. Educational Psychology Review, 33(4), 1409–1453. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10648-021-09595-9

Ambrose, S. A., Bridges, M. W., DiPietro, M., Lovett, M. C., & Norman, M. K. (2010). How learning works: Seven research-based principles for smart teaching. John Wiley & Sons.

Bransford, J. D., Brown, A. L., & Cocking, R. R. (2000). How people learn: Brain, mind, experience, and school. National Academies Press.

Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. Continuum.

hooks, b. (1994). Teaching to transgress: Education as the practice of freedom. Routledge.

Winnicott, D. W. (1965). The maturational processes and the facilitating environment: Studies in the theory of emotional development. Hogarth Press.

Mindith R. Rahmat is a core faculty member and program director of the master of arts in clinical psychology program at Antioch University Santa Barbara. Her work centers on compassion-focused pedagogy and the creation of relational, intentional, and humanizing learning environments. Drawing on over 25 years of experience in mindfulness, movement, and trauma-informed practice, she is deeply committed to supporting both student growth and educator well-being.

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