Learning is Easier and Harder than You Think

I spoke with an elementary student recently. He was a hockey fan and could easily recite NHL players' names. He knew their jersey numbers, the positions they played, and sometimes the number of goals and assists they scored. I suspect you might know a sports fan like this, too.

Imagine that I gave you a list of 50 players in the NHL and told you had to memorize their names and numbers. Could you do it? Of course, you could. But let me ask you some more questions. How does this exercise make you feel? Would you still know the information three months later? What about a year later? Would this exercise help you understand the game of hockey more deeply? Does it do the very opposite, which is to say that the activity might make you frustrated and question the value and purpose of learning it in the first place?

I enjoy sports, but I can tell you I wouldn’t love the assignment if it were given to me. However, if you asked me about a specific genre of music, for example, it would be very different. Growing up in the eighties, while others listened to Quiet Riot and Bon Jovi, I somehow developed a passion for the classic rock sounds of the late sixties and seventies. To this day, I have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the music across this period: The Stones, The Doors, and Led Zeppelin. I can tell you about Ten Years After and Quicksilver Messenger Service.  We could talk about Bob Dylan or the British Invasion, or I could comment on the distinctive drumming styles of Mitch Mitchell, Ginger Baker, and Keith Moon. I never considered studying classic rock music. I never made a point of trying to memorize the names of songs, artists, or albums. I did not use notes or flashcards. Yet somehow, in the absence of tests and a teacher, I learned this content very profoundly.

While I did not ask him, I am almost certain the same is true for the student who knows the names and numbers of the NHL players. He did not absorb all the information because he was cramming for a hockey exam or because an authority figure told him he had to. When we find things we identify with, or that spark our curiosity, we can’t help but learn.

I suspect many of you are realizing that you also have a deep level of mastery in certain subjects, subjects that may not have been required of you. Maybe it’s French cuisine, photography, blockchain technology, manga, or motorcycle engines.

I have an acquaintance who loves wood. Ask him the right question, and you might get a ten-minute treatise on the qualities of cocobolo or mahogany. He can talk exotics, grain patterns, joinery, and finishing. And no, he is not a formally trained carpenter by trade (although his skills are remarkable).  

I share these anecdotes because they help to make a point. The prevailing notion is that learning is inherently complex and must be structured, rigorous, and intentional. One might even say that our very educational institutions are built on this premise. And yet, we know that much of our learning, mine and yours, happens independently of such structures. In fact, we are always learning in ways that are fluid, organic, spontaneous, and unstructured.

Sometimes, learning seems effortless and happens without us even realizing it. My youngest daughter knows certain movies almost line by line. It was not intentional on her part. She would say it just “happened.”

I want to be very clear that I believe structure and rigour play an important role in human achievement. Hard work matters. So does mastering fundamentals. You must know the alphabet before you can read. Times Tables and number sense are required skills before you can solve more complex problems. We know that repetition (reps) is critical in helping us internalize and codify knowledge and skills. A chemist must know the periodic table inside and out, just as a doctor must know human physiology and anatomy.

But my underlying point remains the same: Deep learning will flourish where you are curious and interested and where time, opportunity, and resources are available.

I recall being asked to memorize the periodic table on my first day of Chemistry 11. It was a struggle. I appreciated that, technically and practically, I would have succeeded in the course knowing it, but at the time, I failed to be moved or inspired by the subject. Had I been invited to consider that it contained all the known and essential ingredients of the cosmos and that understanding it would bring me closer to knowing how the matter of the universe was organized and how it could be manipulated to extraordinary ends that humans still did not fully grasp, I might have been more engaged. But the magic and beauty of chemistry, at least on that day, was not apparent to me (now, years later, I have come to appreciate the appeal of the subject).

I share all this to suggest that, at its core, education is a human enterprise. Where we can attune ourselves to the interests and skills of students, the better we might foster their unique gifts and talents. I love to visit our schools and see this work in action. It is subtle work, but I see it in the way adults watch and listen to students, the way lessons are designed and shared, and the many extracurricular offerings that are made available. I see it in the efforts we make every day to ensure students see themselves reflected in the materials we use and in the spaces we occupy.

Ultimately, human expertise is the engine that drives everything, whether it’s operating a crane, designing a kitchen, litigating a legal matter, or inventing a new technology. Human beings who develop mastery in a field are people who position themselves to be able to contribute meaningfully to the world and the broader economy.  And where we can spark curiosity and inspire joy in school, we invite students to follow the paths that will allow them to maximize their potential.  Learning accelerates and deepens. Sometimes, the learning can even be so compelling that it feels effortless. This kind of learning is the deep learning that sticks with us and becomes part of who we are. This is why I can still tell you every song, in order, on the Who’s 1969 album, Tommy, without ever having tried to memorize it. And why kids with hockey cards might already be experts.