Learning and the Power of Storytelling

In 3rd grade, my teacher crouched down beside my desk, looked me in the eye, and told me that I was the worse kid in the class. What preceded that interaction? I’m not sure. I was 8. I’m sure that I was being a distraction to whatever was supposed to be happening. I couldn’t sit still. I am sure she was frustrated. I would bet that I hadn’t appeared to grasp whatever we were working on. She was probably trying to motivate me or break through to me in some way. She had probably tried everything else she could think of. I am sure her intentions were positive.?But what did I learn? I learned I was a problem.

Much later in grad school, in a program that I soon realized seemed like it was built for me, one of the professors had a different approach. I was 30 years older, but the context was essentially the same. I was in class at a desk. I was supposed to be in my seat. I was supposed to be listening. My teacher, Dorie Ellzey Blesoff , was orienting the class to our work for the day. She was roaming the classroom and telling us about the scenario. As she walked behind me, she placed a small jumble of things in front of me. I looked up at her. She was still talking, and she didn’t even break her stride, but she glanced at me very quickly and flashed a knowing smile with a subtle wink. I looked back at the stuff she dropped. I don’t remember all the things, but in the mix were several colorful pipe cleaners. I’m sure I furrowed my brow wondering if these were part of the class activity that day. I looked around. No one else had any. I listened more intently, wondering when she’d connect the things that she has dropped to what she was saying to the class. She didn’t.

So, as she talked, I picked up the pipe cleaners and bent them around a bit. I twisted some together. I made a little person stick figure. Unmade it. I bent them and unbent them into other various shapes, and I soon realized why she gave them to me. I must have been doing something distracting and I was probably bothering my classmates just as I had in 3rd grade, without even knowing it, 30 years later. I thought to myself, “She brings these things with her to class? Well damn, then I’m in the right class.” I also took away a realization that learning experiences can be designed in subtle and powerful ways for each learner. I was not yet a learning experience designer myself, but it fanned the flames of what I already saw as the exciting ember of my work: Anything I can do to help people succeed in their learning gave me a buzz. And moreover, as a person (a grown-up person, at that) I had the right and the permission to seek to understand myself as a learner and provide myself what I needed to be successful.

Obviously, as an aside, I feel I should acknowledge the dramatically different macro-contexts of these experiences. At the very least, we have to note the vast difference in demands between a grad school professor and a 3rd-grade teacher (not that all professors would agree!). And let’s not delve into the challenges that are perpetrated across the elementary school systems and the people that work in it. We know in our hearts how hard all the incredible people in that system work to help our kids every day. And as bad as the 3rd-grade story might sound, I keep it filed under: “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.” (You can read more about that idea from Bryan Stevenson. ) My teacher probably did many wonderful things I didn’t even recognize as a distracted youth and I forgave her long ago.

Each of us, as we relive these moments are doing an incredible amount of stuff in our brains to remember them. Our brains are recreating entire scenes. Several years ago, I learned that not everyone recreates the visual aspects of the scene in their head, but I believe we all still do something in our brain that approximates “putting ourselves back in that moment.” For those with more visual memories like me, you might draw the lines of the faces we see in that memory or picture the sun that is streaming in through the window. You might feel the touch of things in those memories, like the pipe cleaners and the twisted metal inside them that can sometimes break and poke your fingers through the little bristles. Those images, sensations, and impressions are not happening now. They happened earlier. Yet our memory of them can feel almost as real, at least for me in small pieces.

It is almost like going back in time.

And as you travel through time, you can find yourself creating and recreating a story, weaving together the threads of the experiences. I’m just starting to understand that this is sometimes referred to as episodic memory . It can work like our own personal time machine and it’s also an elemental part of storytelling. Episodic memory, a term coined by Endel Tulving in the 1970s, allows us to remember specific events and experiences, even ones we’ve only heard about as if they occurred in our own lives. It provides us with a book of snapshots, which we can browse and re-experience. That thin metaphor doesn’t come close to describing how powerful it is. We all know that. We know that because our memories can shake us. They can transform us into confused and upset 8-year-olds. But they can also empower and inspire us.

From what I’m learning, episodic memory relies on a complex interplay of brain regions, including the hippocampus, prefrontal cortex, and medial temporal lobe . When we encounter an experience, our brains encode the information in neural connections, allowing us to recall it later. This process is far from perfect and far from completely understood. The thing that sticks with me is that even though we know how powerful memory can be, and how useful storytelling is in creating those memories, we don’t often employ it to solve the challenges we face every day.

In these examples, I’m (trying) to use storytelling to do two things, at least. One is to help me understand myself and my work as a learning experience designer, but the other is to create a compelling narrative that might lodge in your brain and help you do the same for yourself. If we all do that, as learning designers, then together we can do much more than any one of us can do alone.

So, to help me accomplish goal number one, the thing I’m reading about right now, is the role of episodic memory in creating a sense of self. Each memory we store contributes to our personal narrative, shaping our understanding of who we are and how we fit into the world. This personal narrative, at least the way I’m thinking about it, could shape the way we approach learning, the way we work, our relationships, and well, everything we experience. As we journey through life, we collect and curate a unique assortment of memories that inform our decisions, relationships, and our outlook. If we jump to the conclusion that sharing these stories is a powerful way to form connections, express yourself, and help create a collective sense of belonging then we can also start to see a path for how storytelling can do the same, even when the story is about something other than ourselves.

Since episodic memory also plays a crucial role in learning and problem-solving, we can make better decisions and adapt our behavior to new situations using the stories know. The stories we tell ourselves and others, empower us to learn from our experiences and apply this knowledge to future challenges.

It allows us to connect with our past, learn from our experiences, and build a rich and nuanced understanding of ourselves and the world around us through storytelling. So, the next time you find yourself reminiscing about a cherished moment or laughing at a long-forgotten blunder, take a moment to appreciate the incredible power of your own personal time machine. Then, use that power to create a story that resonates with others. By sharing our experiences and lessons learned, we can become better designers, maybe even better humans. Let’s put the power of storytelling to work. Please share your own personal narrative as it relates to learning and if applicable, how it shaped your approach to learning design. Sharing that story might just change the way you see yourself.