We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface but connected in the deep.
― William James
Not long after the advent of Covid, I signed on as an Adjunct Professor at the Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT). Since then, I have taught a course titled Writing Seminar, usually three classes per semester, with about twenty students per class. As I live 400 plus miles from the RIT campus, I conduct this work remotely – via Zoom, an online communications platform that allows users to connect with video, audio, phone and chat.
With Zoom, however, while my sensory experience is technologically modern, it is also limited. And uniform. When I log on to teach a class, my students pop up inside tiny square boxes until, finally, I have a screen filled with framed faces awaiting instruction. It’s akin to watching the opening credits of The Brady Bunch, but without a catchy jingle and a welcoming wink from Alice the live-in maid.
Also limited is immediacy with my students – “the quality of bringing one into direct and instant involvement with something, giving rise to a sense of urgency or excitement.” When I teach online, not only am I physically distant from the class, I often feel emotionally detached from them. While many a good exchange happens when I teach online, it is almost exclusively verbal. What I miss out on is body language, subtle and not-so-subtle cues hidden by the digital divide, anything from fidgeting hands to the tapping of feet, signals that might give notice of a student’s unspoken issues and feelings.
And that which is not visible is also often absent on Zoom, i.e. the “energy” people exude in person. Over the years, for example, I’ve had students who radiate charisma, who brim with enthusiasm and confidence, who bring to the classroom vitality and vibes that are positive and uplifting.
But with Zoom, I am unable to take in the “totality” of a student. As a result, my teaching style is changing. It’s Evolution 101: “adapt or die.” Because I’m not as able to “gauge a room”, to pick up on a student’s individual state-of-mind, or the collective mood of a class, I stick more to the “script” than when I’m teaching in person. I am less extemporaneous, less eclectic, less fluid and more rigid. I still try to inject humor into the educational equation whenever possible, but it is now more contrived, a part of the lesson plan. And as such I think it’s not as funny, and for me, not as fun. The fact is, while teaching on Zoom, I sometimes feel robotic, an avatar, and that my students are tuning into a prerecorded lecture on Youtube.
So what to do? While I’ve made many points about why Zoom is not the best fit for me, it also has been wonderful for me. It has allowed me to teach and get to know many amazing students from RIT, a school I greatly respect and admire. And I can do this while living in a place of my choice: my commute to “work” is a two minute walk from my bedroom to my office. Zoom also helps me to be more organized. And as I weave through my middle-age years, I am able to keep connection to a younger world, to state-of-the-art technology and, perhaps, the future of education.
But balancing the pros and cons of Zoom vs. in-person learning, I’ve come to the conclusion that what I need is balance – a mix of both. In that way, I’ll not feel deprived of one, and more appreciative of the other. This came clear to me not long back, when I had the opportunity to travel to Upstate New York, and arranged in that time to visit RIT and hold classes. It was a great day. I loved being on the campus, and more meeting my students in person. And I believe they were equally happy to meet me in this fashion. There was a vulnerability between us, a sort-of-shyness, even though we had been meeting regularly on Zoom for many weeks. I also witnessed friendship and community within each class: students shared tables, laughed and teased each other, and lingered after class to talk and share stories. There was a closeness between them, camaraderie , and bonds I hadn’t known about before. It was moving. It was inspiring. It was fun.
The following week, when back home and conducting classes on Zoom, the students and I spoke about what it was like to meet face-to-face. This led to a wide-ranging conversation about the differences between in-person and online learning. It was a great talk. They had many informed insights. And at the end, I believe we all understood in a better way what we lose, and what we gain, in a world becoming more connected and disconnected with each click of the mouse.
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
