Hello, and welcome to On Learning, a newsletter of explorations and wonderings, sometimes whimsical and other times rigorous, about what it takes for learning matter.
It’s nice to have you here.
Today, we dive into flow states. I’m trying to offer you some food for thought in this one, well aware that there is probably only so much you can do with regards to enacting this theoretical understanding of how to foster learning that matters.
Here’s what we cover
How flow can offer a contrast to behaviourism when thinking about how we support learning.
Csikszentmihalyi’s theory of flow, including the conditions required for it to ‘appear’.
How flow shifts the way we can define learning that matters.
What’s worth considering when designing for flow.
Let’s get into it.
There he was, sitting, hunched, intently busy. I had never seen him like this before. Usually, he was all movement and bombast, that kid who drives a teacher crazy.
You know the type.
But this day he was the complete opposite. Why? Was it some trick of his mood? No. On this day the kids got to choose. He had chosen to draw. I sat, observing. He was with three other kids (usually a recipe for an eventual disruptive event), and he was sharing ideas for how to draw eyes. He talked, mainly to himself, about how the hairline was the thing - get that right and you got the face right.
His movements were considered and precise. He sat for over an hour in that seat.
I took the chance to have a brief chat with him. I complimented the hairline. We talked about hands - how do you draw good hands? he asked me. He told me about his mum’s friend who draws really well and how he’d gone to her house and she’d taught him some ‘tricks’. We talked about colour and how it creates mood. He went and got some coloured pencils.
Time flew, but also seemed still. You know that feeling. Good things are happening, attention is clear. He was calm, open, friendly, and attentive. He cared about what he was doing. If I had to put a label on his experience, I’d say he was in a flow state.
On my ride home a question surfaced in my mind, and it’s an ethical one. How often does he deserve to feel this?
Once a term? A couple of times? Only at discovery time? More?
It’s an uncomfortable question, isn’t it. If you’re anything like me, you’d like to have it both ways - he deserves to feel it all the time / he needs to achieve at the levels we expect him to.
This is the trouble with flow. While great in theory, in practice it’s pretty much a pipe dream, present only on those odd occasions when there isn’t the pressure to get through the curriculum.
For me, what’s interesting about flow states is not just that they signal deep immersion in something but also that they offer a different way to think about the structures and systems we use to support learning.
So much of the world we live in, and by extension the schools our kids learn in, operate from a behaviourist perspective. In the post I wrote about the nature of learners, I argued that this was a reflection of how we view people.
I’ve always had a tendency to optimism, to see the best in people. And that natural tendency has been amplified by experience: everyone I know has wanted to do well; some of them haven’t been able to. Everyone I know who has done well has done so after finding and accepting their strengths. It can take a long time for some people to feel good enough about themselves for this to happen.
I know of no one who has done well out of fear. And make no mistake, at the root of a behaviourist approach is the cultivation of dependency and fear.
Really? Aren’t you being a bit hyperbolic here Bevan?, you might be thinking.
Kinda, but not really. We’re all familiar with Pavlo’s dog.
The bell feels metaphoric for our context, does it not? :)
And think about the central premise of this: engagement in an activity is prompted by an external force. In other words, what is done is extrinsically driven, and the intent is to train the learner to learn.
How are we feeling about this, ethically?
We might say this is justified because what the bell signals to the dog is that something good for it is about to happen. And so, the ringing of the bell reinforces a positive event (eating) and outcome (not starving). No wonder the dog gets excited.
We might also say that the ringing of the bell helps to provide structure for the dog, and in doing so helps to calm the dog. If the bell’s use is predictable and consistent, the dog benefits from this stability as it is able to plan ahead and therefore make good use of its day (yes, I might be slightly stretching the metaphor here :) )
And yet, from this, a couple of important questions emerge:
What is the impact of feeling the urge to do something, but not being able to because the cue to engage hasn’t ‘rung’?
What happens when the cue to engage occurs, but the cued doesn’t engage?
There is a high level of dependency that governs action in a behaviourist approach. Most often this is built and fostered through the provision of positive reinforcements - do what’s asked of you, in a timely manner, and do it well, and you get rewarded (eg, stickers, good grades). And what about the fear that must exist, regardless of any semblance of predictability, due to the possibility of negative reinforcements? - the learner who desperately wants to get things right, and can’t stand the thought of a poor grade; the learner who tucks their shirt in when they see a teacher approach, because they fear being disciplined. And what about the learner’s inner life? - what do we make of those urges, all those feelings, that make them want to engage in something, but can only remain frustrated unless the external force cues their expression.
So what’s the alternative? Perhaps we can think about what school is for and ask a question about that, the answer to which will guide our practice.
For instance, we might ask, How can I help these learners achieve (to their potential/excellence/at or above expectations etc)?
This is an outcomes-focused question. Our answer might easily justify an approach that emphasises training kids so that their behaviours and attitudes make achievement more likely than not. We are in the realm of standardisation here. A great theoretical underpinning of our actions in this context is behaviourism. In fact, it could be argued that if the question that guides practice in a school is achievement-oriented, then taking a behaviourist approach is the ethical one.
But, we could ask a different kind of question. A question Csikszentmihaly thought was possibly the most important one to ask is, What makes a life worth living? For him, it was the ability to engage in what he called optimal experiences, which are those moments “where we feel a sense of exhilaration, a deep sense of enjoyment that is long cherished”. Those, he argued, were the key to happiness. What is interesting is that Csikszentmihaly believed they can be cultivated.
“Because optimal experience depends on the ability to control what happens in consciousness moment by moment, each person has to achieve it on the basis of his own individual efforts and creativity. This happens when psychic energy--or attention--is invested in realistic goals, and when skills match the opportunities for action. The pursuit of a goal brings order in awareness because a person must concentrate attention on the task at hand and momentarily forget everything else.”
SOURCE: Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, ‘Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience’
Which question do you think schools should guide educational practice?
I’m sure you can see some clear distinctions between those two questions, and I’m sure your mind is thinking of the pressures exerted in your context that emphasise one question being the guiding one over the other. Here’s a distinction I think is interesting: a behaviourist approach is concerned only with outward expressions of behaviour - what can be seen is what matters - whereas Csikszentmihalyi’s theory of flow is all about the importance of the inner life - that which can’t be seen. And so, if we are drawn towards embracing this approach, if we want our practice to be guided by the question, What makes a good life?, then we need to find a way to work with what cannot be seen. This is tough, and it bodes the question: what are some practices that can help learners experience the optimal experiences that come from flow?
Well, we need to start from a fundamental principle that flow occurs when we are doing something that we like to do, and this means that choice must be present in the learning environment.
Johan Hari, in his book Stolen Focus, identifies three core components that must be present for flow to occur.
1) A goal, and being able to engage in its pursuit without distractions.
“Mihaly found that distraction and multitasking kill flow … [it] requires all of your brainpower, deployed towards one mission.” (Stolen Focus, p. 52)
The goal the boy in the story at the start of this piece had, after being given the choice, was to draw and get the face right. He was able to pursue this without anything else intruding - even his conversations with others were about this - and he had the time to settle into it.
And so, a principle we can take from this component is that the learning environment and culture must be one that has a place where learners can monotask and feel calm. For some, this will involve separation from others, physically and digitally. (I put myself in this box. When I write these posts I need to be alone - the presence of anyone in the same room, and that includes having email open, sucks my thinking away from the goal I have of writing something well. In essence, I cannot think.)
2) Doing what’s meaningful to you.
“This is part of a basic truth about attention: we evolved to pay attention to things that are meaningful to us.” (Stolen Focus, p. 52)
I was amazed by the care the boy had when he was drawing, and the vocabulary he had to talk about what he was trying to do. He was able to speak about the different elements of what he was drawing with precision. He cared, and so was able to attend to the little things. He was attuned to them.
A principle we can take from this is that learners must get regular opportunities to choose to engage in things that matter to them. The things we are drawn to are the things that help us think deeply.
3) Do something that’s at the edge of your ability.
“If the goal is too easy, you’ll go into autopilot - but if it’s too hard, you’ll start to feel anxious and off kilter.” (Stolen Focus, p. 53)
It took a long time, and a few attempts for the boy to be happy with the hairline. He wasn’t done until he was satisfied. Can you see the inner life that’s present in that? How he’s making the judgement of what’s good enough, and because what he’s doing matters, because he cares about it, he wants to do it well.
A principle we can take from this is that time is crucial. Learners need control of how long something will take. When teachers determine how long learners get to complete something, what is communicated about what matters is getting something done instead of doing something well.
So, to summarise. For flow to be present, the learning context needs to give learners: genuine choice, distraction-free spaces, and control of time.
We must also think about what does flow do for learners, and decide whether we think these are worthwhile things.
I think it helps them develop a feel for things, and that this adds depth to their learning. When I say this, I mean depth in a sense that’s beyond an increasingly complex grasp of facts. I mean things like learning to trust their ability, to know where the edge of their skill set is, to develop know-how and not just know-what.
I also think flow helps learners feel a sense of and develop their wellbeing. This graph is a useful illustration of why it makes us feel well. Look at that vertical line that traces from anxiety to boredom. We are more likely to have an experience on the left side of that line when someone else directs what, when and how we do something. As Csikszentmihalyi says, “Purpose, resolution, and harmony unify life and give it meaning”. These are things that happen when we have control of our experience.
Developing all these positive ‘outflows’ takes time. It takes patience. It requires positive relationships. It requires teachers who see and work from the strengths of their learners. But, and this is possibly the most crucial element, it takes a paradigm shift in the guiding ethos of education. Despite all the rhetoric about wellbeing and learning, we still have a system that at heart values achievement above all else. Until a paradigm shift happens that aligns the purpose of schools with something akin to Csikszentmihalyi’s question, flow will continue to be an elusive feeling that happens in those exceptional, one-off moments.
And so, let’s cycle back to the ethical question I asked about the boy at the start: How often does he deserve to feel this?
Well, given that’s a question that’s concerned with the inner world, occasionally is a satisfactory answer if the point of school is achievement.
But, if the point of school is to help kids learn what makes a life with living, the answer must be every day.
Just what I needed to get my flow on...and stop angsting about my teaching and 'what next' or how to survive the constant grind of school life! This also helps me to see what I need to do to help students find that sweet spot between skill and challenge. Thank you, Bevan...and I will definitely buy you a coffee on Thursday!