Sense and Teachability — i.e Motivation

   

 Why do we learn?

    Is the question that keeps me up at night. Especially since I began teaching Spanish to kiwi teens and, year after year, many of them kept saying, "no, gracias." 

You can imagine that I took it personally at first. I snarled and gave them the finger —in my mind— before running after them and imploring them to stay, and stressing eloquently how much they matter to me (lazy bunch of so and so...)

Guess what, they didn't stay.

Ever since, I've been wondering how to turn things around. If playing hard to get, begging, and fawning over students won't make them stay, how then could I encourage them to choose me over Tech, or Science, or any other trendy fish in the sea? 

So, I figured they needed to be told in no uncertain terms why Spanish was the better girl in town:

• She's popular    — the second most spoken language in the world!
• She's friendly    — friendlier than her neighbour Chinese, at least.

• She's well travelled     — 23 countries, and counting.

• She's smart         —  good for your brain and your academic achievement.

• She sounds lovely     — and looks lovely to Uni and future employers.

• She also hates "Despacito"     — believe it or not.

• She's cheap  ... okay, that didn't come out right, I know. "But, think about it," I pleaded with my students, "five hours a week, for free! Take it now and thank me later."

You can see I was getting desperate but still they weren't ready to commit. Then, in a fit of melodramatic sighs, I began wondering why I was drawn to English myself. I have so many times gone back to that beautiful moment. Especially whenever people ask me with a quizzical brow, "how and where did you learn English?" and I feel tempted to say,

"...it was on a warm Tuesday evening in a dusty Mexican town. I was eleven and sitting at a private tutor’s table for my first lesson. That didn't last. Yet, it was powerful enough to spark this feeling, a love I’d never known. She pointed to some pictures while speaking in a strange, mysterious language. I can see it like it was yesterday: the images, the looks, her tone of voice, the inviting smile. Suddenly, a veil lifted. It was as if I had crossed over to her world. When she said, 'he is wearing black pants. She is wearing pink slippers' I understood. It was a lightbulb moment. I was an arrow through the heart."

But I don't say that. Not unless I want to see people's quizzical brow turn into a smirk or a baffled gape. And yet, it is a true story and exactly how I remember it: the most commonplace moment in that teacher’s life was also the most meaningful one in mine. 

In retrospect, I am basically self-taught and so is every other person who’s ever mastered a foreign language (prove me wrong). This is because language mastery takes far more devotion than understanding the Periodic Table and offers, for the most part, little more than trepidation and heartbreak. It is an overhwelmingly daunting quest that began, for me at least, with that realisation at a tender age that learning English was something I could do —exploring it, conquering it, ruling it— all on my own. So, my short answer to their question is, “I learned English everywhere just by loving it.”

If  thus far you’ve noticed the abuse of romantic imagery to discuss learning you're pretty savvy. And, in my opinion, pretty right. The truth is, aside from that which is crucial to survive, no one learns anything forever —and ever, until death do us part— unless they love it wholeheartedly. So, back to the question at hand: why do people fall in love?

Sorry, my mistake. Why do we learn?

I know that I learned Maths because of certain stubborn teachers I was lucky to meet, and discovered knitting by copying my mum; and, more recently, learnt to solve the Rubik's Cube in under 3 minutes because I thought it was the cat’s pajamas —no one else does, I know. Yet, only my love for language and music have lasted this long. So, to iterate, why do we fall in love with certain things and stick with them through thick and thin, in sickness and health, forever and ever?

Learning is a quest for love

Being serious about the issue, I asked Google first —I'll spare you the details: it didn't have a clue.
Then I figured that Jane Austen would know. The great novelists ought to know.

Look at how Elinor and Marianne Dashwood fall in love in Sense and Sensibility. The first does so quietly, with renunciation and discipline. She won't even tell the world how deeply she loves Mr Ferrars and is willing to set him free despite her heartache. Marianne, on the other hand, loves Willoughby ardently. She is consumed by a flame fed by the winds of her romantic expectations, her imaginnings. And when he doesn't stay, she nearly dies from grief.

In the end, Elinor is the one with the most satisfying ending. The gratification is so deep for her —and for us, readers— that our heart might burst when Ferrars pronounces that his own has belonged to her always. Marianne, by contrast, learns to tame her emotions and marries Colonel Brandon out of either gratitude or convenience, not love.

There are many examples of both in my life. If the English Language is my Mr Ferrars, the cube is definitely Willoughby. And though I understand that we should all empathise with impetuous Marianne I perfectly see why the autoress fails to give her love affair a happy ending. Out of the two sisters, it is Elinor who actually deserves it.

Likewise, in learning, the greatest satisfaction is born of the most challenging tasks. The ones that seem at times unsurmountable and doomed. When the subject has taught us not just the facts but also the depth of our hearts, the strength of our will, the power of our minds.

Motivation is where it's at...

In learning theory, we refer to that strong feeling as motivation (Pink, 2009). Look at the history of the word and it will take you back to Latin and the word movere: to move. That which moves us to learn like love can move mountains. There is the extrinsic kind, which kindles interest by external forces and desires, and burns bright but fast like Marianne's feelings. And there is the intrinsic one, which resembles Elinor’s affection: steady and quiet; growing not from aspirations and fits of passion but from mastering the learning itself — just like the oldest Dashwood girl masters herself for the sake of what is right. 

Back to teaching Spanish then, am I to expect that most kids will leave me and only few will discover the satisfaction borne by patience and effort? 

Short answer —Yes. 

But perhaps I could still give them a taste. So, forsake conjugations and the perpetual difference between ser and estar! I ought to immerse them in Spanish and let them struggle a bit. And then give them a bit of satisfaction. And then let them struggle a bit more. Perhaps they might experience at least a bout of the everlasting love that true commitment to learning would bring. 

"We have three innate psychological needs — competence, autonomy, and relatedness. When those needs are satisfied we feel motivated, productive, and happy." Daniel Pink (2009)

Very recently, my Year 10 students selected their options for next year. As I inquired after their intentions, disappointment followed suit.
It could be that I had pinned my hopes on these two classes because of how brilliant they are. Because most of them had progressed so quickly, especially in the last four months and despite a national lockdown. It could well be, but it really crushed me to learn that many of them would go on to choose Science, or Health, and renounce Spanish. It made me question the experiment of helping them to master the language in a natural way.

Some really capable students confessed to loving it but having to choose otherwise because of "future jobs". A. A., said, "I wanted to take Spanish next year but then I decided that I'm probably not going to 😢😢. If I had the option to take another subject then it would be Spanish." 

Ouch. You can be sure that for a minute I took it personally, then went back to their reasoning. 

J. S., for example, explained that he would take History because of his future prospects but then added,

"....this Year 10 Spanish course has definitely helped me in a lot of ways in letting me see the world through a different perspectice (sic). I also think I've learnt a lot in such a small amount of time as well and I haven't realised how much I've really learnt until I scroll down to earlier resources at the beginning of the year and see how much I've learnt so I'm really happy about that as well."

It brought tears to my eyes. 

So what was my verdict? Maybe I am onto something here: focus on giving them the full experience to realise the tools they already own, and get them emotionally involved, and help them to gain confidence by circumnavigating Spanish conjugations in all their frustrating glory.

To be fair, I know that I have yet to crack this issue. I am still facing retention concerns and wondering how Japanese does it (one-on-one tutoring? Frequent visits to Bruce Lee Sushi?) What matters is that I am now more motivated than ever to explore why this might be happening and what should be done about it. Because — come to think of it— the other thing I love intrinsically, quietly and persistently, is teaching. And the more elusive this problem becomes the more I long to remove the veil and see it fully. The more determined I am to tackling this challenge from news angles, and mastering how to teach kiwi teens to love el español. 

It almost makes you wonder who is motivating whom?

My plan moving forward

For the time being, I intend to steer my approach further towards content and culture, easing big time on the language-awareness front. To hold students back for a while longer in what Bloom (1965) calls the affective domain before unleashing them into the cognitive one. I didn't invent the wheel just now, of course. This is what Krashen and his Natural Approach (1988) to teaching language have been proposing for ages. He and other very insightful people like John Holt when he said that a "proper analogy can be found ... with children learning to speak, that extraordinary intellectual feat we all accomplished before adults got it into their heads that they could 'teach' us." (1990, p. 10).

Never mind gender agreement and the four kinds of stem-changing verbs. Spark the love and thus their motivation to learn. Let us hope that the feeling will carry them through that and acquisition will naturally follow. Until Year 11, that is, when I hit them with the truth: it won’t always be this easy. Love won’t always make your heart flutter. You will sooner have to work hard and commit and become selfless like Elinor. And tame your heart. And do it just for the love of learning. For the goal of Mastery (Pink, 2015).

Why do we learn, then? Because of the thrill, the chase, the heartache, the renunciation, and the ultimate burst of happiness — clearly.
Otherwise, why do we keep reading Jane Austen too? (Or is it just me?)

Takeaways:

• Intrinsic motivation stems from ownership, challenge, and mastery.
• Extrinsic motivation is usually effective only short-term and often counterproductive for learning.
• Motivation is unique to the student but also dependent on external factors, like cultural context and immediate needs.
• Motivated teachers make for motivated students.

References:

• Austen, J. (2010). Sense and Sensibility (Collins Classics) (0 ed.). William Collins.

• Bloom’s Taxonomy. (2018, July 4). Centre for Teaching Excellence. https://uwaterloo.ca/centre-for-teaching-excellence/teaching-resources/teaching-tips/planning-courses-and-assignments/course-design/blooms-taxonomy

• Dupuy, B. C. (2000a). Content-Based Instruction: Can it Help Ease the Transition from Beginning to Advanced Foreign Language Classes? Foreign Language Annals, 33(2), 205–223. Retrieved from Shortenned URL.

• Holt, J. (1990). Learning All The Time (Revised ed.). Da Capo Lifelong Books.

• Krashen, S. D., & Terrell, T. D. (1988). The Natural Approach. Prentice Hall.

• Pink, D. H. (2009). Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us (1st ed.). Riverhead Books.