There were a couple of subjects at school that I struggled with. The particular one that comes to mind is chemistry. I didn’t study chemistry for long because the experience was so dire that I switched to another subject as soon as I had the chance. I still remember sitting in the classroom, staring at the blackboard and trying very hard to understand, but realising that my brain just seemed to have no way to latch onto this information. My confidence wasn’t helped by the public humiliation of not knowing the answer to an easy question, and the fact that my teacher clearly thought I wasn’t very bright. But, even with the most inspiring teacher in the world, I don’t think that I would have ever got excited about chemistry. It is not that I don’t think that chemistry is important in the world. It clearly is and I am grateful that there are people out there who find it exciting and inspiring. But, for some reason, I am not one of them.
Spanish was another story. I had endless energy for these classes, despite the fact that 1980s language teaching was pretty dull. Some teachers were excellent, and some less so, but not even the dreariest teacher or the awful textbooks we used could dent my enthusiasm. I imagined myself one day living in Spain, had penpals in Madrid and Salamanca, and did several exchange trips to Spain. I was probably quite annoying in class, a bit of a know-it-all, hand waving in the air at every question. I went on to study Spanish A-level, and moved to Spain shortly after university, eventually staying there for over 20 years. My children were born in Barcelona, and their dad is Spanish-speaking, so at home now we speak a mixture of Spanish and English. Chemistry, on the other hand, has not been so prominent in my life.
Psychologist and professor of education, Dr. Mary Helen Immordino-Yang has done extensive research into the neurobiology of how we learn. I am delighted that her conclusion validates my chemistry experience and proves that it was no one’s fault—neither mine nor the teacher’s. It’s just the science of learning (or not learning). “It is literally neurologically impossible to think deeply about things you don’t care about,” says Dr. Immordino-Yang. Emotions and learning are intricately connected, so if we are curious and interested in something, we are also open to exploring and finding out more. In this case, there is joy and satisfaction in the learning journey itself and, in fact, when we are driven by this kind of intrinsic motivation, we are also rewarded with a hearty dose of dopamine. Our entire system has evolved to encourage our own natural curiosity to propel us forward and to ensure that we are constantly exploring the things that need to be explored. Certainly, from an evolutionary perspective, pursuing things that don’t have meaning doesn’t make a lot of sense. As Dr. Immordino-Yang asks, “Why would you waste time spending energy and effort and neurological resources on thinking about random things that don’t have any bearing on anything important? That would be a silly use of energy.” And why are we all curious about different things? Because, for whatever reason, some things feel more meaningful and relevant to our own individual lives. Perhaps to ensure that between everyone, we cover all the bases that are needed for our communities to thrive.
When, on the other hand, we learn because we have no choice, or because we are under the threat of punishment, shame, or the prospect of failure, then our mindset is entirely different. We are no longer relaxed and curious. Now, our emotional engagement stems from the fear of negative consequences and, rather than being open and receptive, we are operating in our body’s fight or flight mode. Here, we just want to escape the situation as soon as possible and get it all over with. We are in exactly the opposite state needed for deep learning, and any learning that happens in this space will tend to be superficial and without real meaning or satisfaction to ourselves.
Interestingly, in modern society, learning has become so synonymous with school, that we assume that hard work and tests are real learning, whilst a child engaged in something they enjoy or are curious about just for the satisfaction of it may well be dismissed as wasting time. We see this all the time with young children, whose natural and meaningful exploration of the world through play is cut short because, ironically, adults need them to get serious about learning.
Perhaps our first step when our children leave school is to simply reassess this way of thinking and to keep an eye on our own internalised beliefs. Then, rather than assuming that we know what is meaningful, to observe our children and see what they engage with and explore. What is meaningful to them? Our children are probably naturally curious about things that we find it hard to care about, and we may well have passions that mean nothing to them. That’s okay—we’re all designed to be different.
Seeing, over the years, how my children learn, this natural curiosity has been fascinating to watch in action. They each have their own particular areas of interest and, within those areas, their ability to find and consume knowledge is mind-boggling. Unlike school, with its set goals and grades, their explorations are as open-ended as their own curiosity. Because of the choices they’ve made, there is sometimes some externally-imposed “learning” to be done in the lives of my eldest two. If this learning dovetails with their own interests then it’s likely to be engaged with in this same open spirit, and they may well deliver over and above requirements. If it doesn’t engage them naturally, then one of two things tends to happen. Either the work gets done, but the resistance is palpable, in the procrastination, in the hunched body language, in the sighs and in the spirit of, “Do you think this will be enough?” There is no joy in these narrow journeys, just the weak relief of getting it over with. The other thing that might happen is that they turn somersaults to make this work meaningful. They try to find some angle to it, some piece of it that feels relevant to them, then twist the work to fit that, so that they are able to engage with it meaningfully. This may make the work more complicated and time consuming, but anything to avoid the profound neurological discomfort of meaningless learning.
We can never know how each other’s unique journeys through life should look. But, if we can open ourselves to being enriched by this, we are likely to have a far more enjoyable and interesting life with our children than if we were to insist that we know best. There is really nothing more joyful than watching a child move through life, powered by what they care about. And it is reassuring to know that this is exactly how we are designed to live.
A PLACE ON A HILL 
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