My first
job out of college was called an instructional designer, a title I still
possess today. In nine years, while my title has not changed, my position and
experience within an industry I never knew existed most certainly has. Well
before I knew about Kirkpatrick’s four levels of feedback or Bloom’s Taxonomy,
I simply had an eye for formatting PowerPoints and a knack of the English
Language, which apparently was enough to be hired, employed, and actually
promoted to a lead designer during this 7-month project contract. Since that
first job until today at work, everything I’ve learned has been on the job.
With no formal education, I’ve had to try and figure out this intangible and
generally unknown field as I go.
The thing is, instructional design falls within a broad category
called adult learning. Some instructional design for adult learning actually
produces the aforementioned formal education, but my work almost exclusively
focused on internal training projects for a company, ranging from quite technical,
process-oriented material to high-level leadership ideas, and ranging from a
paper manual to an interactive and dynamic piece of online learning. No matter
the medium, the greatest thing about adult learning: guess what I am? An adult
(usually)! So while craft and skill and creativeness dominate the field, there
is a relatively simple, consistent backbone that supports the entire industry;
would I want to take this? It seems kind of obvious, but even if I’m designing
a course for people at the lower end of the adult spectrum, I’ve experienced
what they are going through and generally can connect with the audience,
something that, say, a high school teacher at the end of their career might
struggle with. So when asked to narrate 30 minutes of content with mild
PowerPoint animation in the background, I can confidently push back by saying,
‘is this something that you would want to do? Then why put our participants
through it?’
Speaking of high school, I wasn’t prom king. That’s pretty narrow,
but even if we widened that demographic to include the ‘generally popular
kids,’ once again I was on the outside looking in. Don’t get me wrong, I had
friends. I kind of walked the line, inadvertently, between pop, jock, and nerd.
Mostly A student playing football and baseball that let his friends drink at
his empty parents’ house despite not drinking until college. But when I wasn’t
taking advantage of my parents’ 25th anniversary, I spent most weekends in
front of a similar screen at which I am currently staring, scrolling through my
rolodex of people that regretted ever sharing their phone number. I didn’t
really know what kids did on the weekend, but it seemed like the place to be.
My most common, non-intrusive line when I finally got people on the phone would
be something along the lines of keep me posted if something actually happens.
And when the phone never rang, I just assumed everyone was equally bored and
lonely. This wasn’t the case.
With those as my memories from high school, it's not hard to
explain how I am today. It doesn’t take formal education in psychology. For
years, I felt ignored, rejected, and alone. There have been enough songs and
quotes about the visceral darkness that accompanies waiting by a phone that
never rings. It’s crushing. And when it happens ritually, it shapes the rest of
your life. Despite the way technology has made it easier to connect and
communicate, some of the same pitfalls from life 15 years ago still apply. We
have more ways to talk than ever before, but more distractions too. So the idea
of staying off the internet to keep a phone line free is obviously extinct,
fine, but the onslaught of communication has amplified the opportunities for
disappointment.
But for as many opportunities there are for disappointment,
there’s an equal number of chances for fulfillment. In 2016, this looks like
responding to a text or an email. We’ve become a society where not having your
cell phone with you is hard to imagine. The panic that sets in during the
initial moments of checking your pocket or purse and not immediately locating
your phone rivals any thrill ride I’ve ever embarked. Of course, restrictions
apply, but generally, even if you work a job that requires relatively dedicated
attention, there are still opportunities. In 2016, this looks like replying to
a Facebook invitation with an accurate response, in a relatively timely manner.
Because we all get that it’s a little silly, but what other medium do we have?
In 2016, this means saying yes. What I mean is easier explained
when turned around. I understand that not everyone has the same sense of
adventure, but if at some point you have thought or read or heard of an event
or restaurant or bar or store or park that you want to check out and generally
would like some company when you do. Not revolutionary. But with the advent of
Netflix and blah blah blah it’s become easier to do nothing while still feeling
connected. But true connection happens face to face.
For me, it’s probably deep-seeded in my angst-y high school days
when I didn’t understand why I often felt on the outside. It’s easier to look
back, but those experiences have affected my current perspective. An unanswered
text won’t leave me inconsolable in my bedroom with a heavy metal album playing
on repeat. So with a slideshow of memories on call, I try, as honestly as I
can, to treat others the way I wish I was treated. How does it feel when your
texts fall on empty thumbs? When your emails fall on empty hands? When your
invites go unanswered or ignored or simply declined?
Just like when I’m designing a new training course at work, all
you have to ask is ‘would I want this done to me?’
