Those three little words
Where are they headed? (Nasjonalbiblioteket of Norway)
There is a phrase that brings joy to my teacher heart — three little words that make me feel like all my effort is worth it and my time on earth will leave some legacy.
When a student is willing to say these words after days, weeks, or months of working together, I know that they trust me and we can make rapid progress moving forward.
No, not “I love you.”
The three little words are, “I don’t know.”
Granted, just as some folks throw a lot of “I love yous” around, there are some students who are all too comfortable with, “I don’t know,” and use it as a way to prevent thinking, effort, or self-reflection.
But for other students, to say “I don’t know” feels like failure. They’ll do or say anything to avoid exposing a gap in their knowledge and understanding. They believe that needing help is a sign of weakness and that not knowing something is a sign of unintelligence.
However, if they aren’t willing to acknowledge, even to themselves, that they don’t know something, it’s much harder to teach them. Ironically, their refusal to appear ignorant makes them more ignorant — they are going to make slower progress and learn less.
By contrast, the person who readily embraces what she doesn’t know will ask questions, seek clarification, and check understanding. This is the person who, in a group of nodding people, says, “Wait, I’ve never heard that phrase before — what does it mean?” or “I’m not familiar with this concept — can you tell me more about it?” This person doesn’t look stupid — they end up looking sharp, confident, and clever. They’re giving themselves new opportunities to learn and grow, not to mention winning the favor of the expert who now gets to delve into a favorite topic in greater depth.
When you feel like you’re the only one who doesn’t get it, you’re probably not. If no one has any questions, it’s just as likely that they don’t understand and don’t know how to say so. You could do everyone a favor and ask one.
It’s also possible that the people around you don’t care. Indifference is how we learn to cope with not knowing, not understanding, and not seeing any way out of it. But that’s a terrible way to spend your thirteen-plus years of formal education or a forty-year career. It doesn’t have to be a permanent state of being. You solve it by embracing “I don’t know” and believing that you can know.
I think that my students sometimes fool themselves into believing that they know something when they don’t. The alternative is too painful to contemplate. So they say things like, “Well, I know this, but I just don’t remember,” or “I know part of it.” Their lack of clarity makes the work of teaching and learning harder — we have to tiptoe around in the dark until we find the part that is missing from their understanding instead of simply getting some light and air in there. It’s slower and more delicate.
A group setting can resolve this problem if someone is willing to speak up and say that they have the same problem. One brave person can be the hero for the rest, clearing up a misconception and allowing everyone else to silently retune their own mental models. To say “I don’t know” or “I don’t get it” is fundamentally an act of leadership in that context.
“I don’t know” isn’t the end of learning. It’s the beginning. Even if you aren’t able to take the next step to formulate a question, saying, “I don’t know” invites support that will meet you where you are. With those words said, we can collaborate in order to build a new concept together. It’s a shortcut that allows us both — teacher and student — to do our best work.