As I sat down to write my weekly response, I found myself at a loss for words. This rarely happens. I’ve always been an easy conversationalist and prolific writer. I am usually one of the most talkative students in any classroom. (So often have I been “that girl”). So, why should a 500-word response piece provoke such anxiety?

It’s not that I’m unused to being a student. Though this is my first class in the TWL program at GMU, I’ve spent the past few years taking undergraduate literature and writing courses, both at NOVA and at GMU, first as an exploration of personal interests, and later in preparation for an M.A. in English.

Nor is this an issue of the graduate/undergraduate divide. I’ve taken graduate-level courses on a variety of subjects—from quantitative political analysis to feminist theory. Don’t get me wrong, these classes were indeed challenging. And yet, somehow, even more objectively “difficult” assignments seemed simpler.

Salvatori and Donahue’s comments on students’ repertoires shed light on my sense of anxiety. Likewise, Bransford’s discussion of novices and experts helped me make better sense of my own educational background and the hesitancy with which I approached this seemingly simple assignment.

The entirety of my high school and undergraduate education prepared me for these higher-level courses. To use the terminology introduced in this week’s readings, in previous settings, my repertoire was such that when confronted with new formulas or concepts, I knew where to fit them in to the “big picture.” I understood how to order and “chunk” new information. Now, I would never claim to be an “expert” in American political science. However, I do have the relevant experience to “recognize meaningful patterns of information” and use this knowledge to demystify new material (Bransford 37). That is, at least in the realm of political science.

Although I work in an educational subfield, I have limited knowledge of pedagogical theory. I find myself, much like the students featured in Salvatori and Donahue’s The Elements (and Pleasures) of Difficulty, surrounded by new terminology, new vocabularies, and new ways of thinking about learning and the learning process. By virtue of proximity to so many experienced educators (at work and in class), I do recognize a name there (Bloom’s!) or a term there (constructivist!). Still, in the context of this new material, I find myself identifying more with the struggling students in Salvatori and Donahue’s work much more than even the “novice” educators discussed (albeit briefly) towards the end Bransford’s “Learners and Learning.”

After mulling this over (and managing 500 words in the process), I find myself much more at ease with this glut of new information. The most elucidating aspect of this week’s readings was, without a doubt, Salvatori and Donahue’s discussion of “Why Difficulty Merits Attention.” Many students (and teachers for that matter) connote ease with intelligence. I’ve certainly done this myself. If you’re “smart,” you “get things” more easily, right? Salvatori and Donahue’s comments on accepting and even cherishing difficulty helped me better address my own anxieties about facing new material.

As a side note: I also enjoyed Bransford’s discussion of experts and teaching. Having attended a large state school for my undergradate degree (Go ‘Hoos!), I’ve had one or two professors who were brilliant academics but just could not communicate ideas to entry-level students, despite earnest efforts from both student and teacher.

Thank God for teaching assistants.

Sara