Why I use writing to learn
How facing the fear of public embarrassment became my ultimate learning hack.
Five years ago, I did my first differential equations tutorial. I walked into the study room, to see six fresh, eager faces. I was expecting to lay down the basics, drill some easy exercises, and call it a day. I’d mastered differential equations. This was going to be a cakewalk.
But then it happened. After the first simple exercise, one of the students raised her hand, and the floodgates opened. Question after question on the what, who, why, wherefore, and whatever. The onslaught was merciless. I found myself answering again, and again, “I don’t know”.
That was my first big reality check post-undergrad, and it taught me an important lesson:
Never believe you understand something unless you’ve tested yourself against the world.
That’s where writing comes in. Let me explain.
Low vs. High Stakes Learning
I realised after undergrad that there are two types of learning. Low stakes, and high stakes.
Low Stakes
For example, completing questions in a textbook. No one knows or cares that you get the answer. No one cares if you cheat.
So what do you do?
I know what I did. Cheat, all the time. Try a problem for 10 minutes, then check the answer for a “hint”. There’s no motivation not to because there’s no skin in the game.
High Stakes
Contrast this. You have to make a presentation in front of five hundred of your peers at a conference. You’re the keynote speaker, but everyone in that room is an expert in your field.
There’s no way to cheat, and if you mess this up, you’re sacrificing your ego, future earnings, and possibly your career.
So what do you do?
I’ve never been a keynote, but I have spoken at academic conferences. Each time it felt like my academic future hung in the balance. The shame of failure was an incredible motivator.
I had skin in the game, and that made working hard easy.
Writing as a Reality Check
When I write and share my thoughts, I’m playing a high-stakes game. Knowing I’ll face judgment, I scrutinize every word and refine my ideas. The process adds coherence to my initial ideas, solidifying nebulous concepts in my mind.
Once it’s out there, the feedback — or lack thereof — speaks volumes. Engaging content draws comments; boring stuff hears crickets. Either way, the social cues are a fast track to self-improvement.
It’s intense and uncomfortable, but the benefits are immense.
The Feedback Loop
I see this happening most clearly on Stack Exchange sites. I’ll write an unwittingly dumb question and get a scathing, although often helpful, response.
This rapid course correction helps me to grow quickly. All feedback is great, but you’ll never get any unless you challenge the world to give it to you.
Why you should Write to learn too
You should join me in this high-stakes game because:
- The fear of failure motivates you to truly understand your topic.
- It helps you establish and solidify what you think.
- It provides you with important social signals that allow you to correct course quickly.
If you’re struggling to pluck up the courage to test yourself against the world, remember my differential equations tutorial. You can only avoid a test for so long. At some point, the world comes knocking.
