Notes in the Margins
Risk, Rhythm, and the Creative Act of Showing Up
Today is the last day of school before Spring Break for me and my crew. While I’m not traveling anywhere, my thoughts are on places and spaces many will enjoy over the next few days before diving into the final part of what has been an interesting, significantly disrupted school year.
For me, Chapter 2 of my dissertation awaits with all its quantitative and qualitative morass, setting up the beginning portion of research this fall. Also, I’ll be navigating the ins and outs of the IRB process, ensuring all the ethical considerations are addressed—trust me, this part is the most frightening.
If you haven’t played with the recently updated image creation/editing features in ChatGPT 4o, you really should, especially if you’re an animation fan. My doctoral ride-or-die buddy Mike did a little work on a pic we took last summer that might be the most adorable/hilarious thing ever:
I played around with some family pics and came away with this great interpretation from our trip to South Dakota a few years ago:
Fun stuff, to be sure, if you’re playing around. However, here’s my shout-out to all independent artists and creatives who do far more interesting and personal work, whether for their projects or commissioned work. Support these folks, regardless of the platform they use or the art they create. Find someone you like and buy their stuff.
Shameless side note: My friend Brian Rodman is releasing his magnum opus, Memoirs of an Angel, very soon. This project has been part of his life for about two decades. You can and should pre-order it right now.
Anyhow, here are 10 Things I think are worth your time…
10 Things Worth Sharing
1. Dietrich Bonhoeffer did not hold back when a certain Austrian came to power in Germany in the early 1930s.
Stupidity is a more dangerous enemy of the good than malice… One may protest against evil; it can be exposed and, if need be, prevented by use of force. Evil always carries within itself the germ of its own subversion in that it leaves behind in human beings at least a sense of unease. Against stupidity we are defenseless.
He goes further…
In essence not an intellectual defect but a human one… under certain circumstances, people are made stupid or that they allow this to happen to them… Every strong upsurge of power in the public sphere, be it of a political or of a religious nature, infects a large part of humankind with stupidity.
These thoughts, of course, echo the sentiment at the core of Wizard’s First Rule, but also this final thought from Bonhoeffer that haunts me amidst the ongoing displays of ineptitude from the current US administration and the misguided acceptance and defense of their actions by supporters:
The power of the one needs the stupidity of the other.
As we navigate the rapidly evolving landscape of generative AI, it's tempting to focus solely on the speed and efficiency these tools offer—instant answers, rapid feedback, and streamlined content creation. I've witnessed students utilizing AI to enhance audio quality, automate video edits, and generate ideas at an unprecedented pace. However, speed doesn't necessarily equate to depth. Without intentionality, we risk succumbing to cognitive atrophy, where the learning process becomes superficial, and critical thinking diminishes.
John Spencer, an early leader in integrating AI into educational practices, addresses this concern in his insightful article, "Ten Ways to Use AI for Deeper Learning and Mastery." He presents practical strategies that position AI not as a mere shortcut but as a collaborative partner in the educational journey. From engaging in prompt engineering and concept mapping to leveraging AI for simulations and Socratic dialogues, Spencer emphasizes approaches that encourage students to slow down and engage in thoughtful reflection, fostering deeper understanding.
In addition to Spencer's contributions, my colleagues Adam Watson and Dr. John Nash have been instrumental in exploring the intersection of AI and education. Adam Watson has focused on the strategic implementation of digital tools in educational settings, emphasizing the importance of aligning technology with pedagogical goals. Dr. John Nash's work delves into the ethical considerations and human-centered design principles necessary for integrating AI into learning environments effectively.
While vigilance and critical evaluation are essential as we integrate AI into our classrooms, we cannot afford to overlook the potential these tools have to enhance the learning experience. By thoughtfully incorporating AI, we can empower our students to engage more deeply with content, develop critical thinking skills, and prepare for a future where AI is an integral part of their personal and professional lives.
Embracing the practice of working in the open has influenced my journey as an educator and creator. This approach involves sharing our creative processes, ideas, and works-in-progress with the public. By doing so, we not only invite collaboration and feedback but also expand the potential for innovation and growth—thoughts that echo back to the founding ideas of the open source movement.
Austin Kleon, in his book Show Your Work!, emphasizes the value of this openness:
"Share what you love, and the people who love the same things will find you."
This sentiment underscores the importance of transparency in our creative endeavors. We naturally attract like-minded individuals by openly sharing our passions and processes, fostering a community of mutual learning and support.
Cory Doctorow advocates maintaining a public "memex," a digital repository where ideas and knowledge are openly documented and interconnected. He describes his blogging practice as an "annotated web history," serving as a personal archive and a resource for others.
Integrating this philosophy into educational settings can be transformative. Encouraging students to document and share their learning journeys—including challenges, insights, and evolving understandings—can demystify the often nonlinear nature of education. This practice normalizes the "messy middle" of learning and cultivates resilience, adaptability, and a growth mindset.
I've explored creating a digital space to collect and connect ideas, quotes, and reflections in my work. This method has enhanced my personal growth and is a model for students to develop digital repositories. By curating and sharing their learning processes, students can engage in meaningful reflection, receive constructive feedback, and contribute to a broader community of learners.
When we embrace openness and sharing, we enrich our own learning experiences and inspire and empower others to embark on their own creative journeys.
I’ve been reflecting on a powerful conversation from the Brain Inspired podcast featuring neuroscientist Gabriele Scheler, who challenges many of our assumptions about intelligence, both human and artificial.
Scheler explores language's role as the backbone of thought. She describes inner speech—not just external conversation—as a kind of cognitive architecture that shapes how we organize memory, process information, and construct symbolic understanding. In other words, we don’t just speak to communicate—we speak to think.
She also sharply critiques current AI systems, especially large language models, which she argues mimic the surface-level structure of human language but miss the deeper symbolic and conceptual underpinnings of thought. Her vision for AI isn’t just faster computation—it’s a more biologically grounded intelligence built from reimagined neuron models that reflect real neuroscience.
This hit home for me. It reminded me of the ideas I wrote about in my Crafting a Digital Commonplace Book post. Like Scheler’s argument, that post was all about helping students engage in authentic cognitive work—capturing, remixing, and reflecting on their thinking as it develops.
As we continue exploring the role of AI in education, I think we need to stay grounded in what makes human learning truly meaningful: language, self-reflection, and the messy, iterative process of making sense of the world. That’s where the magic lives—not in polished outputs, but in the thinking itself.
Some news from our correspondents in the “OMG It’s about time Department:” Princess Mononoke, one of the great fantasy tales of all time, is getting an IMAX 4K restoration and release. It’s out right now. I’m getting tickets to reward myself after finishing chapter 2 of the ol’ dissertation.
Will Richardson sits down with students and educators from Sparkling Mindz, a Reggio-inspired school in Bangalore, India, and the conversation will stay with you.
These students live in a city confronting climate collapse daily—floods, droughts, pollution, inequity. But instead of being shielded from the world’s problems, they’re invited into them, with the time, space, and structure to take ownership of real challenges. Whether designing birthday policies to eliminate plastic waste, mapping flooding cycles through interviews with hydrologists, or creating public poetry and theater performances at metro stations, their work is as raw as it is relevant.
Founder Sreeja Iyer describes their approach as turning “problems to projects to possibilities to purpose.” And that’s exactly what these students are doing—grounded in empathy, fueled by design thinking, and supported by facilitators (not teachers) who create safe spaces for voice and vulnerability. One student said it best: “I used to be disillusioned. Now I want to roll up my sleeves.”
Will makes a simple but urgent point: “It’s not a question of ‘How can we?’ It’s a question of ‘How can we not?’”
This episode is a blueprint for what regenerative, student-led, purpose-driven education can and should be. It’s also a call to all of us working in education to create learning spaces where students don’t just pass tests; they transform communities.
Jillian Hess’s latest post in Noted dives into The Beatles’ notebooks—and uncovers creative gold. From Lennon scribbling lyrics on scraps of paper to George Harrison free-associating “attracts me like a cauliflower,” it’s a brilliant reminder that creative work is rarely neat, linear, or solitary.
It’s collaborative. It’s playful. It’s messy. And it’s exactly the kind of learning environment we should cultivate for students and teachers.
Paul and John leaned on each other when the writing got hard. George asked for help and got it. And the band often pulled inspiration from the world around them—cutting up news stories, riffing off headlines, letting chance and improvisation shape meaning. It’s what Seymour Papert might have called “hard fun.”
These insights echo what we’ve seen in places like Sparkling Mindz in Bangalore: when young people are given space to co-create, remix, and play with ideas in community, authentic learning thrives.
🎸 Whether you’re planning a lesson, designing a unit, or co-writing with colleagues:
Let the ideas simmer.
Use scraps, journals, whatever’s handy.
Invite others in before it’s “done.”
And most of all: don’t work—play.
We often act like information overload is a modern problem. TikTok, Twitter, email, AI tools, a million browser tabs… it feels uniquely overwhelming. But as Jared Henderson reminds us, we’ve been here before—ask Francis Bacon.
“Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested.”
Early modern scholars like Bacon, Samuel Johnson, and those studied by historian Ann Blair didn’t just drown in the deluge of texts—they created new strategies for surviving and thriving in the flood. They triaged reading, invented better note-taking systems, and protected attention like a precious commodity.
In an age when attention is currency, we need to bring this wisdom back into our classrooms and our lives. Blair’s work shows that we can’t just surrender to distraction. We must actively adapt—and teach students to do the same.
This pairs beautifully with the ideas we’ve been discussing lately:
Like Austin Kleon’s notebook practice, it’s about intentional capture.
Like Cory Doctorow’s digital gardens, it’s about curation over consumption.
Like student-led projects, it empowers learners to sift, sort, and synthesize what matters.
Maybe it’s time to revisit Bacon’s bookshelf wisdom with a modern twist.
Oh, Jacob Collier. What can I say? This young man brings me such joy and inspiration. Following in Ben Folds' tradition, Jacob works with the National Symphony Orchestra to create an entirely new musical experience and engage the audience as well.
When he stepped onto the stage with the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center, he didn't bring a pre-written score. He brought trust—in the musicians, the audience, and the creative process.
An entirely improvised composition emerged in the moment, with the orchestra and audience responding to each other in real time—no safety net. Just listening, risk-taking, and collective genius.
“Improvisation,” Collier says, “is the purest form of composition.”
Watching it unfold, you witness something rare: a master of his craft giving up control to create something that couldn’t exist in any other way, with any other group, at any other time. This is not chaos—it’s radical, structured openness. It’s what happens when people who have honed their skills deeply enough to trust them… let go.
This is what we want for students and teachers, too.
This is what happens when we shift from "covering the curriculum" to creating meaning together.
Finally, I’m remembering the great Jim Harrison.
“The simple act of opening a bottle of wine has brought more happiness to the human race than all the collective governments in the history of earth.”
Jim Harrison died on this day in 2016, slumped over his desk in Patagonia, Arizona, a pen still in his hand. His final, unfinished poem trailed off into scribbles—his strength fading mid-line, but his devotion to the craft never wavering.
It was, as friend Philip Caputo put it, “a poet’s death.” And yet, it was also the end of a life fully lived. Harrison chased the wild edge of experience—food, wine, grief, love, nature, solitude—and wrote with the kind of raw honesty and philosophical clarity that only comes from knowing yourself deeply and paying attention fiercely.
This week’s newsletter has explored that theme over and over:
🎸 The Beatles show us how deep creative work is often messy, collaborative, and born from fragments and chance.
📚 Early modern scholars invented systems to guard their minds against the flood of information.
🎶 Jacob Collier, in full improvisation with a symphony, reminding us that risk is the partner of mastery.
🧠 Sparkling Mindz students designing their way out of problems not by waiting—but by engaging, by choosing to act.
Harrison would’ve understood all of that. He lived that tension between solitude and collaboration, effort and surrender, discipline and improvisation. He once wrote:
“It was already apparent that you had to utterly give your life over to language with minimal chance of success though that was far from a deterrent at the time.”
To live and learn like that—in full tilt, surrounded by scraps of beauty and scribbles of meaning—that is the work we’re called to do. Whether we’re teaching students, building something new, or simply trying to stay sane in a distracted world.
It’s not always clean. It’s rarely easy.
But it’s real. And it’s worth it.
That’s it, gang. I’ll be back next week with a Spring Break edition.
Cyas,
MP