those words are not enough
let’s build together
My head jerked up from my notebook, consciousness returning with the force of a stress-strain material test. Chalk dust floated in the afternoon light as I tried to orient myself. This was the Engineering Properties lecture, but I felt abandoned in a foreign country. The professor scribbled unintelligible equations across the board. His voice droned in monotone while his gestures were frenzied.
“Now you see the determinant of the tensor matrix gives us the resultant force on our unit cube,” he proclaimed.
I looked around at a sea of heads down. Was I the only survivor?
“Any questions?”
(Silence)
“Ok then, you’ll be ready for the next week. See you next time!”
His smile betrayed the lack of comprehension in the classroom. It’s as if we were his PhD students, not undergrads encountering concepts for the first time. Even if you could stay awake, solving problems was like decoding an ancient guru who spoke in Greek variables and formulas.
Could anyone clarify this for us?
Didn’t he see we weren’t connecting?
We were supposed to be learning how specific materials deform and break, in establishing a good design process. Instead, we were collapsing under the weight of untranslated knowledge.
material failure
“We’ve heard you,” explained one of the TAs. “After talking with the professor, we’re going to change things up and make sure you all learn the material.”
Initially silent observers, they became our interpreters after enough frustrated students overwhelmed their office hour sessions. The transformation was remarkable as they dismantled the wall of theory brick-by-brick. Was this the same professor? He engaged us directly, connected abstract formulas to real forces, and brought physical samples to demonstrate material failures.
Our mental gears realigned and the learning drivetrain began accelerating again.
These TAs became our local guides, bridging the gap between the host country’s abstract concepts and our novice tourist reality.
With that reinvigoration, I finished strong in that class. I remember the intriguing content and the negative example of teaching that would shape my approach to the profession.
the shift
When I faced my high school engineering class 13 years later, the memories of struggling with abstract concepts were vivid. I was determined to do things differently.
For the main class project, I tasked my students with building a mini “wobbler” engine1: converting compressed air into a flywheel’s motion. Before working in the fabrication shop with lathes and mills, they needed to familiarize themselves with the computer-aided design (CAD) model. This was a blueprint for machining operations.
While I instructed from the front, they just needed to follow along on their own laptops. Right?
My fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced precision, each stroke a well-worn path: showing off the CAD commands I’d performed countless times before. Click. Drag. Rotate. Creating and assembling pieces with ease.
I noticed one student fixed his gaze at the screen, with his cursor moving erratically and virtual engine pieces all over the canvas.
Another student kept looking at her neighbor’s screen, while her own was empty.
My pulse quickened with each confused glance between students.
This was a complete mess.
It’s like I dropped them into an unknown city without a map.
“Alright class, let’s take a break,” I declared.
“Before you go, tell me where you started feeling lost. We’ll regroup tomorrow to make these concepts practical.”
signals of struggle
My fingers trembled as I clicked the Google Sheet of comments:
The 3D model on the flat screen made me dizzy.
I don’t get why we are making these shapes.
I’m not sure how an engine works.
The feedback seized my thoughts like a jammed axle, stopping all forward motion.
But the signal was clear: I needed to find another way.
I failed to give them the proper context for our project. I couldn’t assume they had prior engineering experience. I couldn’t repeat my college professor’s initial approach.
I scanned the room for inspiration. We had limited metal material, so there was nothing extra to make more wobbler engines.
If only there was something I could quickly tinker with.
I stumbled upon a giant bin of materials we had just used for the elementary schoolers while pacing back and forth. A colorful cacophony of studded blocks caught my attention.
Yes, of course, LEGO!
LEGO was our trusted friend that could rearrange into endless combinations. This was the opportunity for students to sculpt their understanding dynamically, instead of me explaining how the wobbler worked using a YouTube video.
I prototyped a working model2 and gathered a kit of parts for each student. The next meeting would test whether this translation would work.
“Oh so this is where the piston goes!” remarked a student.
“And this is why the flywheel needs to be centered accurately,” commented another.
Phew. My rigid posture relaxed, like a material sample no longer under the pressure of an unbearable load.
What I learned is this: It wasn’t my job to force comprehension. It was my job to create the right conditions. It was also my job to pivot when the communication gears were misaligned and grinding. No matter the amount of concentrated preparation I made, mere words were not enough3. Not even a smooth demo was sufficient.
Was I willing to pause and reassess? Try something completely new?
This experience reminded me of a powerful concept I learned in graduate school: the conduit metaphor and the toolmaker’s paradigm. Linguistics scholar Michael Reddy explained that we mistakenly think about communication like receiving a package: opening the contents of meaning and using it right away.
Initially, I assumed my clear CAD walkthrough would automatically transfer understanding to my students, just as my college professor assumed that copying his equations would transfer knowledge from our notebooks to our minds.
translation in motion
I had taken for granted that I knew the ending. I thought they could teleport to the conclusion. But they needed a guide to direct them to the right points in the journey, starting from the beginning. As the metal wobbler engine converted into the LEGO space, the students grasped the engine mechanics interactively.
We created a language through the tactile experience of making the plastic model. This hands-on vocabulary rendered the abstract CAD model concepts into something tangible. This enabled them to work in the machine shop with intention while crafting the final metal prototype.
Equipped with that group demonstration, they returned to computer design with a fresh interest. If they had a question, I could point to the physical model in front of their monitor, showing how the LEGO model related. The CAD confidence in manipulating the 3D model on the 2D screen guided them back to the machine shop floor, this time with precision machine tools.
Unlike my Engineering Properties class, I didn’t lose half a semester. I just had a one-class detour that restored our momentum. To avoid this again, was there a way to enhance the chances of success for future communication?
beyond words: building together
The conduit metaphor assumes communication works like a package delivery: send the information and the other party automatically “gets it” (no follow-up required).
To counter this passive view of communication, we need more than clear explanations. We need shared experiences that both parties can touch and transform together. I discovered how the translation of tangible LEGO prototypes grounded my student’s digital design.
Reddy says that instead of meaning found in perfectly prepared words, we look to the toolmakers paradigm: that words serve as tools between two parties, volleying notes and improvising until they reach mutual understanding.
Each party has a unique world of raw materials from which to compose meaning. No two worlds are alike. The process of sending instructions back and forth serves as a partnership to clarify what is possible in each world, and together they create something functional.
In my case, I assembled the LEGO model together so my learners would generate an intuition about how each component behaved and integrated into the wobbler engine system. They could ask questions. I could translate the hands-on practice into the CAD model.
In the classroom, we weren’t limited to just exchanging words. We could build a world of shared understanding, piece-by-piece, curiosity-by-curiosity.
We succeeded in communication through the toolmakers paradigm due to the active participation of both the sender and receiver.
a blueprint for bridges
In our precious face-to-face time4, our most powerful tool isn’t a perfect explanation. It’s creating experiences to explore together. While video tutorials have their place, nothing replaces the strength of forming insights through a joint learning adventure.
Like any good engineer, we must evaluate and refine our approach until we find what resonates. It’s not about guiding students meticulously through every step of the learning process. It’s more about laying down alignment marks on a workpiece—just enough reference points to navigate their way as they cut the material.
To translate between two realms, such as the TAs and professor who recognized their students were fracturing under the weight of disconnected concepts.
To forge meaning together, like when I iterated to collaborative tinkering, addressing their screen confusion.
Like any good prototype, the proof is in the testing. Students discover truth not through my words alone, but through their own explorations in these carefully designed learning environments.
Now it’s your turn to build those bridges. Will you listen deeply, adapt swiftly, and lead purposefully? What will you construct with others to cross the chasm between confusion and clarity?
Thanks to editor Sandra Yvonne and fellow students Kuriakin Zeng,
, ,And even more Write of Passage folks inside the community
Thanks to Mr Dengler, my co-teacher and mentor educator who showed me the ropes. He led the way in creating interactive learning environments. And connecting with students who didn’t flourish (yet) in traditional classrooms. The wobbler was with him, but I put it as first person for readability 😃
Work for home, stuff that got cut. Use your favorite LLM to learn about
John Vervaeke: 4Es of cognitive science
Situated cognition
Conduit metaphor - Toolmakers paradigm
- writes in this piece briefly as an example, look up “ball”
📝 Leave a comment to share a time when you’ve been on either end
Teacher: couldn’t get something across so you had to change it up
Student: the other person wasn’t making sense, but something clicked
The original draft said:
taking in compressed air to move a piston in alternating motion, moving around a flywheel on the other side.
Which the editors rightly said they didn’t get. I compressed it into something shorter, but still not as good as seeing the image. How meta. Here’s the CAD model. If someone asks, I’ll find the video of the actual and post it.
Thanks Justin. Excellent insights for teachers of any subject.
It is never knowledge that makes the difference. It is always experience that supports sense making and learning. This was a good read.