Learning is Living: A Social, Reflective, and Critical Process
Learning is Living: A Social, Reflective, and Critical Process
Learning is not a transaction. It is not the passive downloading of facts, nor a fleeting act of memorization to satisfy a test. Learning is living. It is dynamic, social, emotional, and deeply human. It is forged through interaction, risk, reflection, and identity. Learning happens when people are engaged in meaningful activity, supported by trusting relationships, and empowered to make connections between their inner lives and the world around them.
As a Black woman, I understand learning as more than a cognitive event; it is political, cultural, and embodied. Learning cannot be separated from systems of power, from questions of identity, voice, and belonging. In my own classroom, I see learning happen when students are invited to bring their full selves into a space that honors their lived experience, centers their questions, and encourages their growth. Learning, for me, is figuring things out by trying, messing up, talking it through, and trying again. It is about engaging with uncertainty and constructing meaning in community.
Learning begins in community. Vygotsky’s Sociocultural Theory affirms that cognitive development is shaped by social interaction and cultural context. His concept of the Zone of Proximal Development (ZPD) underscores how learners flourish when supported by more knowledgeable others in shared activity (McDevitt & Ormrod, 2019). This reflects what I witness in small-group math discussions. When students are grouped intentionally and encouraged to reason aloud, they scaffold one another’s thinking. A hesitant student finds clarity through a peer’s question. An advanced student deepens understanding by teaching someone else. The learning does not reside in a worksheet; it lives in the conversation.
Constructivism, particularly Piaget’s emphasis on learners as active agents in their development, further affirms my view that learning is not delivered. It is constructed. Learners are thinkers, tinkerers, and doers. Papert’s Constructionism extends this notion by emphasizing the power of building tangible artifacts to make thinking visible. When my students designed Fraction Games for younger learners using cardboard, dice, and story problems, I saw engagement skyrocket. In building something for someone else, their understanding of part-whole relationships deepened in ways a worksheet never could.
Bandura’s Social Learning Theory also resonates with how I see learning unfold in real time. Students learn through observation, modeling, and imitation, not just of content, but of how to be learners. They pick up perseverance, curiosity, and courage by watching how their peers and teachers respond to challenge (Bandura, 1977). When I respond to a student’s wrong answer with, “Say more, what made you think that?” I am modeling that intellectual risk is safe and even celebrated. Those small moments teach more than correctness; they teach confidence.
Learning is not simply about absorbing knowledge; it is about making sense of it. Cognitivist theories remind us that learners are active processors who interpret new information through existing mental frameworks (McDevitt & Ormrod, 2019). Reflection and metacognition, thinking about one’s own thinking—are powerful tools in this process. In my classroom, student journals serve as a space not just to record facts, but to explore ideas, pose questions, and reflect on growth. “I used to think decimals were just money,” one student wrote, “but now I see they can show parts of anything, like measuring time or even music.” That shift signals real learning.
Bandura’s ideas about self-efficacy and self-regulation within Social Cognitivism are also central to my view. When learners believe in their ability to succeed, they persist longer and engage more deeply. I build this belief intentionally. I celebrate not just correct answers, but strategies, effort, and insight. When a student who struggled for weeks finally solved a complex multi-step problem and whispered, “I didn’t think I could do this,” I saw the power of belief in action. That moment was not just about math. It was about identity.
Emotions, too, are central. They are not a distraction but a foundation for learning. Sinden and Devall-Martin (2024) argue that suppressing emotion in learning spaces undermines spiritual, psychological, and intellectual development. This resonates deeply. My students do not leave their emotions at the door. They bring them to every task. When a child is anxious, disconnected, or unseen, learning stalls. But when students feel safe, known, and affirmed, they come alive. The work of learning begins with relationship.
Learning does not happen in a vacuum. It is shaped by systems of race, language, gender, and identity. McLean (2023) reminds us that early childhood education is not apolitical, and neither is any other stage. Ideology shapes what is taught, whose knowledge is centered, and how students see themselves in relation to the curriculum. Situative Learning Theory helps frame this reality. According to Lave and Wenger (1991), learning happens through participation in communities of practice. Learners are not merely acquiring information. They are becoming members of a cultural group and adopting its norms, practices, and language. When my students participate in student-led conferences, they are not just performing knowledge. They are stepping into new identities as reflective learners and as people whose voices matter.
But this process is not neutral. Students are learning not only content, but how society values them. They learn whether their home language is honored or silenced. They learn whether their family story is included or ignored. The NAEYC Principles of Child Development (n.d.) assert that culturally affirming learning environments are essential, particularly for students from historically marginalized communities. I have seen this firsthand. When my students read Crown: An Ode to the Fresh Cut, I watched eyes light up. One boy whispered, “That’s like me.” That is learning as belonging. That is learning that lasts.
For me, learning is also a site of resistance. As a Black educator, I carry a commitment to liberation. I believe learning should disrupt narratives of deficiency and instead affirm students’ brilliance. This is not abstract theory. It is the foundation of my classroom. It is why we make space for multiple ways of knowing, for community storytelling, and for joy. It is why we challenge the text, not just accept it. Learning is never just academic. It is personal, political, and urgent.
Learning is not linear. It loops, spirals, falters, and rebounds. Piaget’s clinical method reminds us that what looks like error may actually be logic in development (McDevitt & Ormrod, 2019). I see this constantly. A student insists that ¼ is greater than ½ because 4 is bigger than 2. At first glance, it is a mistake, but it is also a glimpse into a developing schema. My job is not to shut it down but to build on it.
Situative and Constructionist theories both support this view of learning as embedded in real-world practice. Students learn best when they engage in authentic tasks that matter to them. When my class researched water pollution in Flint and wrote persuasive letters to local officials, they were not just learning civics. They were learning voice, responsibility, and action. That is what learning looks like when it is connected to life.
Assessment also becomes a tool for reflection, not just measurement. Through peer feedback, student-led goal-setting, and performance-based tasks, my students learn not just how they are doing but how they are growing. Learning, in my view, is a lifelong, recursive process of becoming.
Learning is not just about acquiring skills or storing knowledge. It is about becoming a certain kind of person: a thinker, a questioner, a community member, a contributor. Wenger (1998) writes that learning is “an experience of identity.” I believe that fully. Learning is about believing in oneself, in one’s voice, and in the possibility of change.
My theory of learning is grounded in the belief that people learn when they are engaged in meaningful activity, supported by trusting relationships, and invited to bring their full humanity into the process. Learning is cognitive, yes, but it is also emotional, social, cultural, and spiritual. It happens in classrooms and kitchens, on basketball courts and in bedtime stories. It is shaped by systems of power and by the human drive to connect, create, and grow. As educators, we do not cause learning. We witness it, nurture it, and clear space for it to unfold.
Because learning is not a transaction.
Learning is living.