Teaching in Beta: Learning to Trust the Mess
As educators, we ask students to try something new every single day. And perhaps we don’t talk enough about the fear of getting started. In my English Literature class, I used to help students to consider that the beginning of a literary work is often called, the orientation. Which implies that it is natural that we are disoriented when we begin reading, and the first goal of an author is to help orient us to where we are, what’s going on, and who are the subjects of this narrative.
That quiet resistance that creeps in before the lesson, the project, the page. The inner critic that whispers, “What if this doesn’t work?” or worse—“What if this shows I’m not good enough?” is essentially our own narrator, identifying that we are in a new position. At the start of something. And yet, as educators, we ask students to start every single day. We ask them to try, to stretch, to create—and we hope they trust us enough to take those risks.
But what if they struggle to start? And even more, what if the struggle to finish?
In light of these questions, it is clear that we must first create spaces where it’s safe to be messy?
That’s why the idea of Teaching in Beta, as shared by John Spencer in Episode 5 of the Education by Design Podcast, resonates so deeply. To teach in beta means to treat your lessons, your creative process—even your identity as a teacher—as a work in progress. It means embracing iteration. It means giving ourselves—and our students—permission to be unfinished.
But do we give them the space—and the safety—to be messy in the process?
For the past two months, I’ve been working through Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, a book that invites blocked creatives to reconnect with their voice. One of its most powerful exercises is the daily ritual of morning pages: three longhand pages written every morning. No audience. No editing. Just process. Cameron writes:
“The morning pages are not supposed to sound smart—although sometimes they might. Most times they won't, and nobody will ever know except you. Do them anyway.”
That last line sticks with me: Do them anyway. It’s become a mantra for my writing and, increasingly, in other areas of my personal and professional life. Morning pages aren't just a practice for artists. They're a model for the kind of classroom culture we need—one where students are allowed to begin without needing to impress. Each morning I am met with a short ride on a creative process rollercoaster, where my inspiration and commitment give way to writers blog and frustration, before I find a renewed sense of purpose and then, feel like I could go on writing forever.
We often talk about “rigor” in education, but rarely do we interrogate what we mean. Too often, rigor becomes a proxy for perfection: tidy products, polished performances, standardized results. Some even say the term is tarnished. Rigor frightens students. But isn’t real rigor is relative? What challenges me might come easily to you. And what feels natural for you might require someone else hours of mental rehearsal and emotional courage.
Rigor isn’t about what’s hard—it’s about what’s meaningful. It’s about the effort, the intention, and the growth a learner experiences when they’re trusted to stretch on their own terms. Let’s build learning spaces that celebrate the draft, the sketch, the false start, and the re-do. Let’s create a culture where it’s okay to try something new and not be amazing at it right away.
Real learning is full of detours. False starts. Ideas that don’t quite work. But in many classrooms, there’s little room for that kind of risk.
What if our feedback said:
“Keep going. You're onto something.”
“Try another approach. It’s okay.”
“This version is a step—not the whole journey.”
We don’t need students to be flawless. We need them to feel safe enough to keep trying.
Let’s give students (and ourselves) the kind of feedback that says: “I see your effort. I value your process. Keep going.” Because in the end, creativity isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up—and doing it anyway. We need more classrooms that acknowledge this nuance—where the goal is not just mastery, but self-discovery.
If you're reading this, maybe it's time to start your own version of morning pages. Maybe it’s a notebook, a voice memo, a sketchpad, or a spreadsheet. But whatever your medium—make space to be messy.
Then invite your students to do the same.
Read and explore more
John Spencer’s “Taking a Beat Approach to Teaching and Innovation” blog
