Reflections on instructional design, written along the way.
Earlier in my instructional design career, I approached SME conversations differently than I do now. A few years ago, I would have started with the content: What information needs to be included? What does the learner need to know?
Over time, I realized that the more valuable question is often not about the content itself, but about the friction surrounding it.
Instead of asking a SME, Can you explain nutrition programming during emergencies? I now ask questions like:
Where do generalists struggle when reviewing nutrition-focused applications?
What challenges led to the need for this training?
What change should happen after someone completes it?
That shift from topic-first design to performance-first design has changed how I approach every project.
For policy training, I no longer treat the policy document as the starting point for the storyboard. Policies are written to be comprehensive; training needs to be useful. I look for the points where people hesitate, misunderstand, or make incorrect decisions, then design around those moments.
For course migrations, I avoid simply rebuilding existing materials, especially when the original course relied heavily on text and navigation. Instead, I look for opportunities to introduce realistic scenarios, decision points, and practice opportunities.
Interactive elements like flip cards and hover states can add visual interest, but meaningful practice is what helps learners transfer knowledge to their work.
The biggest shift in my design approach has been moving from asking, How do we present this information? to asking, What is preventing someone from applying it?
That is where effective learning design begins.
Before I was an instructional designer, I was a poet.
I spent my college and graduate school years examining how writers create meaning through carefully chosen words: the layered metaphors of Rumi, the restraint of Emily Dickinson, the symbolism of Icarus and Sisyphus. Later, as a teacher, I explored how Martin Luther King Jr. used techniques like anaphora and allusion to create a message that was both memorable and enduring.
Looking back, much of that work was training for what I do now.
Good instructional design requires the same discipline as good writing: knowing what to include, what to remove, and what will help an audience understand and remember.
Too much training suffers from a lack of brevity.
Poetry taught me to edit ruthlessly. That mindset shows up in my work when I transform lengthy presentations into focused scenarios, replace dense text with opportunities for decision-making, and look for the simplest way to help learners apply a concept.
The path to instructional design was not linear. The skills I developed as a writer, teacher, and lifelong student did not disappear when I changed careers — they became part of how I design.
Every experience along the way shaped the kind of instructional designer I am today.
I was once asked during an interview how I would develop and deliver an engaging train-the-trainer session.
My answer centered around a belief that continues to guide my work: engagement does not come from adding more interactions, gamification, or visual elements. It comes from creating something that feels relevant and worth someone's time.
Before designing a train-the-trainer program, I would want to understand the people who will be using it:
What does training currently look like for these trainers?
What challenges do they encounter when facilitating learning?
What skills or strategies would make their work easier?
The design of the session would follow from those answers.
For example, a session on adult learning principles could take very different forms. One approach might involve reviewing slides about learning theories and discussing key concepts. Another might ask trainers to analyze real facilitation scenarios, troubleshoot challenges they have encountered, practice new techniques, and receive feedback from peers.
The difference is not the number of activities included. It is whether the experience helps participants solve problems they actually face.
I believe effective training respects the learner’s time by making the connection between learning and application clear.
The question is not, How can we make this more entertaining? It is, How can we make this more useful?
Here's a lesson that took me by surprise: Instrucitonal Design is not the same as teaching.
There is overlap, of course. Both are about helping people learn. But the differences are just as important.
When I taught in classrooms, my role was to spark curiosity, foster critical thinking, and help students develop a deeper appreciation for the subject. Whether I was teaching literature, rhetoric, or writing, the goal was to inspire learners to explore ideas and see the world differently.
Instructional design requires a different lens.
The goal is not simply to help people understand a concept. It is to help them perform better in a specific context, whether that means clarifying the gray areas of a policy, building confidence with a new tool, or making better decisions in their work.
The difference is not just pedagogical. It is philosophical.
In education, we strive for INSPIRATION. We want learners to be curious, engaged, and motivated to keep learning.
In workplace learning, we prioritize RELEVANCE. Learners need to see the connection between the training and the challenges they face in their day-to-day work.
That distinction has changed how I approach instructional design.
When designing training, I try not to think like a subject matter expert who wants to share everything they know. Instead, I think like a performance consultant:
What does someone need to do differently after this?
What obstacles are preventing them from doing it?
What support will help them succeed?
My background as an educator continues to influence my work, but instructional design has taught me that effective learning is not just about helping people know more.
It is about helping people do more.