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When Adam Delaney entered college in 2024, he’d already honed a remarkable set of skills. He wasn’t fresh off captaining a high school team or founding a club like many other first-years. Around the time most of his classmates were born, Delaney was 19, joining the Marines, and readying for combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. In his 20s, he was concerned about life or death, rather than As or Fs.&nbsp;



That doesn’t mean navigating higher ed came easily when he decided to go back for his bachelor’s at 40. His time in the service made him supremely competent at tackling situations most civilians can’t imagine; it also made doing anything else afterwards challenging in a way most will never understand.



So what can colleges and universities do to give veterans like Delaney the greatest shot at success? At Arizona State University, the expansion of services for military-connected students has been critical amid the ballooning of that population — up nearly 15,000 in the last four years alone. The approach, though, has gone beyond streamlining systems for processing G.I. benefits, as important as those are. Leadership at A.S.U.’s Pat Tillman Veterans Center is investing in a tailored and deeply relational approach to support, aiming to pull in those like Delaney and keep them — through to graduation.&nbsp;



While Delaney knew little about the Pat Tillman Center before enrolling at A.S.U., he now attributes it with restoring a sense of family he didn’t realize he'd missed. “It makes it feel more like we [veterans] belong than anything else,” he said. “Students who are there just out of high school or something like that, they all share that; they have that community with each other. So it was cool to have our own community as well.”



The Uphill Battle



In 2011, the Pat Tillman Center launched to offer military-connected students, who include current and former service members and their dependents, a designated space for advising and connecting with each other. Spanning&nbsp;<a href="https://news.asu.edu/content/pat-tillman-veterans-center-opens-asu">3,340 square feet</a>&nbsp;in the basement of the student union on the main Tempe campus, the facility replaced the old face of A.S.U. veteran support: a window in the registrar’s office where students could go, slip their paperwork under the glass, and be on their way.&nbsp;



When the center opened, fewer than 2,000 military-connected students attended A.S.U. Now there are&nbsp;<a href="https://www.asu.edu/about/facts-and-figures">25,000</a>. A surge in remote learning has been key to the rapid expansion of both the university's military population and its general one. Of the 194,000 students at America’s largest public university, more than a third are remote; at least&nbsp;<a href="https://asuonline.asu.edu/admission/military/">11,000</a>&nbsp;of them are military-connected.



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The expansion of services for military-connected students has been critical amid the ballooning of that population — up nearly 15,000 in the last four years alone.
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Shawn Banzhaf, the executive director of the Pat Tillman Center, believes the center has helped drive enrollment, whether online or off, by sending a message to service members that they matter here. “The more you can understand them, the more they feel like they belong, the more they'll stay here, and the more they'll tell their buddies about it,” he said. The strategy is a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts: The more vets who come in chasing the promise of community, the stronger it gets. Eventually it's 25,000 and counting.



Of course, the numbers mean very little without the necessary support to back students up and bring them together. A point of pride for the Pat Tillman Center staff is that most served in the military, so they’re intimately familiar with the challenges their students can encounter. Banzhaf described a road through college riddled with fits and starts. In 1991, he enlisted in the Army National Reserve freshly out of high school, in large part to be able to pay for higher education. Once he found himself juggling a civilian career as a police officer, a family, and deployments, including 15 months in Iraq, he was forced to adapt. In the end, 20 years passed before he finished his degree.



<figure class="wp-block-image aligncenter size-large is-resized"><img src="https://live-learningwell-wp.pantheonsite.io/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/Adam-2-6-1024x768.jpg" alt="" class="wp-image-3712" style="width:709px;height:auto"/><figcaption class="wp-element-caption">From 2003 to 2010, Adam Delaney completed multiple combat deployments in the Middle East. Photo credit: Adam Delaney</figcaption></figure>



Banzhaf said the challenges veterans encounter in college —&nbsp;and the Pat Tillman Center aims to address — are wide-ranging and sometimes surprising, especially to those on the outside. One of the most underestimated, he finds, is the financial strain. While the G.I. Bill may cover expenses like tuition and housing costs, it can leave others, from food to gas to medical bills, to pile up, while income has often stopped coming in.&nbsp;



Adam Delaney had been out of the Marines for more than a decade when he decided to go back to school. Nervous about abandoning his six-figure salary as a sales manager at O’Reilly Auto Parts, he turned to the Pat Tillman Center early on, finding staff could walk him through options — scholarships, work-study, federal aid — to lighten the load. They armed him with a detailed&nbsp;<a href="https://veterans.asu.edu/veteran-checklist">checklist</a>&nbsp;to guide him through finding and completing the necessary forms. “They took the stress away,” he said. “I could do this without having a job and, you know, survive.”



Other concerns for student veterans are more cultural. They don’t just tend to be older or in a different life stage than their peers; they’re adjusting to a vastly different way of life. Military tradition emphasizes structure, disciple, and respect for hierarchy, Banzhaf said. “Veterans are used to you saying, ‘Do this, then go here. Do this, then go here and do this.’ And if you don't do all these things, somebody gets killed.” In college, there are far fewer rules and almost no play-by-play instructions. Veterans often chafe, Banzhaf said, at the sight of students glued to their phones in class, ignoring their professor.&nbsp;



To help with this transition, A.S.U. offers specific orientations and a first-year College 101 course tailored to veterans’ needs and experiences. “Veterans don't need to know how to live in dorms,” Banzhaf said. “They don't need to know the best practices of staying away from the bars.” Instead, Student Success for Veterans covers issues like the “hidden curriculum” — rules and expectations often implicit in higher ed but unknown to those who have been out of school for a while. Students also learn how to help others navigate trauma, and Banzhaf said many come to realize the ones most in need of help are themselves.&nbsp;



Trauma is a critical barrier the Pat Tillman Center recognizes can impede veterans’ success. Delaney said his alcoholism, which spawned from post-traumatic stress disorder after his tours in the Middle East, led to two uncompleted degrees at two different community colleges before he got to A.S.U. That’s why he’s now pursuing a degree in social work to support other veterans on similar recovery journeys. It’s also why Banzhaf and his team continue to build out a range of programming for holistic wellbeing, from equine and art therapy to guitar and cooking classes. “If you can think of a way,” Banzhaf said, “we're doing it.”



Trekking Through



One of the Pat Tillman Center’s most unique offerings is a program called Treks for Vets, which involves leading a group of student veterans in a rigorous, multi-day hiking trip. Banzhaf was part of a team that started the program after participating in a similar one with a Colorado-based nonprofit, Huts for Vets. He spent four, ten-hour days in the Aspen Mountains, climbing between 9,000 and 12,000 feet in elevation, and found the experience as rewarding as it was exhausting. In the wild he learned he hadn’t resolved his trauma from the war as completely as he’d thought.&nbsp;



Back at A.S.U., Banzhaf was committed to helping recreate the opportunity for his students. Now, twice a year, he takes a group of seven to 10 A.S.U. veterans to a base camp in northern Arizona for four days of trekking — and then some. The students do readings and discuss them together. They relish in nature, disconnected from technology. They participate in morning Qigong, a meditative movement practice. They eat nourishing meals.



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The bonds that form during this time are not so dissimilar from ones formed in military service.
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The bonds that form during this time are not so dissimilar from ones formed in military service, Banzhaf said. In both contexts, participants are pushed together in a uniquely close way and made vulnerable by grueling exercise. An important differentiator is that, on Treks for Vets, students have the opportunity to be open, whether on the trail or in organized conversations, about some of the most challenging and raw elements of their service. There’s no rank or title here, Banzhaf likes to remind them.&nbsp;



<div class="wp-block-media-text is-stacked-on-mobile" style="grid-template-columns:42% auto"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img src="https://live-learningwell-wp.pantheonsite.io/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/Adam-1-7-768x1024.jpg" alt="" class="wp-image-3725 size-full"/></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
“All of a sudden these hard chargers that are used to not showing any emotion at all, because it could cost you your job or it could show that you're weak and it could hurt your pride, start opening up because it really, truly doesn't matter,” said Delaney, who was a participant in Treks for Vets before becoming a trip leader. He’s seen conversation topics run the gamut among his expeditions, though the through-line is veterans being open and connected in a rare and freeing way. Sometimes they talk about combat and trauma. Other times it’s the transition to college. “And that's fine too,” Delaney said, “because it's something people have been holding in, and we all sit and talk about it.”



Not everyone signs up for Treks for Vets wanting or expecting more than a camping trip. But most, Banzhaf suspects, “come because they need something.” Maybe it’s a change of scenery; maybe it’s connection or direction or meaning. Students who were contemplating suicide have told Banzhaf the trip kept some them from attempting. “It brought them to a place of hope and encouragement and community and all the things that all of us need anyway, but they just hadn't found it, yet.”
</div></div>



Banzhaf’s only regret where Trek for Vets is concerned is that it can’t reach more students. Ideally, he said, he’d be running trips four times a year, but without the funding to train new staff, expansion just isn’t in the cards right now. At $15,000 per trip, Treks for Vets ends up eating up about a third of the Pat Tillman Center’s $100,000 annual operating budget, which depends on a per-student stipend from the&nbsp;Veterans Affairs Department. The university covers salaries for staff, but there’s always room for more. Where the V.A. recommends universities hire one School Certifying Official&nbsp;per 125 student G.I. Bill users, Banzhaf has just eight, attending to thousands.



The limitations on staff make the strength of connections among students that much more important. Delaney believes he’s never felt like a “number” among vets at A.S.U. because of the emphasis on peer support. In his first fall, it was often students — some working for the Pat Tillman Center, others not — who were his confidants and helped him learn about new opportunities for military-connected students or talk through challenges. This semester, Delaney and a friend from Treks for Vets buddied up to take all the same classes after discovering they share the same field of study. “We know who the other veterans are when we see them walking down the hallway like, ‘Yep, that guy's a vet, or that girl's a vet.’” he said. “You can spot them. That starts the conversation.”



You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at&nbsp;<a href="mailto:mames@learningwellmag.org">mames@learningwellmag.org</a>&nbsp;with comments, ideas, or tips.

A Soldier's Journey

Peter McGinnes is a pre-medical neuroscience student at Stanford University whose lived experience with a suicide attempt has shaped his path. Today, he channels that experience into advocating for better access to mental health care, particularly for students.



Every year, thousands of students in mental health crises are left searching for resources. What if, printed on their university ID card, were three digits that could make reaching out for help just that much easier?



People often imagine suicide as dramatic or obvious, but that usually is not the case. Most students struggle silently, showing up to class, keeping up appearances, while feeling increasingly isolated and overwhelmed. That silence is exactly what makes it so hard to notice, and why accessible resources matter.



I know, because I’ve been there. As a teenager, I felt trapped, convinced no one could understand. My grades stayed high, my face appeared calm, but internally, I was breaking down. Mental health resources were hidden behind webpages and brochures that no one gave a second thought. I didn’t know there was a national hotline, much less that calling it could mean someone would listen.



I spiraled until I couldn’t anymore. I attempted to take my life and spent two months in a residential treatment center. For the first time, I was surrounded by people who could relate to my pain. I learned to sit with my thoughts instead of drowning in them. I left stronger, but still fragile.



Months later, I saw a poster in my doctor’s office: “988 – National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline.” The numbers stuck with me like a song lyric you hum without thinking. Later that month, I was sitting in bed at my grandmother’s house, heart racing, chest tight, feeling like silence might swallow me whole. I dialed the three numbers.&nbsp;



On the other end was a calm voice. Someone who didn’t rush or judge me. We talked through coping strategies, and by the end of the call, I wasn’t magically healed, but the fog had lifted just enough for me to keep going. In that moment, that was all I could ask for.



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I saw a poster in my doctor’s office: "988 – National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline." Later that month, I was sitting in bed at my grandmother’s house, heart racing, chest tight, feeling like silence might swallow me whole. I dialed the three numbers. 
</blockquote>



That night taught me the power of a small, timely gesture.&nbsp;In behavioral science, they call it a&nbsp;<a href="https://archive.blogs.harvard.edu/nudge/what-is-a-nudge/">nudge</a>:&nbsp;a simple change in how choices are presented that makes a better outcome more likely.&nbsp;Think about putting vegetables at eye level in a grocery store instead of banning junk food. The choice remains, but the path to the healthier option becomes clearer. For someone in crisis, seeing three digits on their student ID card could work the same way. The difference between knowing or not knowing about 988 could be the difference between spiraling and picking up the phone.



The 988 National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline is a 24/7/365, publicly-funded&nbsp;<a href="https://www.samhsa.gov/mental-health/988/performance-metrics">resource</a>&nbsp;that&nbsp;has been&nbsp;<a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/sltb.70020">shown</a>&nbsp;to save lives. The&nbsp;problem is awareness.&nbsp;According to a 2024&nbsp;<a href="https://www.nami.org/research/publications-reports/survey-reports/poll-of-public-perspectives-on-988-crisis-response-2024/">poll</a>&nbsp;by the National Alliance on Mental Illness,&nbsp;fewer than one in four Americans are even “somewhat familiar” with 988. That means millions of people could be reaching for help without knowing the resource exists.&nbsp;



Students are particularly vulnerable.&nbsp;Suicide is the&nbsp;<a href="https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/hus/topics/suicide.htm">second leading cause</a>&nbsp;of death for people ages 15-24.&nbsp;And college counseling centers are&nbsp;overwhelmed with wait times that stretch for&nbsp;<a href="https://www.nea.org/nea-today/all-news-articles/mental-health-crisis-college-campuses">several weeks</a>. In moments of acute crisis, students cannot afford to wait until their next appointment or go searching through Google for resources. They need support in the moment.



That’s why printing 988 on student ID cards matters. Contact with 988 is on the rise. In just a year,&nbsp;calls to the lifeline&nbsp;<a href="https://www.cnn.com/2023/01/19/health/988-lifeline-first-six-months-cnn-analysis/index.html">rose</a>&nbsp;by 48 percent and texts by 1445 percent, a clear sign that, as the visibility and accessibility of the number increase, so does its use. Printing 988 on an ID card, an item students carry everywhere, means they don’t have to remember a poster or navigate a website in a moment of panic. The number is right there.



What makes this initiative so powerful is how little it costs. Universities already reprint IDs regularly. Adding three digits is a minor design tweak. Schools spend thousands on wellness campaigns and programming; yet this simple step might reach more students than all of those efforts combined.&nbsp;



Some states are already leading the way.&nbsp;<a href="https://www.nysenate.gov/legislation/bills/2023/S1865/amendment/original">New York</a>&nbsp;and&nbsp;<a href="https://law.lis.virginia.gov/vacode/title23.1/chapter8/section23.1-802.1/">Virginia</a>, for example, have passed laws requiring schools to include 988 on student ID cards. That progress is encouraging, but a patchwork approach isn’t enough. Mental health crises don’t stop at state borders, and neither should access to lifesaving numbers.



That’s why national advocacy is critical. As a council member for the Coalition for Student Wellbeing (C4SW), I have seen firsthand how powerful coordinated action can be. <a href="https://www.c4sw.org">C4SW’s mission</a> is simple:&nbsp;bridge the gap between students and decision-makers through advocacy, collaboration, and education. Printing 988 on IDs is exactly the kind of systemic fix we aim to achieve. That is why the&nbsp;coalition has launched a&nbsp;<a href="https://c4sw.substack.com/p/news-coalition-for-student-wellbeing-ee4">national advocacy campaign</a>&nbsp;to add 988 to student ID cards.



I am still here today, not because I am stronger than anyone else, but because in a moment of silence, help was within reach.&nbsp;



Universities can make this change now. Legislators can make it standard nationwide. This is not about saving every life; no single policy can do that. It is about ensuring that every student has a fighting chance to reach for help when they need it most.

A Simple Step for Schools to Save Lives

When Eric Wood talks about the future of college mental health, he does so from the front lines. The longtime director of Texas Christian University’s Counseling and Mental Health Center and past president of the Texas University and College Counseling Directors Association has just been elected the next president of the Association for University and College Counseling Center Directors (A.U.C.C.C.D.). His tenure will begin in October 2026.&nbsp;



Known for his innovative Comprehensive Collaborative Care Model and award-winning e-book, “A New Narrative for College Mental Health,” Wood is stepping in to lead the nation’s largest organization for campus counseling leaders at a moment when the field, like all of higher ed, is confronting change. We caught up with him fresh off hosting a national symposium on performing artists and athletes and took the opportunity to ask him about A.U.C.C.C.D.’s plans and priorities.



LW: Congratulations on your election as president-elect of A.U.C.C.C.D. What do you see as the major challenges for the organization in the coming year?



EW:&nbsp;We as counseling centers have done a really good job capturing the narrative of how important college mental health is. College mental health has a lot more significance than people realize. If you think about the demographic we serve, the traditional 18- to 25-year-olds, that’s a prime demographic for pretty much anything — substance use, suicide, emerging disorders. It’s also the best time to treat them because if you can treat them then, they may have fewer episodes later, or none at all. Whereas if they wait 10 or 15 years, it's a lot more ingrained and harder to treat.&nbsp;



Colleges and universities have greater access to that demographic than any other health-care system. They live, walk by, and travel by our campuses every day. So the question is: What opportunities does that create if government and other organizations really recognize this?



LW: You’ve become known for T.C.U.’s innovative model of collaborative care. Can you explain what that is and how it ties into your national leadership goals?



EW:&nbsp;We call it the Comprehensive Collaborative Care Model, and it’s reshaping how universities think about their role in mental health. We started it during the pandemic. The mindset had always been that college counseling centers were designed for developmental concerns — the stress that comes from change — not necessarily for students with high mental health needs. But those dynamics have shifted. Now we have students with much higher needs, and our systems weren’t designed for that.



So instead of building hospital-style treatment centers, we built bridges. We partner with community providers who were&nbsp;designed&nbsp;to work with individuals with high needs but who lack the infrastructure and access we have. They come onto our campus, use their programs, and our students stay in school, on our campus, in programs with other college students. It’s a win-win-win: The student’s insurance covers most costs so there’s just the co-pay, and we’ve gotten grants and donors so the treatment centers have the chance for little or no overhead. We’ve trained over 100 schools to replicate various parts of the model.&nbsp;



LW: You mentioned that politics and policy changes are affecting mental health care on campuses. What are you seeing?



EW:&nbsp;If you're in a university that's depending on federal funding, there’s a new level of raised exposure. There’s a perception that if a state or federal funding source doesn’t like something at your institution, they’re going to cut your funding off. People don't realize that even if it had nothing to do with college counseling centers, it is going to trickle down if schools have that cut in funding. When universities face federal or state funding cuts, that trickles down to us. A 20 percent budget cut across campus means a 20 percent cut for the counseling center, too. And yet the demand for services has never been higher.



A lot of the culture-war legislation, like D.E.I. bans, has had unintended consequences. Some states have medical exemptions for those laws, but others don’t. We’ve seen schools cut services that were never meant to be targeted, like gender specific groups with mental health and addiction issues. This is an age group much more likely to seek help on campus than they would after graduation, so when you remove those options, you lose opportunities to intervene early.



<blockquote class="wp-block-quote">
“When policymakers pass laws or set funding priorities, I hope they think carefully about how that affects college mental health.”
</blockquote>



We’re trying to make lawmakers aware that mental health has&nbsp;never&nbsp;been a partisan issue. Surveys show eight out of ten Americans believe schools are responsible for providing health care to students. The narrative we’re pushing is: “Look at the possibilities higher education offers society. Why would you want to limit that potential?”



LW: What other issues are most pressing for college counseling centers right now?



EW:&nbsp;We’re still seeing the ripple effects of the pandemic. And we do know that in this age group one of the things that spiked is their likelihood to transfer. The students entering college now were in middle school during the shutdowns — the classes of 2028 through 2030. That’s a critical cohort with a lot of struggles. They missed key developmental years, and those formative years had a lot of disruption going from middle school to high school, and we see that in their social and academic adjustment carrying over to higher education.&nbsp;



And as digital natives engaged in all the social platforms, they’re used to absorbing all the culture and content and polarizations in society. That’s their reference point, and a lot of them may not know what it’s like to&nbsp;not&nbsp;have that level of polarization. So they’re bringing that to campus. When they see politicians saying certain words or treating each other some way, you're going to see that carry over to how they treat faculty. They see that people just break rules; you see that happening in politics and society, and that carries over into the res halls because that's the frame of reference.&nbsp;



We’re also seeing a higher level of parental involvement. Their parents spent more time with them during lockdowns, engaged in a closer front-row seat to their education, so now we’re seeing that continue — sometimes helicopter-level involvement — in college life.&nbsp;



LW: What’s on your personal wish list as incoming president?



EW: To keep building that narrative and have a stronger voice nationally. We’ve had some success getting attention from politicians and national outlets, but there’s so much more to do. When policymakers pass laws or set funding priorities, I hope they think carefully about how that affects college mental health.



And college is where the developmental concerns play out because this is the prime age. The reason why colleges created counseling centers wasn't because we thought every student had a clinical diagnosis. Most students do not. The centers exist because we define stress as heightened in times of major change, and a major one is when you start college. You only have about four or five of those moments in your life when everything can change. So starting college is one of them — you change where you eat, where you live, your identity, everything — and then graduating college is a second one. So you have so much change bookmarking the college experience. And then you do have associated stressors, like navigating the social environment, and we know that demographic tends to engage in high-risk behavior, so a lot of prevention work is important. That is why college counseling centers exist, and I contend colleges and universities are the best in the world at doing that. But because there's currently a lot more students with high mental health needs coming to campus, the disconnect occurs that we aren’t good at what we're doing. That couldn’t be further from the truth.



The mental health of young people is&nbsp;always&nbsp;going to be a popular, bipartisan cause. We just need to remind people of that and continue the collaboration.



LW: How do you see that collaboration playing out at the national level?



EW:&nbsp;Collaboration is essential. Some states have strong organizations, like Texas, but not all do. One of my goals is to help develop those networks. State laws affect us differently, so we need local collaboration as well as national unity. There’s strength in numbers, whether it’s state collectives, regional conferences, or collaborations across university systems, like the athletic conferences.



It’s also about mutual support. A lot of what’s in the headlines about higher education doesn’t directly involve counseling directors, but it still affects us through funding cuts, political pressures, or staffing shortages. Directors need to come together because having a collaborative amplifies our method, our messages. We need each other to stay resilient.



LW: You just hosted a symposium on athletes and performing arts. What can you tell us about the thinking behind spotlighting those populations?



EW:&nbsp;It really came out of conversations we were having on our campus about performing artists and athletes — two groups that represent the university in powerful ways but have very different kinds of support systems. Varsity athletes get a lot of institutional support, but there are just as many performers and non-varsity athletes who face similar pressures and injuries without the same safety nets.&nbsp;



For example, if a student athlete gets hurt, the university often covers the care, and they can still progress toward their degree. But if a dancer or musician gets injured, they often can’t progress toward their degree because performance is part of their coursework. That difference really highlights why universities need to think more broadly about how they support these students.&nbsp;



So we decided to organize a symposium to explore that. We reached out to experts from Johns Hopkins, Stanford, Harvard — literally the pioneers of performing arts medicine — and every single one of them said yes. We even had ballerina Tiler Peck as a keynote. It turned into a two-day virtual event that drew about 100 sign-ons per session; many of them were in classrooms watching together. It was the first time we’d done anything like it, and it really underscored how much synergy there is between athletic and performing-arts wellness.



LW: How long have you been at T.C.U., and what do you think your election says about A.U.C.C.C.D. and where it’s headed?



EW:&nbsp;I started at T.C.U. right out of my Ph.D. program in 2007 and became director in 2019, so I had one good semester before the pandemic hit. Everything we’ve built since then has been about adapting to change and meeting students where they are.



I’m honored by the role. I think part of the reason I was elected is because we’ve done a good job at innovation at T.C.U., and I think it shows a shift in the narrative about college mental health. For a long time, the assumption was that we as colleges were limited — that if a student had a serious mental health disorder, they needed to go elsewhere, just like you wouldn’t expect a university to perform surgery. But that’s changing. For example, one of our specialized programs is an intensive outpatient program on campus. I’d love to see every residential campus in America have one. The impact would be generational.



So, I think my election signals that people are starting to recognize the potential and the possibilities of what we can do — and that we can do it at a fraction of the cost, using programs that already exist. And why would you want to do anything to ruin that potential? To have my colleagues across the country say, “We want that kind of innovation leading us forward” — that’s deeply meaningful. It tells me people see the potential of college mental health, and they’re ready to invest in it.

Leading the Next Chapter of College Mental Health

Allie Jutton graduated from high school in 2022 with a pile of Advanced Placement credits and few options to put them to use at the kind of small liberal arts college she wanted to attend. But she knew she could save a lot of time and money if she could find a school that counted her A.P. work toward her degree.



Jutton, who grew up in Lakeville, Minn., landed at the University of Minnesota Morris. It offered the small college feel—just shy of 1,000 undergraduate students—and a well-publicized Degree in Three program, which could save students like her about $20,000 by graduating in three years, instead of four.



Jutton was sold. And now she’s graduating with a degree in psychology and a minor in gender, women, and sexuality studies and plans to attend Minnesota State University, Mankato in the fall for a master’s in mental health counseling.



“I came in with a lot of general education courses already done, like statistics, history, geography, and English,” Jutton said.​​ “It was cost-effective for me and my family, and it allowed me to get my degree a little faster.”&nbsp;



At Morris, the Degree in Three program isn’t a new concept. Students with the drive and desire have always had the option to finish the standard 120 credits to earn a bachelor’s degree in a shortened time frame. However, it wasn’t until 2024 that the college openly advertised that all of its 32 majors could be completed in three years, if students chose to do so.



Morris is one of almost 50 institutions that have joined the College-in-3 Exchange, a nonprofit organization advocating for more undergraduate degree options that take less time to complete. The collective includes a diversity of institutions, from Georgetown University and the University of Miami, to Merrimack College and Portland State. When the incubator started in 2021, a dozen institutions signed on—and the group has grown each year.



“Higher ed needs to be reimagined in all kinds of ways, and this is a very practical way to create a catalyst for rethinking undergraduate education,” Lori Carrell, chancellor of the University of Minnesota Rochester, said. She founded College-in-3 alongside Robert Zemsky, professor at the University of Pennsylvania.



<blockquote class="wp-block-quote">
“Higher ed needs to be reimagined in all kinds of ways, and this is a very practical way to create a catalyst for rethinking undergraduate education."
</blockquote>



Nationwide, about 64 percent of students who start a degree program finish it within six years, with an average loan debt among borrowers of $29,300, according to the College Board. In 2023, Carrell testified to the U.S. House Subcommittee on Higher Education and Workforce Development about how the College-in-3 concept could improve student retention, degree completion, and career launch, either by developing accelerated 120-credit degrees or creating new curricula that reduce the credit requirement to 90.



“Accreditors have opened their doors to this,” Carrell said.&nbsp;



Not for Everybody



While financial wellbeing is an obvious benefit of earning a degree in three years, the College-in-3 movement continues to head off concerns about less-desirable repercussions for students, like increased stress, feelings of overwhelm, or a rushed college experience.&nbsp;



Jutton shared those concerns, initially. Her fears were eased after mapping out the course work with her advisor, taking into account the credits she brought with her from high school. Still, Jutton worked two jobs while in school, as a resident assistant and also as an assistant in the student engagement and events office. During her second year, she took 20 credits each semester. It was a lot at the time, but Jutton believes the experience also gave her skills that she’ll use forever.



“It taught me valuable life lessons. I’m really good at time management and my organizational skills are better than they were coming into college,” Jutton said. “I was able to recognize when I needed help and ask for it, as well as set boundaries for what I can and cannot do.”



As more institutions are joining the College-in-3 Exchange, they are also considering how to design curricula that take student mental health and wellbeing into account, Carrell said.



“The worry that you’re just going to rush students through and turn degrees into credentials, instead of deep, transformative learning? Nothing could be farther from what we’re doing,” she said.



Janet Schrunk Ericksen, chancellor at Morris, said that since the college started actively promoting the three-year option in February 2024, it’s been well received. The Degree in Three program features prominently on the website, and Ericksen said that it receives more page views than any other part of the site. Visitors also spend more time looking at the information.



“We serve a large percentage of students from historically underrepresented populations—low-income, first-generation students,” Ericksen said. “Giving them this path is important.”



Ericksen acknowledges, however, that completing a 120-credit bachelor’s degree in a condensed timeline isn’t for everybody. It’s easier for those who can use A.P. credit or pursued dual enrollment in high school, earning some college credits before arriving on campus. Most students also take a summer class or two along the way. She believes that certain degrees also lend themselves to quicker completion than others. Physics, for example, requires foundational knowledge before moving on to the next levels, so the major might be more challenging to finish in less than four years.&nbsp;



“It’s not going to work for students who change their major six times or who want a triple major—and we have a fair number of those,” Ericksen said. “But the students who are really focused, they’re saying, ‘Yes, this is what I want, and it’s great to have a clear path.’”



An opportunity for experiential learning&nbsp;



Institutions like Brigham Young University - Idaho, which serves an older population of working adults taking online classes, are finding that eliminating elective courses and reducing degree credits to 90 or 94 are helping students complete programs in majors like business management, applied health, and family and human services. The Northwest Commission on Colleges and Universities, an accrediting body, approved the truncated programs in 2023.



Still, not everybody is sold on the validity of a 90-credit degree. Some higher education experts and faculty members are concerned that it will create a two-tiered system and that employers may not value the degrees equally.&nbsp;



But Madeleine Green, executive director of the College-in-3 Exchange, said the timing for higher education to make such changes is “propitious.”



“For all the questions that are out there about the value of a degree, employability of graduates, the cost of higher education, those are all factors that I think have propelled institutions to think about alternative pathways,” Green said.



Designing three-year degree programs with industry partners is leading to better outcomes, Carrell said. At the University of Minnesota Rochester, for example, students in health-related majors are offered paid internships at the Mayo Clinic, as well as job interviews upon graduation. The partnership has also helped the faculty design a tight curriculum that ensures that students are prepared for the workforce, while building in strategies like block scheduling, success coaches, and capstone experiences that contribute to student wellbeing.



“To know that there are these dire workforce shortages in healthcare deserts and we’re producing people who can go out and serve communities sooner is very, very satisfying,” Carrell said.



Peh Ng, chair of the division of science and mathematics at Morris, said the students she’s helped guide through three-year degrees aren’t missing out on the hallmark experiences of college, like undergraduate research, study abroad, and internships. Still, those who arrive at Morris without having earned any college-level credits have a much more challenging time finishing in less than four years—and often they don’t.



“A three-year program is really not for every student, but if a student tries it and it doesn’t work, then they finish it in four years. So at the end of the day, it bodes well for four-year graduation rates,” she said.&nbsp;



Ng is among the faculty members who don’t agree with reducing credit requirements, especially in STEM fields, where she said the difference between taking 12 courses and seven is “huge.”



“You can’t have two tiers of programs,” Ng said. “I am a strong proponent of not changing the requirements.”



Jutton agrees with Ng—she wouldn’t have wanted to take a lesser load, she said. As she prepares to graduate, she has few regrets. Sure, another year may have afforded her a more robust social life, but she also found friendship and camaraderie among like-minded peers who were also on the fast-track to degree completion. Although Jutton will be younger than many of her graduate school cohort, she still feels prepared to move on.



“I think the biggest thing for me was finding supporters, like my career counselor and the faculty,” Jutton said. “I haven’t met someone who does not believe in me here and that was really important for me to be able to do the degree in three.”

"College-in-3"

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On this episode of LearningWell Radio, psychiatrist Mathilde Ross of Boston University shares wisdom and advice for students heading off to college — and their parents — from her new book, "How to Thrive at College: A Guide to the Ups and Downs of Mental Health on Campus." Ross’ candid and thoughtful account of her work with young people is at once surprising, instructive, and hopeful.



Listen now on <a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/4KOYPR7BfJcsgVeINf0baT?si=bbd26638124742e7">Spotify</a> or <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/how-to-thrive-at-college-with-dr-mathilde-ross/id1732284927?i=1000767379452">Apple Podcasts</a>.



You can reach LearningWell Editor Marjorie Malpiede at&nbsp;<a href="mailto:mmalpiede@learningwellmag.org">mmalpiede@learningwellmag.org</a>&nbsp;with&nbsp;comments, ideas, or tips.

How to Thrive at College with Mathilde Ross

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On this episode of LearningWell Radio, Bob McGrath, a clinical psychologist and professor at Fairleigh Dickinson University, offers his thoughts on an increasing debate over whether there is a problem in the United States with overstating or over-diagnosing mental illness, particularly among young people. McGrath’s perspective is informed by his expertise in human character research, suggesting people may be more emotionally attuned, sensitive, and distressed than ever. The question is: As we change, should the way we talk about our challenges change, too?



(For the full article mentioned in reference to the change, or stabilization, of depression rates globally, see <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0022395624004473">here</a>.)



You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at&nbsp;<a href="mailto:mames@learningwellmag.org">mames@learningwellmag.org</a>&nbsp;with comments, ideas, or tips.

Experiencing Sadness with Bob McGrath

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On this episode of LearningWell Radio, Dustin Liu, the senior associate director of the Institute on Purpose and Flourishing at New York University’s Stern School of Business, joins for a conversation about the tropes and truths of working alongside Gen Z. He discusses the complexities of navigating today’s five-generation workplace and how educators and employers alike can make it one where everyone flourishes.



Listen now on <a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/5rCAig1z0nvT2EEhUaFAon?si=c0d0d73fe37346cb">Spotify</a> or <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/learningwell-radio/id1732284927?i=1000757054485">Apple Podcasts</a>.



You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at <a href="mailto:mames@learningwellmag.org">mames@learningwellmag.org</a> with comments, ideas, or tips.

Gen Z at Work with Dustin Liu

It was senior night at one of the last home basketball games of the season at Simsbury High School. Just before tipoff, Emmanuel, one of the team’s captains, stepped onto center court amidst the roaring applause of his family, friends, teachers, and teammates.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;



The team didn’t come away with a victory that night, but for Emmanuel, it was another step in a remarkable journey. At 13, he left his home in the Bronx to live at the Simsbury A Better Chance (ABC) House and attend Simsbury High School in Simsbury, Connecticut, a quintessential New England town that is predominantly white and affluent.



A Better Chance is a national program promising middle and high students, both boys and girls, from historically underserved communities the opportunity to attend high-performing independent day schools, boarding schools, or community school programs (C.S.P.) throughout the country. Its mission is to give deserving students access to high-quality transformative educational opportunities that support them in reaching their full potential and substantially increase the number of well-educated young people of color prepared to assume positions of responsibility and leadership in American society.



Founded in 1973, the Simsbury ABC program is a C.S.P. for boys and is known by the stately brick colonial located at the center of town, called the ABC House. The boys live there five to eight at a time with resident directors and a resident advisor. The resident advisor runs daily study hours to help the scholars complete their class homework/projects and prepare for tests. Additional academic advisors assigned to each scholar provide guidance on courses, extracurricular activities, or volunteer passion projects over their four years at Simsbury ABC. Each scholar is also matched with a Simsbury host family with a son in his same class and with whom he spends one weekend a month.&nbsp;



At Simsbury ABC, the scholars experience far more than a chance to attend a better school with a stronger path to college. What they learn navigating high school away from home, and immersing themselves in a community vastly different from their own, prepares them for success in life as well as school. Indeed, the resilience and persistence these scholars exhibit make them excellent candidates for colleges and universities hoping their students will thrive.&nbsp;&nbsp;





A House and a Home&nbsp;



Sheri Eklund and her husband Jae have been the ABC House resident directors for the last four years. They live in an apartment connected to the main house, though they spend most of their time with the boys, getting them on the bus, driving them to sports, and eating dinner with them every night at 5:30 p.m. On a typical night, the boys line up at the buffet, pile their plates with the home-cooked meal the ABC House chef has prepared for them, and assemble around the oversized dining room table.&nbsp;



As Eklund described: “It is that one time of day between after-school activities and before mandatory study hours when everyone is together.”



Eklund, who is a pediatric nurse practitioner by training, is both pragmatic and warm. Her affection for, and protection of, the boys in her care, is evident. In talking about them to others, she leads with their strengths and their hopes and says even she is not fully aware of the challenges they may have faced in their young lives. As resident director, she is both parental figure and advocate, whether getting resources together for a boy to pursue a particular sport or hobby or meeting with the high school principal about any issues of concern.&nbsp;



Her approach to supporting the scholars is, not surprisingly, straightforward. “These guys should have every opportunity to do what they want to, just like every other student in this town,” she said.&nbsp;



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The resilience and persistence these scholars exhibit make them excellent candidates for colleges and universities hoping their students will thrive.&nbsp;&nbsp;
</blockquote>



On one particular Tuesday, over their “make-their-own”&nbsp;quesadillas,&nbsp;the boys talked about how it is they came to live at the ABC House. Of the current scholars, Emmanuel, Isaias, and Julian are from New York City; David is from Maryland, and Joakim is from nearby Hartford. They all said they are in Simsbury because adults in their lives envisioned a different educational path for them. It is hard to believe their belief in themselves didn’t also contribute, but for now, they are happy to talk about others who are responsible for their participation.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;



Emmanuel’s mother insisted he&nbsp;not&nbsp;go to the high school all of his friends were planning to attend in the Bronx. David, a junior, had a similar story: His dad had found the program years earlier for his older sister and encouraged him to leave Baltimore for his high school years so he might get into a good college, as she had.&nbsp;&nbsp;



Isaias, a freshman who has only been at the House a few months, left New York City for Simsbury after only two years in the country. Having come with his family from the Dominican Republic, he had been performing well in bilingual classes (Spanish and English) when his teacher encouraged him to take a monolingual track (English only) for eighth grade. When Isais continued to do well, she suggested he apply to the ABC program, a decision his family strongly supported.&nbsp;&nbsp;



Later, Eklund explained that the boys come to the program for a variety of reasons, starting with the program’s premise — to get a higher quality education. But, having gotten to know their families, Eklund said it’s about more than just escaping something that doesn’t work.&nbsp;&nbsp;



“Most of the families are first-generation immigrants, many directly from Africa, and they have a culture where there is an expectation that they will send their children somewhere where they will do their best. It’s very different from what we often think of here, which is, ‘Oh, I could never send my kid away.’”&nbsp;&nbsp;



While the boys no doubt appreciate the good intention, they are honest about how difficult it was at first to leave their neighborhoods. Isaias is still adjusting to a new school and being away from his friends who played pick-up soccer and welcomed him into their community when he arrived in the country. Starting again is hard, but the other boys in the house are supportive, knowing full well how he feels. He recently joined a soccer club, which the Eklunds arranged for him with funds from the program.&nbsp;



Sports is a common channel for belonging for any teenager, particularly for the ABC scholars. “Freshman year, I didn’t play a sport, so I didn’t really have anything to talk to anyone about but school,” said David, who now fences and rows crew. “But when I started playing sports, I started making more connections, and it all made more sense to me.”&nbsp;



For Emmanuel, the combination of leaving his friends behind and worrying about making new ones was initially tough. “I was in the Bronx my whole life, and my friends and I, we were going to stick with each other, and then I was the one going away. When I got here and went to my first day of school, I saw only three or four people that looked like me.”&nbsp;



Emmanuel said it’s now hard to imagine those days, as he prepares to graduate with what he called “some of the best friends of my life.”&nbsp;&nbsp;



“I think if you put yourself out there, you’ll find you have more in common with people than you think,” he said. “I have great friends. I don’t have a really big circle like some people do, but I think having a small circle of really good friends is better.”&nbsp;



David, too, has found his footing. He sees his time at Simsbury High School as a series of learning experiences, all leading to knowing who he is as a person. “All I knew was what life was like for the first 14 years of my life in Baltimore, and then when I saw how people acted here, my first instinct was to be more like everyone else. But when you do that, it becomes really apparent how different that is from who you really are.”&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;



The level of maturity the boys exhibit is the first clue to the impact their experience at the ABC House is having on them. With a fair amount of independence (like doing their own laundry and walking down the street for Chinees food), they are held accountable not just for their behavior and their grades but for how they contribute to a household of different people with a healthy number of rules.&nbsp;&nbsp;



“Sometimes, I’ll think, ‘Oh no, I can’t get along with this guy,’” Emmanuel said. “And then it all works out.”&nbsp;



“Yeah,” David added. “We all come from different backgrounds and have different personalities, but we definitely get along. We just have to solve stuff.”&nbsp;



While it may be challenging at times, the boys in the ABC House regularly form a strong bond and a common commitment to who they are as ABC scholars. “If I had to come up with one way to describe them, I’d say they are like brothers,” said Kara Petras, a Spanish teacher at Simsbury High School and a board member at the ABC House. “They are a nuclear unit, but they are always folding in new kids and including the other boys in these new friendships.”&nbsp;



Petras has had several ABC scholars in her class and, as a long-time volunteer at the program, gotten to know many of the boys over the years.&nbsp;&nbsp;



“I’m like their mom at school,” she said. “We’ll start a group text at the end of the day for anyone needing a ride home.”&nbsp;&nbsp;



Petras first learned about the ABC Program when she was in high school in Massachusetts and made friends with some of the girls who participated. Getting to know other people her age of a different culture had a major influence on her. She believes the same is true of how the ABC scholars contribute at Simsbury High School.&nbsp;&nbsp;



“They carry with them the reputation of the ABC House in how they behave, and I think that rubs off on people,” she said. “They take their classes seriously. With their work ethic, their attention to detail, and their willingness to stay after school, you can tell they have a lot more skin in the game than a regular high school student. They are the kind of students you want your own kids to be.”&nbsp;



It’s accolades like these that Eklund draws on to lift her spirits whenever she hears comments that reveal a lingering bias.



“When I tell people what I do, I get a lot of, ‘Oh, that must be really hard.’ People will ask me, ‘How do they do in school?’ or ‘Do you have to deal with a lot of behavior problems?’ I just tell them these kids are here for a reason. They’re great students; they do well in school.”&nbsp;



The current residents of the ABC House said they find Simsbury to be a welcoming town, if different than what they are used to. And it is clear that those who run the program are all acutely aware of the need for the boys to feel they belong in order to do well. The host family model has resulted in life-long mentors and friendships. And in a classic it-takes-a-village approach, there is a strong circle of support that includes school counselors, coaches, teachers, and volunteers — all with eyes on the boys as they live, learn, and grow.



Hopes and Dreams&nbsp;



On a Sunday afternoon in the ABC House living room, the boys talked excitedly about college and what they will do afterward. Isaias has his sights on N.Y.U., having heard they have an excellent transportation program, a combination of mechanics and engineering. David is also interested in mechanical engineering, in part because he has always been good at math. Emmanual dreams of being in sports marketing but will major in business generally as to not limit his choices. He is just now deciding which of the accepted colleges he will attend. No doubt his love of basketball will follow.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;



True to its goal, the ABC House boasts alumni who are an impressive array of professionals and graduates, with more than 95 percent of participants going on to college. At the ABC House in Simsbury, alumni regularly return and are on a quarterly Zoom call where they mentor the boys on academics, college prep, or just life at Simsbury High. Seeing themselves in these professionals gives the current scholars the inspiration to pursue the road they are on and to appreciate what it might be teaching them, even if they don’t always realize it.&nbsp;&nbsp;



“We hear all the time from the guys before us that even though we go to the same school as all the other kids, living in this house gives us a big leg up on college,” David said.&nbsp;



With end of year approaching, the ABC scholars and alumni will be taking another step in their journey. The current residents will be heading home for work, summer courses, or preparing to leave for college.&nbsp;Some of the boys who came before them will be graduating from college;&nbsp;others are out of school and will keep in touch as mentors. Their individual success is the ultimate goal of the support team that has watched them grow in remarkable ways. &nbsp;



Asked what she appreciates most about her experience at the ABC House, Eklund said, “The human spirit of all of it: meeting the families, making our mission work — not just with education but with everything — and seeing them grow and following them through and letting them know, ‘You guys are going to be successful. You are going to be great leaders in your communities.’”



You can reach LearningWell Editor Marjorie Malpiede at&nbsp;<a href="mailto:mmalpiede@learningwellmag.org">mmalpiede@learningwellmag.org</a>&nbsp;with&nbsp;comments, ideas, or tips.

Learning Away  

I can still remember the suspense that I felt while sitting there at the desk in my dorm room during my first year in our nation’s capital.&nbsp;I looked out over the Potomac River, to the Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument beyond, at a view that inspired me to do great things in the service of others. My long-held dream had supposedly come true: I was finally studying politics at Georgetown University. I thought that I had done everything “right” to lead me to that point. I had studied hard, volunteered on countless campaigns, been a good friend, and listened intently in class and at church. Yet I could not help but be overwhelmed by a sense that by crossing through the front gates of Georgetown’s campus, my life at home with my family and friends, shaped by a desire to make my community and the world a better place, had come to a close. A new life seemed to have begun. But making the most of a new life, in a new place, with new people, is a big task. I asked myself: Was I up for the challenge? What kind of person would I become?



Before I knew it, I met the best people to help me explore these big questions, and I learned that I was thinking about my calling at Georgetown all wrong. Spending time with my residential minister, Fr. Christopher Steck, working for the Jesuit community on campus, and heading on retreat taught me that my time at Georgetown wouldn’t be a time for reinventing myself but instead a time for refining who I was, whose I was, and what I was called to be. I will forever be grateful to Georgetown for “meeting me where I was” in this regard. I had resources in my dorm (a residential minister), on campus (a robust campus ministry and a meaningful employment opportunity), and beyond (a dedicated retreat center) to help me take stock of where I had been, where I was, and where I was called to go. 



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My time at Georgetown wouldn’t be a time for reinventing myself but instead a time for refining who I was.
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Through this discernment, I realized just how big of an adjustment coming to college really was, no matter if I had moved across the state or relocated across the world. It was time in which I would have to build a new network of supporters to celebrate with in times of triumph and to lean on in times of need. Yes, it would be important to make new friends and get involved in extracurricular activities, but it would also be important to find new mentors to guide me through this time in my life, whether they were in my shoes three years ago or 30 years ago. I found a role model in an upperclassmen leader of one of my favorite clubs, the admissions ambassador program. I found a space for solace with a professor who taught us her favorite stories from New York City in between recording book reviews for NPR. I found a springboard for ideas and decision-making in the priest of the neighboring parish who challenged me to consider the person I was and to develop different parts of my personality.&nbsp;



One of the most crucial guides along my journey was our vice president for student affairs, Eleanor Daugherty. “Dr. Elly,” as I came to call her, taught me that making the most of my experience wouldn’t mean doing everything or doing the “right” things but making the experience better for myself and for others. By investing in this place like my mentors, professors, and peers were investing in me, I would make “the Hilltop” my home. This involved the tremendous opportunity to work alongside Dr. Elly and her team in Student Affairs on efforts to make communities across Georgetown feel a greater sense of inclusion. Whether entering into dialogue with students regarding what they needed to have more comfortable facilities on campus or expediting the implementation of gender-inclusive housing (not in spite but because of our Catholic and Jesuit mission), we have worked to make more people feel like they belong. That, in turn, is how I found my sense of belonging: by working to build and strengthen communities on our Hilltop and beyond.



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By investing in this place like my mentors, professors, and peers were investing in me, I would make “the Hilltop” my home.
</blockquote>



Now in my senior spring, as I prepare to graduate, I am happy to report that I did not become a new person during these four years. Instead, I became a smarter, kinder, more worldly, and harder working version of myself. Georgetown provided the people and the opportunities for me to discern just who I was and what I was called to be at my university. I pursued lifelong dreams, like working on Capitol Hill and studying abroad under the Tuscan sun, and picked up new practices, like caring for our bulldog mascot Jack and advising a university administrator. But I also left some things behind, all the while curating, not creating, my most joyful, authentic self. Through this process, my college experience was not transactional but, rather, transformational. This transformation was not unilateral, though. As I was becoming my more authentic self, I was helping my university to more authentically live its mission. 



Institutions of higher education can help students flourish by providing spaces for reflection and growth. These institutions can flourish, too, if they reflect upon their adherence to missions, open themselves to student and stakeholder feedback, and enable these groups to help in creating real change on campus. Even though I am filled with gratitude for my time as a student on the Hilltop, I hope that these are not the best four years of my life. In that same light, I hope that these are not the best four years for Georgetown. Instead, I hope I remember this as an informative time, full of high highs and low lows, when a new network of support formed around me in the shape of tremendous friends and mentors. A time when I learned not to be afraid to be myself and I found those who embraced me. A time when I learned to be present, to be patient, to trust, and to grow, and hopefully imparted these lessons onto Georgetown, too.



Michael C. Woch is a senior at Georgetown graduating this spring.

Becoming a Better Version of Myself

On a weekday morning during spring break, a group of first-year and second-year college students gathered around a patient whose condition began to change. The patient’s blood pressure was rising, breathing growing shallow. Sudden drooling.&nbsp;



It wasn’t a real patient. Behind the scenes, an instructor controlled the simulation using a mannequin. But the patient’s recovery wasn’t the point. The students’ introductory glimpse to the field of medicine was.



For some students, this might have been a confirmation: Yes, this is exactly what I want to do. For others, the realization could have been a cooler response, which would be just as important: Maybe this isn’t for me.



That moment — of clarity, uncertainty, or recalibration — is what Tufts University hoped to spark with its new JUMP-IN pilot program, a weeklong, immersive experience designed to help primarily first-year and some second-year students step, however briefly, into the lives they think they want. Ask a room full of first- and second-year college students what they want to do after graduation, and many will have an answer: Doctor. Lawyer. Engineer. Ask them what those jobs actually look like, day to day, and the answers may resemble vague impressions, a composite of jobs observed on television and heard about through friends and relatives.



This gap — between aspiration and understanding — is not just anecdotal. Surveys from organizations like the National Association of Colleges and Employers (NACE) and Gallup have consistently found that while students feel pressure to choose a career path early, many lack meaningful exposure to what those careers entail. At the same time, research suggests that students who engage in experiential learning — internships, simulations, project-based work — are significantly more likely to feel confident in their career choices and to secure employment aligned with their interests after graduation. In other words, it’s not just about choosing a path. It’s about trying it on to see how it feels.



“We wanted students to begin to think about linking their interests to their academic learning to their career goals,” said Ellise LaMotte, the associate provost for student success at Tufts. The goal is not to arrive at definitive answers in a single week, but to develop the tools — and the self-awareness — to start asking better questions.



And just as importantly, students are encouraged to recognize when the answer might be,&nbsp;no thank you. “We did not want this program to just confirm what students already thought,” LaMotte said. “If someone came in thinking, ‘I want to be a doctor,’ and left realizing they didn’t —that was just as powerful.”



Learning by Doing&nbsp;



Each JUMP-IN participant spends the week in one of five tracks, including pre-med and dental pathways as well as global policy, nutrition, and engineering-focused design. What unites them is a commitment to experiential learning. “The charge was that this needed to be hands-on,” LaMotte said. “The majority of the time was spent with them doing something.”&nbsp;



In the Design Problem Solving (D.P.S.) track, that meant building structures out of melting Oreos — an exercise in material constraints and creative thinking. It meant working with modeling software, experimenting with 3D printing, and tackling real-world challenges. An open deck on top of the Tufts library was enclosed in glass so that it would be a safe place for students. But that design choice had an unexpected consequence: Birds were now flying into the glass. “One of the design flash challenges was: How can these students in this D.P.S. program for the week help to give some solutions to this problem?” LaMotte said. “So, it was a little tech heavy. But if you are somebody curious about how to solve problems, it would be appealing.”



<blockquote class="wp-block-quote">
For some, the experience was exhilarating. For others, it was clarifying in a different way. “There were students who realized, ‘This is harder than I thought,’ or ‘This isn’t what I imagined,’” LaMotte said.
</blockquote>



In Global Policy Lab, students became senators in a climate policy simulation, debating legislation on a mock Senate floor at the Edward M. Kennedy Institute for the United States Senate in Boston. They explored the role of drones in international security and engaged with local officials on immigration policy.&nbsp;



In the Pre Med Connect track, students practiced suturing and patient care, responding to dynamic simulations that required quick thinking and teamwork. In the Dental Bridge track, students performed tooth wax-up modeling, simulation shadowing, suturing, and align impressions. In the Beyond the Plate track, students conducted “nutrition myth labs,” explored food systems, and visited facilities researching lab-grown meat. Across all tracks, students were asked not just to absorb information, but to apply it — to make decisions, test ideas, and reflect on outcomes.



For some, the experience was exhilarating. For others, it was clarifying in a different way. “There were students who realized, ‘This is harder than I thought,’ or ‘This isn’t what I imagined,’” LaMotte said. “And that’s valuable.”



Building Belonging through Shared Exploration



If JUMP-IN is about career exploration on the surface, it is equally about something deeper: connection. The program, piloted this spring break with 94 first-year students, was intentionally designed to reach those who may not yet have found their place on campus.



“Some of them knew each other,” LaMotte said. “But there were some who didn’t know anybody — and those are the folks we really, really wanted to get in touch with.” The challenge is a familiar one. The first year of college is often framed as a time of discovery and belonging, but for many students, that sense of connection doesn’t come easily. Social circles can feel closed, academic interests uncertain, and the path forward unclear.



From the moment students arrive, the program nudges them toward interaction. They are encouraged to sit with people they don’t know. They work in teams. They share meals, experiences, and, by the end of the week, reflections.



Even small moments matter. On the first day, one student resisted moving from a table where he sat alone, confident that others would eventually fill the space, and they did. Over the course of the week, LaMotte watched him gradually open up — participating more, volunteering, engaging in ways he hadn’t at the start.



Those shifts, while subtle, are central to the program’s purpose. By the end of the week, 96 percent of participants said they would recommend JUMP-IN to a friend, citing connection and community as key reasons. And perhaps more significantly, 84 percent reported feeling more comfortable reaching out to mentors, advisors, or faculty — a critical step in navigating both academic and career pathways.



Measuring What Matters



By traditional academic standards, a weeklong program like JUMP-IN might be difficult to evaluate. There are no grades, so the metrics that matter are different: curiosity satisfied, realism gleaned. It’s hard to measure some shifts in attitude because they might only appear downstream later — in the form of keeping one’s eyes open more keenly or an increased willingness to make inquiries of someone who does something you just might want to know more about.



At the most immediate level, student feedback has been overwhelmingly positive. In addition to the 96 percent recommendation rate, students reported gains in career clarity, networking skills, and confidence in seeking support.



Thirty-two percent said the program led them to change their academic plans — a striking figure for a cohort just beginning their college journey. Another 38 percent reported feeling better equipped to leverage networks and support systems. Even exposure to research — a domain often reserved for upperclassmen — emerged as a meaningful outcome, with 17 percent of students reporting new experience in that area.



But the longer-term measures may prove even more significant. Tufts plans to track JUMP-IN participants and their progress over time, examining retention rates, academic trajectories, and career outcomes. Do students who participate feel more connected to the institution? Are they more likely to persist, to pivot when needed, to engage with mentors and opportunities? “We want to follow them along their path to figure it out,” LaMotte said. “They were in the JUMP-IN program and were interested in engineering; now they’re in political science. Why did that happen? Without surveying them to death, we would like to determine if JUMP-IN helped them make that change. Did they get support they need to be successful?”&nbsp;



Lessons from the Pilot



Like any new initiative, JUMP-IN’s first iteration revealed areas for growth. The first was critical: using faculty to design and lead the program. “It took us a minute to figure out that faculty needed to run this and not staff. And once we made that decision, it made more sense because this is their area of expertise. Once we got faculty involved, we were able to really develop programming.”&nbsp;



The most consistent feedback from students was the need for more unstructured time. The schedule, while engaging, was also intense. By midweek, small signs of fatigue had set in. “It was too structured,” LaMotte said. Future versions of the program will likely include more downtime and social activities — opportunities for students to build relationships outside of formal programming. “We need to give them more time to just connect and be with each other.”&nbsp;



There were also logistical challenges, from coordinating transportation between campuses to managing meals while the campus is closed. But these are solvable problems, LaMotte noted, and, in some ways, evidence of the program’s scale and ambition.



Demand exceeded expectations, with 124 students applying for 100 spots. Plans are already underway to expand the number of tracks and increase capacity.



Perhaps the most ambitious aspect of JUMP-IN is what comes next. The program is envisioned not as a standalone experience but as the first step in a four-year developmental arc. Tufts plans to introduce sophomore, junior, and senior versions of JUMP-IN, each tailored to students’ evolving needs.



The first-year program focuses on exploration and connection. Future iterations may emphasize deeper skill-building focused on leadership, entrepreneurship, negotiation, navigation, along with civic impact and career development.



“We want it to grow with students,” LaMotte said, “and integrate JUMP-IN into the ethos of the undergraduate experience at Tufts.”&nbsp;



In that sense, JUMP-IN reflects a broader shift in higher education — from viewing career development as a late-stage concern to embedding it throughout the undergraduate experience.



Capping the week, LaMotte was gratified to find the best evidence of the program’s success: In a session at the end where participants broke into sub-groups to share experiences, there was a buzz of animation in the room as students reflected on: what brought them joy, if their career focus changed, what skills they need to learn next, and how Tufts can further support them. For some, the experience reinforced a sense of purpose. For others, it raised new questions. But for all of them, it transformed an abstract idea —&nbsp;being this thing&nbsp;— into something tangible, complex, and real.



That transformation may be the most valuable outcome of all. Because the goal of programs like JUMP-IN is not to provide answers but to create encounters with possible futures and versions of themselves. In a higher education landscape increasingly defined by uncertainty, that kind of clarity — earned, and personal — may be just what students need to begin.

Jumping In

Julia entered college in 2023 pretty sure of two things: that she wanted to major in either art history or French and that she wanted to study abroad. At the time, her dream career involved working in and around museums. 



Now a junior, she is majoring in both French and art, but considers her third major, business, her “primary field” — and sees going into finance a means to all her desired ends. She regrets that study abroad is no longer in the cards, collateral damage in the struggle to meet strenuous requirements for all three departments.&nbsp;



“One day when I exit the corporate world and I've made enough money, I would love to use my business skills and connections in the art world and be able to travel,” Julia said. “When I got on campus, I started to appreciate that there’s a difference between the things you want to do and the things you actually do so you can someday work in the things you want to do.” 



Her calculation reflects a broader shift taking place on college campuses across the country. The rising number of students pursuing double majors — and sometimes triple majors — has increased five-fold at some universities, as students strive to differentiate themselves in a competitive job market and hedge against an uncertain economic future.



But as students stack credentials, advisors and mental health professionals are raising questions about what may be lost in the process: not only balance and wellbeing but also the exploratory, formative aspects of college that can shape a life and career in less easily quantifiable ways.



The Credentials Arms Race



Some observers note what they call a “credential arms race,” the growth of students accumulating academic achievements to remain competitive.&nbsp;



Data from colleges across the U.S. suggest that the share of students graduating with more than one major has risen significantly over the past decade. Reporting by The Hechinger Report has documented a wide spectrum of increases: The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill has seen a 20% increase; Brown University, 97%; Harvard, 334%; and Drexel, a 591% increase.



Administrators acknowledge the trend is part of a broader socio-economic picture: students worrying about job prospects and attempting to increase their career viability and areas of expertise. Students often frame the decision pragmatically; in an era of economic volatility, rising tuition costs, and rapid technological change, pursuing multiple fields of study can feel like a form of risk management.



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In an era of economic volatility, rising tuition costs, and rapid technological change, pursuing multiple fields of study can feel like a form of risk management.
</blockquote>



But advisors say the motivations are varied, and evolving. Today’s students are navigating a labor market shaped by automation, shifting industry demands, and heightened expectations around early career readiness. Many feel pressure to demonstrate both specialization and versatility at the same time — a challenging balance for anyone, let alone someone still discovering their intellectual interests. And as college costs skyrocket, many feel pressure to make a degree, or degrees, matter as much as they can.



“There’s a sense that students want to keep as many doors open as possible,” said Nigel Richardson, the assistant provost for university advising and student success at the University of Florida. Richardson said he and colleagues increasingly hear from students who arrive on campus already planning to double major or add multiple credentials. “A lot of students are thinking more means better,” he said. “If I have more credentials, that’s going to make me more competitive.”&nbsp;



Hedging Bets in an Uncertain Economy



Students’ motivations for stacking majors are often deeply pragmatic. Many are aware that the labor market they enter after graduation may look quite different from the one that existed even a decade earlier. News headlines regularly discuss artificial intelligence, layoffs in once-stable industries, and the possibility that workers may hold many different roles over the course of their careers.



Even when students don’t explicitly cite A.I., advisors say the broader sense of uncertainty influences how they approach their education. Richardson noted that students are increasingly thinking strategically about how their academic choices position them for employment. Some combine technical and non-technical fields, pairing disciplines like data science with psychology, economics with public policy, or business with the arts.&nbsp;



“Students are thinking about covering bases, but they aren’t fully aware of the costs,” Richardson said. “It’s this desire for more, and their answer — in this environment that they’re in and paying for — is another academic program.”



Alyssa, a sophomore at a highly competitive school in the northeast, has always found child studies fascinating. She speaks eloquently about her fascination with what makes children tick and evolve while maximizing their potential. Working with a nonprofit dedicated to the wellbeing of under-resourced children, she said, has always been her passion. But not her current path.



“I always knew I wanted to have a corporate moment first — to have a sustainable lifestyle — and later, after I’ve been a corporate strategy expert, I can segue into being the head of a nonprofit for children, get globally involved. I’m passionate about that work, but I’m more passionate right now about being corporate first because that’s going to make my life way easier to support in the long run.”&nbsp;



She applied to college with child development as her intended major, knowing it was a less-competitive route into that school. Once she was accepted, she set the groundwork to add a major in business and set her sights on pursuing consulting firms. She just completed a career fair in New York to be introduced to the Big Four, an opportunity she secured by getting involved with her school’s career office early in her first year.&nbsp;



“You have to do all these things because everyone else is doing all these things. It’s not enough to be a double major. You also have to be in the business frat — which I didn’t get into, after trying three semesters — and minor in Chinese or math or data science and have extra-curricular leadership. Everyone’s just generating anxiety,” Alyssa said. The competitive campus environment she describes is one where students are running on all cylinders to be and do everything, realizing that academic credentials alone may not be sufficient to secure employment. Energy and commitment might be the most valuable resources of all. “You have to be really intentional with your time,” she said. “You can’t risk not succeeding in a course, not graduating on time.”&nbsp;



When Efficiency Meets Opportunity



Clearly, not all students double major expressly out of fear of job competition and instability. Many are making room for two strong interests. Some have the advantage of arriving on campus with significant numbers of Advanced Placement or dual-enrollment credits. This allows them to fulfill general education requirements quickly — and puts them on an efficient path, if they choose to maximize the use of credits towards multiple credentials for the same time and cost. Others benefit from financial aid structures that cover a set number of credits, encouraging them to maximize the academic opportunities included in that tuition.



In such cases, adding another major can appear to be an efficient use of resources. Students may reason that if they are already enrolled full-time, pursuing an additional field of study adds value without increasing cost. It’s just slicing and dicing your time in a focused way. Some institutions have also designed interdisciplinary programs that make double majoring cover even more ground.&nbsp;



But efficiency can come with tradeoffs. Richardson introduces students to the idea of a “T-shaped” education — one that combines breadth across disciplines with depth in a particular area of expertise. He cautions that pursuing breadth can sometimes come “at the expense of depth,” limiting opportunities for sustained research engagement or deeper learning within a primary field. The major itself is only one piece of the professional profile, he stresses, along with research, volunteering, and shadowing, all part of a holistic experience.&nbsp;



“If you’re not going deeper into a topic, you’re not increasing your level of understanding or opportunities for hands-on expertise or fruitful relationships with faculty and classmates. Students might think it’s going to make them more competitive. But they could miss that meaningful engagement that’s expected within each of these respective departments in their pursuit of this double or triple major.”



The Stress of Optimizing



Completing multiple majors calls for careful academic planning — timing when required courses are offered — and a willingness to take on heavy course loads. Students may need to coordinate requirements across departments, enroll in classes offered only once per year, and forgo scheduling flexibility.



Kirsten Behling, the associate dean of student accessibility and academic resources at Tufts University, said her office frequently works with students managing the demands of double majors or combinations of majors and minors.



“Students are generally a little bit overwhelmed with the amount of content that they have to cover and how tricky it is to organize getting into the courses you need when they’re offered,” she said. “With multiple majors, they hit the burnout button earlier. They may think they’re doing O.K., until they aren’t.”



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“With multiple majors, they hit the burnout button earlier. They may think they’re doing O.K., until they aren’t.”
</blockquote>



Academic coaching services can help students develop time management strategies and adjust expectations when workloads become difficult to sustain. Behling noted that students sometimes feel locked into rigid academic pathways once they commit to multiple programs or realize they have to miss out on certain options. The inability to participate in study abroad or other experiential learning opportunities can be a significant loss, she added, given the role such experiences play in developing independence, cultural competence, and professional skills.



Missing out on options also has a very everyday component: just plain missing out on hanging out. Mental health professionals find that heavy academic loads can reduce the time students have for social interaction, exercise, and rest.



Eric Wood, the director of counseling and mental health at Texas Christian University, said it is logical that students taking on multiple majors feel the weight of increased demands on their time.



“If you’re doing double majoring, you’re doing more courses,” he said. “You have more demand from faculty, more demand from coaches, and less time socially — even less if you also are holding a part-time job.” Wood said concerns about the job market are common among college students, particularly graduating seniors. “I think it’s only natural that they are absorbing what they hear and read about the economy and job market and A.I. and doing everything they can to protect themselves. But sometimes you don’t realize that frantic protection isn’t actually protecting you.”



When students respond to that anxiety by seeking ways to strengthen their academic profile, counselors try to gently remind them that additional coursework is not the only or best path to career readiness. “Some advisors encourage students to consider whether adding another major will genuinely support their goals or simply add pressure,” Wood said.



A Narrowing of the College Experience?&nbsp;



College has traditionally been framed as a time for intellectual exploration and personal development, as well as career preparation. But students may feel pressure to optimize every aspect of their academic trajectory, leaving less time for activities that contribute to broader growth. Networking events, internships, leadership roles, and collaborative projects often require time flexibility that becomes harder to maintain alongside dense academic schedules.



Behling observes that many students increasingly approach higher education with a highly instrumental mindset. “There’s definitely a ‘means to an end’ mentality,” she said. “I have to do this thing that looks good in order to get this job or this graduate school entry, and sometimes this is emphasized by family, too. If the Tufts experience becomes a means to an end, it’s less about the collegiate, holistic experience — which is something I really believe in — and more the drive, drive, drive to get to the other side of graduation.”



Students are doing what they think they need to do to get a job, Behling said. But that perception may not always reflect employer expectations. Advisors often emphasize that internships, research experience, and interpersonal skills play a significant role in hiring decisions.



Richardson encourages students to ask&nbsp;why&nbsp;they want multiple majors and what they hope those additional programs will accomplish. A second major can contribute to intellectual growth, he advises, but it is not the only way to demonstrate versatility. Often, he finds that students are motivated less by curiosity than by a desire to reduce uncertainty.&nbsp;



“Oftentimes when I’m having this conversation, what comes out is risk management: ‘I have to have the funds; I have to make sure the doors are opened.’ I often don’t hear much about intellectual exploration, and I try to find ways to help them remain curious,” he said. “There are many different ways to approach their preparation to graduate, which could include multiple majors, but there might be other skills and personal attributes that end up mattering a lot more.”



A Recalibration of Success



The rise of double and triple majors suggests that students are responding actively to changing expectations about education and employment. Yet advisors emphasize that academic credentials represent only one dimension of readiness. Relationships, experiences, and intellectual curiosity often shape opportunities in ways that transcripts alone cannot capture.



The challenge for students — and for institutions — may be finding ways to support ambition without sacrificing wellbeing or the broader developmental value of the college experience. Meaningful one-on-one conversations with influential faculty advisors can help. But it’s more easily done in the context of a larger culture shift. In an arms race, it’s hard to unilaterally walk away.



“I do think I do a pretty good job trying to be in the present and appreciate where I am. I love my school. It feels like home, and I love spending time kicking back with my friends,” Alyssa said. “But then I look around at what everyone else is doing, and I feel so dumb that I’m not doing more. It’s just so much harder than I thought.”

Stacking Majors in an Age of Anxiety

At a time when public conversation often seems defined by fragmentation, colleges are increasingly asking how they can help students develop the habits of thoughtful disagreement. A growing number of institutions have created centers focused on civil discourse, hoping to foster intellectual complexity, humility, and respect. Davidson College’s new Institute for Public Good reflects this broader movement while also drawing on a distinctive institutional history — a culture shaped for generations by an Honor Code that places character formation at the center of learning.



In August, the small liberal arts school in North Carolina formally established the institute as a hub for civic engagement, ethical leadership, and open dialogue. Home to only around 2,000 students, Davidson has quickly attracted unusually strong support for the project, including more than $50 million from a combination of private and public funders.



The early momentum reflects a central claim of the institute’s leaders based on the school’s core identity: that the most meaningful civil discourse is rooted in a broader culture of character formation, rather than programming alone.



According to Chris Marsicano, the inaugural director of the institute and a Davidson graduate, this new initiative is the college’s “attempt to plant a flag in higher education and say, ‘We’re going to do this right.’”



“We’re going to develop the leadership for the next generation of leaders, and we're going to do it in the ways that we care about when it comes to character,” Marsicano said. “We're tired of seeing political leaders who do not have integrity, and certainly the American public are.”



The institute’s first major contribution came from the Educating Character Initiative (E.C.I.) at Wake Forest University, whose $750,000 grant and seal of approval evidently opened the floodgates. Since the beginning of 2026, Davidson has announced a $4 million grant from the Department of Education — the largest federal award in the college’s history — and, most recently, $47 million raised from a handful of alumni and individuals. In honor of one family of donors, the center has been renamed the D.G. and Harriet Wall Martin Institute for Public Good.



Honored Traditions



Marsicano didn’t always think of Davidson’s focus on honor and integrity explicitly as “character education.” But now, he finds, the shoe fits.&nbsp;



“In some ways, I’ve always been into character education,” he said.



The same could be said of Davidson as a whole. Its signature Honor Code dates back to the college’s inception, and every year, the newest students continue to participate in a formal ceremony where they sign their names on the pledge not to lie, cheat, or steal.&nbsp;



The implications are academic, but not only. Perhaps the most notable feat of the Honor Code is that it holds up beyond the classroom. Somehow, it doesn’t simply slip from students’ minds once they’ve closed their blue books or handed in their papers.



Connor Hines, a senior at Davidson, said the Honor Code shaped his thinking long before he arrived on campus. His mother, an alumna, had invoked the code to teach him the difference between right and wrong.



“I can hear her saying, ‘Well, when I went to college, we had this Honor Code and you weren't allowed to do X, Y, Z,’” Hines said. “And so that really has been the lens which I've viewed most of my life through and grown up around.”



Hines, now the president of Davidson’s student government, insists the Honor Code really does play out in the everyday. He said his peers and professors operate with such a distinct level of care for and sense of accountability to each other that his friends from other schools comment on the difference when they visit. The vow to return a lost wallet, Hines explained, translates similarly to an effort to remember personal details about others and make them feel known on campus among the crowd.



“If it were just a parchment statement hanging up in our academic building that you don't interact with, sure, it would probably fade away,” Hines said. “But just with the number of opportunities that you have to interact with the Honor Code, I think is what continues its enduring strength.”



Davidson’s emphasis on civil discourse has been similarly enduring. The school’s original debate clubs, the Philanthropic and Eumenean Societies, are known to have been the heart of early social life. The groups’ dueling members used to stand on the balconies of their adjacent matching brick buildings on the quad and battle back and forth on chosen issues.&nbsp;



Although the societies don’t function today as they once did, the original sites remain, and every four years, the college republicans and democrats face off from the same balconies to debate the presidential election. A crowd of several hundred more students gathers to spectate.&nbsp;



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"The ability to disagree with each other is in our D.N.A."
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The Eumenean Society remains a student-run civil discourse organization, while Philanthropic took on a more literary focus. At current Eumenean meetings, students pull random topics out of a bowl to debate that range from federal housing policy to M&amp;Ms versus Skittles. Davidson students continue to feel the pull towards intensive engagement with each other in both the liberal arts academic and social life.&nbsp;&nbsp;



“The ability to disagree with each other is in our D.N.A. We are a liberal arts college in a purple state on the border between two states,” Marsicano said. “We have people who are conservative from New England and liberal from the south. We have people from abroad who are as libertarian as they come and socialist students from right down the street. That is who we are.”&nbsp;



Marsicano added that the protections for freedom of speech upheld in Davidson’s constitution are among the strongest “of any college in America.” “Any student group can invite anybody to campus to speak, and the administration cannot stop it from happening,” he said.



Hines, a political science major who grew up a short drive away from Davidson, considers himself a moderate conservative. His best friend and roommate for the last four years is a communist, the first Hines had ever met.



“I've spent way too many long nights and hours in the library having discussions and debates around policy, politics, political theory, probably to the detriment of my work,” Hines said.&nbsp;



“You can have those conversations because we're a small school — 2,000 people — yes. But the diversity of thought within those 2,000 students is incredible.”



&nbsp;A New Home



Now both the Honor Code and the tradition of civil discourse are taking up residence in a new home: the Martin Institute for Public Good, which will be operating out of the historic Philanthropic and Eumanean buildings.



With the Martin Institute organized into four categories of programming, the Honor Code falls under Ethics, Honor, &amp; Leadership, while civil discourse is part of Deliberation &amp; Free Expression. The other two areas of work are Public Policy &amp; Research and Arts and Public Life.



These categories capture not just the variety of topics the Martin Institute is bringing together but the diverse approaches. Within the same center will be an arm for community engagement opportunities, for academic development and innovation, and for public policy and other research.



“It is probably the most ambitious academic initiative at Davidson College in the past 30 years because it is trying to follow a model that, at least to our knowledge, is not followed elsewhere fully,” Marsicano said.



<blockquote class="wp-block-quote">
“Our model is one that builds up character in a time where people are starving for it."
</blockquote>



The funding from the E.C.I. is supporting work in Ethics, Honor, &amp; Leadership, where the primary initiatives include faculty grants to incorporate character education into curricula and a national convening bringing together student honor councils at various colleges.



The national convening, which has been held twice now, is a chance for students around the country interested in ideas of academic and general integrity to discuss their common or unique challenges and help each other work through them.



Artificial intelligence and its implications for cheating, for example, have become particularly pressing concerns in recent years. Even if no one is entirely confident in the best way forward, Hines said, it’s exciting to be building a “network of leaders between schools that we can rely on if we continue to have questions or as we just navigate the challenges that we face.”



Hines also spearheaded the production of Davidson’s first-ever Celebration of Honor, a week-long, all-campus event to highlight the impact of the Honor Code. Programming spanned a panel of stand-out Davidson alumni discussing the legacy of the Honor Code in their lives to less formal gatherings, like an ice cream social, Hines called opportunities to “just connect.”



Another effort benefitting from E.C.I. support is an ongoing attempt to develop a new version of the Personal and Social Responsibility Inventory, a tool used to assess different facets of campus climate, to include academic freedom. That resource would allow Davidson to measure its own success in that area and help other campuses do the same.&nbsp;



The $4 million from the Department of Education will go towards Deliberation &amp; Free Expression programming, specifically the development of a Deliberative Citizenship Network. Through the D.C.N., Davidson will be supporting a group of 100 other institutions in their efforts to train faculty, support students, form partnerships, and engineer new tools to strengthen campus discourse around contentious issues.&nbsp;



Marsicano said he’s not overly concerned that the funds from the Department of Education could be affected — that is, revoked — like other federal grants to higher education in the last year. But he was firm that should the money be threatened, Davidson won’t be sacrificing its own vision or values for the sake of staying afloat.



While Davidson focuses on bolstering opportunities and resources for its own community where its traditions run the deepest, it anticipates a new road as a leader in this work for others.



“Our model is one that builds up character in a time where people are starving for it," &nbsp;Marsicano said. “They're starving for exemplars. They're starving for training and education.”&nbsp;



“We just happen to have a model that is set up to do it.”



You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at&nbsp;<a href="mailto:mames@learningwellmag.org">mames@learningwellmag.org</a>&nbsp;with comments, ideas, or tips.

The Davidson Difference

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEOr5iuzImc
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This story, from Georgia Tech student Alexis Seith, explores how we can pursue feelings of wholeness by noticing fragments of ourselves – regardless of whether those fragments can be pieced back together. Alexis finds both pain and beauty in the pieces of her life as well as a way to hold both at once. This story was produced in partnership with The Narrative Engineer conference through The Georgia Institute of Technology.

"Bits and Pieces" by Alexis Seith

A new research update from the&nbsp;<a href="https://hfh.fas.harvard.edu/">Human Flourishing Program</a>&nbsp;at Harvard poses an instructive question on the use of A.I.: Do large language models (L.L.M.s)&nbsp;&nbsp;promote or impede flourishing? This seemingly simple question, if taken seriously, could prove to be an effective lens in considering how these technologies are designed and produced and how they are ultimately used.&nbsp;&nbsp;



“<a href="https://www.mdpi.com/2078-2489/17/1/88">Flourishing Considerations for A.I.”</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;applies the Human Flourishing Program’s six domains of flourishing — happiness, health, meaning, character, relationships, and financial security — to five sets of considerations. Two pertain to A.I. product developers on the nature of the output provided by L.L.M.s and the specific design and packaging of particular A.I. products. The other three sets pertain to the user of A.I. products concerning decisions about the extent and nature of use, the effects of A.I. use on human knowledge, and the effects of A.I. on persons and communities.&nbsp;&nbsp;



In identifying the players, motivations, and risks of L.L.M. technologies, the paper provides a guide, complete with guardrails and benefits, that brings us back to basics: Is our use of A.I. helping or hindering us when it comes to our ability to flourish as individuals and as a society? While the authors suggest ways to better build or use what currently exists, they do recommend eliminating one erroneous offering: the chat bot companion. They conclude that, for humans to flourish, we need to interact with other (real) humans.&nbsp;&nbsp;



The following is an op-ed on the subject from <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/contributors/tyler-j-vanderweele-phd">Tyler J. VanderWeele</a>, the lead author of the report and director of the Human Flourishing Program. The article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/human-flourishing/202603/can-we-remain-human-in-the-age-of-ai">Psychology Today</a>. 



<hr class="wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity"/>



<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Can We Remain Human in the Age of A.I.?</h2>



By Tyler J. VanderWeele



<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/artificial-intelligence">Artificial intelligence</a>&nbsp;technologies have been rapidly rising. Their potential applications are extraordinary, from information synthesis to robotic surgery, statistical analysis, civil engineering, and more. By leveraging and re-packaging vast quantities of existing knowledge, they seem to open endless possibilities for their use, but also for abuse.



Like any tool, A.I. can be used for good or for ill. If these technologies are to enhance human flourishing, rather than impede it, then we need to consider whether the design of A.I. technologies and our engagement with them are oriented towards our own flourishing. Of particular concern is how our use of these technologies is affecting our capacities for reason, for relationship, for transcendence, which go to the heart of our human nature. Are we finding a greater fulfilment through these tools? Or do they threaten to diminish and constrict our lives?



A Flourishing Lens



In a recent paper from the Human Flourishing Program at Harvard published in the journal Information, we have put forward a set of<a href="https://www.mdpi.com/2078-2489/17/1/88">&nbsp;Flourishing Considerations for A.I.</a>, discussing how a “flourishing lens” can guide decisions on the design and use of A.I. technologies related to: (i) the type of output provided; (ii) the specific A.I. product design; (iii) our engagement with those products; the effects this is having on (iv) human knowledge; and on (v) the self-realization of the human person.



<blockquote class="wp-block-quote">
Are we finding a greater fulfilment through these tools? Or do they threaten to diminish and constrict our lives?
</blockquote>



We’ve made use of our general&nbsp;<a href="https://www.pnas.org/doi/10.1073/pnas.1702996114">framework</a>&nbsp;for conceptualizing and&nbsp;<a href="https://hfh.fas.harvard.edu/measuring-flourishing">assessing</a>&nbsp;human flourishing, oriented around six domains:&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/happiness">happiness</a>, health, meaning, character, relationships, and financial resources. We argue in our new&nbsp;<a href="https://www.mdpi.com/2078-2489/17/1/88">paper</a>&nbsp;that whenever an A.I. product is developed, and whenever we are deciding whether to use it, we should consider how it will affect our happiness, health, meaning, character, relationships, and financial security, among other aspects of a good life. If the effect on some of these outcomes is likely detrimental, developers should consider whether it can be redesigned to mitigate these negative effects. Whenever it is clear that our own use would have negative effects on these outcomes, we should question whether we would be better off without it.



Respecting and Fulfilling Human Nature



Of particular concern is what these technologies might be doing to our nature as human persons. For instance, there is evidence that substantial use of A.I. tools such as “large language models” (L.L.M.s) can hinder users’&nbsp;<a href="https://arxiv.org/abs/2506.08872">cognitive abilities</a>. If we become weaker in our reasoning, we are flourishing less, not more, as human persons.



Given that L.L.M.s also get things wrong (so-called “<a href="https://github.com/vectara/hallucination-leaderboard">A.I. hallucinations</a>”), we should not place any absolute reliance on them or their products as sources of knowledge. They might be helpful in searches or in pointing us to relevant source material. However, knowledge fundamentally requires justified true beliefs, the justifying evidence that cannot be overturned. Evaluating evidence and searching for truth are fundamentally&nbsp;<a href="https://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/documents/rc_ddf_doc_20250128_antiqua-et-nova_en.html">human activities</a>. A.I. technologies may require a yet greater (not lesser) scrutiny of evidence than before if the web of human knowledge is not to be damaged.



Perhaps of yet greater concern is the potential effect of A.I. technologies on human relationships and our&nbsp;<a href="https://internationaljournalofwellbeing.org/index.php/ijow/article/view/4663">capacity to love</a>. Various studies have indicated that&nbsp;<a href="https://www.commonsensemedia.org/sites/default/files/research/report/talk-trust-and-trade-offs_2025_web.pdf">roughly one-third or more</a>&nbsp;of American&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/adolescence">teenagers</a>&nbsp;are using A.I. agents for companionship, as friends, or romantic partners. While these might sometimes temporarily alleviate&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/loneliness">loneliness</a>, the longer-term effects on flourishing are likely detrimental. They decrease the&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/motivation">motivation</a>&nbsp;and time available for engaging in face-to-face interactions. Furthermore, because A.I. chatbots are designed to be exceedingly agreeable and supportive, they also create unrealistic expectations as to the sort of interactions, sympathy, and comfort one may hope for in a real romantic partner or a&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/friends">friendship</a>. They thereby also alter the broader social environment and our capacities to engage with one another. When our capacities to engage in real relationships are weakened, we are flourishing less, not more.



Certainly, there are cases in which A.I. chatbot applications can be helpful, from user-tailored educational opportunities (perhaps replacing Massive Open Online Courses – MOOCs) to skill-building programs for&nbsp;<a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S2352648322001052">autistic children</a>, to&nbsp;<a href="https://jamesgmartin.center/2025/02/ai-meets-civil-discourse/">civil discourse training</a>&nbsp;for college students. However, in each of these cases, the technologies should ultimately point us back to real human relationships. A human teacher, for example, not only helps in acquiring knowledge, but also in forming the whole person, in modeling the integration of knowledge into life and&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/emotions">emotion</a>, and in developing capacities for mutual understanding.



Such considerations as to the effects of A.I. technologies on human fulfillment also pertain to our artistic pursuits, our experience of beauty, and our search for meaning and purpose in life. Ultimately, we cannot outsource our meaning and our joy in relationships, our freedom and our responsibility, our reasoning and our understanding, our appreciation of beauty and our capacity for&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/awe">awe</a>&nbsp;and wonder, or, in total, our flourishing, to technology. These things are a part of what it means to be human.



Practical Next Steps



Navigating all of this can undoubtedly be challenging. To help address these matters, we have recently launched a Flourishing and A.I. Initiative. We need to develop practical&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/wisdom">wisdom</a>&nbsp;to determine which uses are beneficial and which are not. We should work together as individuals, as parents, and as communities, to develop the discipline needed to choose not to make use of these technologies when they are going to impede our flourishing. When we use A.I. technologies, we should ask ourselves how we might carry out such tasks better ourselves, to enhance our minds, not weaken them. We should limit use to ensure sufficient time to be with other people and in communities. We should continually question, with each use, whether it is enhancing or inhibiting our capacities as human persons.



These flourishing considerations also have implications for developers. Developers of A.I. technologies using chatbot interfaces should ensure they provide regular reminders that they are not human; that their outputs might be wrong; and that users might want to consider alternative activities or in-person human interactions. This could all be implemented immediately, with all A.I. chatbot products, and could considerably improve users’&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/decision-making">decision-making</a>.



Moreover, as noted above, while some chatbot products may indeed be beneficial, we believe developers should entirely discontinue the development of relational chatbots given the negative long-term effects these likely will have on human relationships. The detrimental effects of&nbsp;<a href="https://osf.io/preprints/psyarxiv/b94dy_v1">social media</a>&nbsp;on&nbsp;<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/human-flourishing/202208/why-young-peoples-mental-well-being-is-in-such-decline">youth flourishing</a>&nbsp;may be only the tip of the iceberg if A.I. companions replace real relationships. Developers should ultimately spend their effort on designing products that will more likely have unambiguously beneficial or neutral effects on flourishing, and prioritize those over products that might be more mixed or detrimental, even if profitable. The development and promotion of these products carry with them moral commitments and responsibilities. We should hold developers morally and legally accountable for the foreseeable harms their products bring to users and society.



While any new technology comes with new opportunities and new challenges, including those that may affect possibilities for human fulfillment, the potential for A.I. technologies to severely alter, damage, and replace relationships is arguably unprecedented. We need to take these matters seriously if we are to flourish. The use of a flourishing lens in evaluating A.I. technologies is essential.



You can reach LearningWell Editor Marjorie Malpiede at&nbsp;<a href="mailto:mmalpiede@learningwellmag.org">mmalpiede@learningwellmag.org</a>&nbsp;with&nbsp;comments, ideas, or tips.

Keeping it Real

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On a Monday evening in March, a few dozen students at the University of Pennsylvania trickled into a darkened classroom. Their professor, Justin McDaniel, greeted them at the front of the small lecture hall with two reminders: to pass in their phones and pick up the books they’d be reading that night. As the group traded in their tech for texts, McDaniel introduced their first author: Carson McCullers, a literary prodigy who wrote her first masterpiece at 23 and was dead by 50 following lifelong illness and chronic alcoholism. McDaniel said she was his “biggest crush” growing up. 



This is the tenth year that McDaniel, the chair of Penn’s religions department, has taught Existential Despair, a literature course that meets once per week for seven hours straight. Between roughly 5 p.m. and midnight, students typically hear a lecture on that day’s writers before settling in to read a book (or three) about human despair and concluding with group discussion. The lights in the room go off during those 11 p.m. conversations. No devices are allowed, ever. Only McDaniel knows what the reading will be before class starts. The rest can only expect it to be depressing.



Those skeptical that any students would be drawn to this dark experience will be shocked to learn it’s one of the most sought-after classes at Penn. This semester, McDaniel said, he fielded more than 500 requests — 80 more than last year — to fill 45 spots. The course’s general mystique no doubt contributes to its appeal, as would the lack of graded assignments. Arguably the&nbsp;<a href="https://www.vulture.com/article/justin-mcdaniel-existential-despair-course.html">most discussed</a>&nbsp;reason for the class’s success has been its format forcing Gen Zers, with their ever-shrinking attention spans, to “read again.” But the urge to reclaim a childhood love of reading may offer only a partial explanation. By embracing a new and unusual approach to learning, and maybe even living, students are participating in an intensely present and explicit quest for meaning.



Choosing Despair



Students in Existential Despair read provocative texts from around the world and across time periods — from McCullers’ “The Ballad of the Sad Café” to contemporary French novelist Marie NDiaye’s “Self-Portrait in Green” — whose central experiences with despair compel readers to turn inward. In contemplating characters’ struggles with isolation, anxiety, and grief, McDaniel’s students end up questioning what they themselves want from this short and often cruel life. What really matters to them? And who do they want to be?



When he first started teaching Existential Despair, McDaniel was already well aware of young people’s hunger for meaning.&nbsp;For one, he’d devoted part of his own 20s to living in remote Thailand as a Buddhist monk.&nbsp;More recently, over the last 24 years and across three universities, he’s taught another unconventional but highly popular course, Living Deliberately, which is an introduction to monasticism. In addition to weekly lectures, the class requires students adopt certain elements of the ascetic lifestyle, like waking up at 5:30 a.m. and adhering to restrictions in their dress, drinking, and communication. For one month, they make a vow of silence, meaning no speaking or technology use whatsoever.



The last time McDaniel ran Living Deliberately, there were 200 people vying for 14 openings. He characterized the applicants as typically non-religious but envious of those who are, and looking for “something real and something dedicated” to guide their lives. “In a chaotic world, in a very highly competitive world,” McDaniel said, “students often seek order; they seek predictability.”&nbsp;



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Young people don’t want to simply settle for a fate that’s defined by “joining this club, aiming for this promotion, deciding on the Lexus versus the Acura.”
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Increasingly, students’ reasons for enrolling in Existential Despair seem to mirror those for Living Deliberately. In the beginning, McDaniel said, he chalked up the interest in Despair mostly to its “weird and cool” structure — the midnight meetings, the lack of syllabus or tests or papers. But lately, he’s noticed a particular drive among students to be better read and to get off their screens. They seem eager for a new and more purposeful way of engaging with the world.&nbsp;



Kayla, a senior taking Existential Despair this semester, said she was first pulled toward the class because it was as different a learning experience as she could imagine. With an eye toward her impending graduation, the engineering major had been feeling herself “grinding away” and wondering whether there wasn’t more she might want from her life. For the last year and a half, she’s gone as far as to embark on what she called a “personal crusade,” trying to rediscover old hobbies, including reading, and reduce her technology dependency. “Just because school is a little soul crushing,” she said. She's just recently traded in her iPhone for a flip phone. 



Existential despair, as a phenomenon, is one way of framing this kind of restlessness with the status quo. We all confront the precarity of our mortality at some point, McDaniel said, adding that Buddhists believe life is just a series of distractions to avoid that most fundamental and disturbing truth. “Because we know it’s just getting up, eating, and going to sleep. We kind of know it,” McDaniel said. “And that’s why we’re desperate for gossip or we’re desperate for award shows.”



But the Kaylas of the world aren’t ready to cede their lives to the distractions. She, like many of McDaniel’s students, would rather pull back the curtain on the darkness of being alive and learn to sit with those feelings. Because, however unsettling, wading in promises something elusively more meaningful than turning away. Especially as they move further into adulthood, McDaniel said, young people don’t want to simply settle for a fate that’s defined by “joining this club, aiming for this promotion, deciding on the Lexus versus the Acura.”



Technology is of course one of the most obvious distractions for college students. And with the rise of A.I., they’re seeing the online universe expand at the same time that it seems to be becoming less trustworthy. “I’m not disturbed because I don’t trust it at all,” McDaniel said of the internet. “But they actually do trust it. And so for them, it’s like you’re taking away the world.” That’s part of the reason he thinks they want to invest more in their physical reality. “I think it’s really, really hard on them, and they’re craving, craving for something genuine.”



At Penn specifically, many who come into McDaniel’s class are also contending with the weight of an omnipresent achievement culture. Kayla spent the last four years devoted to her studies and chasing success in preparation for a career she isn’t sure will make her happy anymore. Grace Burke, a current first-year in Existential Despair, had been struggling to adapt to what she called Penn’s East Coast focus on “what you do,” as opposed to her own Mid-Western mindset that prioritizes “who you are.” In her first semester, she was rejected from all the extracurriculars she hoped to join and watched as her nice new friends seemed to be consistently more successful. “I just was very confused — found myself very lost — in what’s important about my identity in a very new place and environment,” she said.&nbsp;She'd started to question whether she was even at the right school.



Finding Humanity



In many ways, Justin McDaniel could be a character in one of the novels he teaches, starting with the fact that he’s, well, complicated. At first glance, his all-black uniform, resistance to eye-contact, and intense intellectuality might make him seem the quintessential brooding Ivy League philosopher. But as is so often the case, there’s more to uncover from there. His office door, for example, is the only one in its hallway covered in a colorful smattering of sticky notes, printed-out poems, even an endearing meme. Inside, his space overflows with floor-to-ceiling books and art. As a lecturer, he walks around the room engaging his audience in an excitable manner that often involves cursing about authors and/or students. “I see blank faces,” he said after introducing one writer in particular. “Oh fuck. Oh my fucking God. I’m about to get so angry.” He wasn’t, really.



For some, McDaniel’s unapologetic, unfiltered way of being and teaching is refreshing; for others, it’s off-putting. In Existential Despair, his irreverent commentary tended to elicit chuckles from his audience that sounded torn between entertained and uncomfortable. “I think he’s a very controversial person in general,” Grace said. For her, McDaniel was a main draw to the class because he struck her from the beginning as a professor worth learning from. “He’s very flawed, and we all are, but he’s very candid about it. And I think he would like to show us authors and people who are also very flawed and also very candid.”&nbsp;



Several students commented on how McDaniel’s authenticity helps build an environment where everyone can let their guard down — where there’s not as much pressure to be or act the smartest. In interviews with course applicants, for example, he doesn’t seem interested in assessing their intellectual prowess. Instead, he asks them to create a drawing based on a poem he reads to them or to write a poem on the spot themselves. The general unpredictability of the class — the fact that students don’t know what they’ll be reading — also means they couldn’t prepare if they wanted to. They just have to&nbsp;be. Sometimes McDaniel makes other changes without notice. Once he held the entire session in silence. Another class they spent in a cemetery.



The books, though, are the primary teacher in this course. McDaniel’s bet is that by delving into the experiences of some of the most troubled characters in some of the darkest literature, students will gain perspective on themselves and the world. He’s not suggesting that the novels or authors he selects offer good life advice, just that there’s insight to be found in the human condition. “You learn from when things go wrong, and that’s what good fiction will give you. Film does it well, too, and music does it well. Art does it well. So it doesn’t matter the medium as much. It matters that it’s complex and thoughtful.”&nbsp;



In McDaniel’s world, the places young people typically seek guidance — like their friends or the internet — will simply never measure up to the wisdom of a whole human history’s worth of art and literature. “I have no idea why you would spend $92,000 in tuition to get life advice from another 19-year-old,” he said. A similar way of thinking can apply to online content. “I can’t trust a video I see on the internet, but I can trust James Baldwin,” he said. “I mean,&nbsp;Somerset Maugham&nbsp;or Sheila Heti on relationships is much better than any junk advice you would get in the manosphere. It’s just better advice, even though it’s a hundred years old.”



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“I can’t trust a video I see on the internet, but I can trust James Baldwin.”
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Grace said one of her favorite reads in the class so far has been “In Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept” by the poet Elizabeth Smart. (Others mentioned “The Passion According to G.H.” by Clarice Lispector, “The Book of Illusions” by Paul Auster, and “A Sheltering Sky” by Paul Bowles.) In “Grand Central Station,” Smart details her obsession with her lover and fellow poet George Barker, with whom she had four children but never married. In total, he had 15 children with four different women, just one of whom was his wife. “It kind of knocks you flat, in terms of who are you to judge?” Grace said of Smart’s book. “She really committed to a path that she felt was right, and she carried that conviction every single day. And there’s just this sort of unwavering intensity to the book that I find really compelling.”



One common outcome for students in the class seems to be a sense of gratitude. For senior Gabe Agüero, the breadth of new experiences and perspectives he’s been exposed to have opened up a range of new possibilities to think about when it comes to his own life. Studying finance and A.I. at the Wharton School, Gabe had been accustomed to defining himself based on the career path, and ideally success, he was headed towards. “This is almost making me realize that there’s more to life and there’s more to appreciate,” he said. “It just kind of made me think more about what do I want for my life? And I still don’t have that answer, but it’s definitely making me reconsider, and it’s allowing me to see what I want my life to be in a completely new lens.”



For the most part, McDaniel said, he has no interest in what, precisely, his students learn. “I have no learning goals. I’m consciously against them,” he explained. Instead of outcomes, he’s focused on the learning process. That’s what education is all about, he insists. “It is about complexity. It is about negative capabilities. It is this conscious and unforgiving and unapologetic exploration of things we don’t know and the desire to keep unknowing.”&nbsp;



At the same time, McDaniel does have a vision whereby his middle-aged, former students better withstand their inevitable struggles. “I want my students, when they’re 45 or 55, when they’re dealing with a lot of these really existential problems, not to turn towards bourbon or hitting their spouse or screaming at their kids or storming out of a job or getting addicted to opiates,” he said. He imagines when they end up dealing with life’s least comfortable moments, his students might turn to books, or other resources, to move forward.



The most paradoxical aspect of McDaniel’s course may be that the distressing material his students read isn’t making them prone to hopelessness, or worse, defeatism. The effect is quite the opposite. “Some of the books we’ve read are quite disturbing in really sad ways. I’ve cried at some of the books,” Kayla said. “But no, I don’t find it depressing at all, and I don’t know if anyone actually does.”&nbsp;



“I leave each class either reflective and pensive, or happy.”



You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at&nbsp;<a href="mailto:mames@learningwellmag.org">mames@learningwellmag.org</a>&nbsp;with comments, ideas, or tips.

Learning from Despair

University of Washington professor Elizabeth Kirk regularly arrives early to her introduction to nutrition class and stands outside the lecture hall to welcome her students inside — all 500 of them. She also grants every student email a personal response, reflecting a philosophy that the essential transaction of higher education is the connection between instructors and students.



But lately, Kirk has watched her students become increasingly withdrawn and has been eager to try out new ways to engage them. A recently launched, interdisciplinary initiative at U.W., called Five for Flourishing, wants to help.&nbsp;



In 2024, a team of U.W. administrators spanning student and academic affairs developed Five for Flourishing to guide faculty members like Kirk in the implementation of strategies to promote connection in the biggest classes across the university's three campuses.&nbsp;



The strategies are: adding language to class syllabi that expresses support for student wellbeing; setting up a slide before each class offering wellness resources or prompting students to engage with one another; reminding students before major assignments that they are opportunities to grow rather than reflections of intelligence; organizing small student groups that meet weekly; and instituting mid-quarter evaluations for students to offer feedback on the course.



Taken together, the strategies mean to improve wellbeing by cutting through the feelings of anonymity that can run rampant in huge classes. The interventions set the precedent that professors want to connect with students and care about their personal and academic success. The intended outcomes — sense of belonging, classroom engagement, and intellectual risk-taking, among others — are those often associated with smaller courses and more intimate faculty-student dynamics.



Part wellness intervention, part student success initiative, Five for Flourishing grew out of the needs of several departments. Its dual focus is captured in its interdisciplinary leadership, which includes the provost’s office, the Center for Teaching and Learning, and the U.W. Resilience Lab, a hub for campus wellbeing efforts.



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The interventions set the precedent that professors want to connect with students and care about their personal and academic success. 
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According to Penelope Moon, the director of the Center for Teaching and Learning, what makes Five for Flourishing unique is the way all five interventions come together, and the unlikely team that assembled them. “The package is an innovation,” she said. “The partnership is an innovation.”



Marisa Nickle, the senior director of strategy and academic initiatives, laid the groundwork for Five for Flourishing. While U.W. staff may be “naturally collaborative,” she said, they tend to be “structurally siloed.” That was a barrier she was prepared to overcome.



With her boss, vice provost for academic and student affairs Philip Reid, Nickle had attended the presentation of another wellbeing initiative that she liked but feared was overly complicated. Curious about how a simpler version could work at U.W., they sought advice from Moon as well as Megan Kennedy, the director of the Resilience Lab, which promotes campus wellbeing through research, education, and strategic programs.&nbsp;&nbsp;



Kennedy was ready to lend her expertise and welcomed the cross-departmental nature of the initiative. “I think the question universities are trying to answer around mental health is: How do we distribute the responsibility beyond student life and the counseling center and crisis services?” she said.



What many institutions need, Kennedy added, is “a really clear pathway for how everyone can take responsibility.”



But wellbeing interventions in academic spaces are not always easy to implement for time-pressed faculty. Nickle said a major question steering the work was: “How can we bring student success into the classroom and do that in that lightweight way that also thanks faculty for their time and effort?”&nbsp;



With Kennedy and Moon both on board, and critical support and funding from Vice Provost Reid, the group began to develop an official program, first by deciding on the strategies themselves.&nbsp;&nbsp;



“It came together fairly quickly,” Moon said. "It was pretty easy to identify the things that probably would help, and then we dug into the literature to confirm suspicions.”



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“How can we bring student success into the classroom and do that in that lightweight way that also thanks faculty for their time and effort?”&nbsp;
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Once the five strategies were established, the team turned to enlisting faculty members for a two-year pilot phase of the project, during which educators would institute the interventions in two classes. The recruitment didn’t present much trouble, given plenty of professors, like Kirk, were already interested in incorporating these kinds of learner-centered techniques.&nbsp;



Not surprisingly, Kirk had been using some of the Five for Flourishing strategies before the program existed. Mid-term evaluations, for example, were standard practice for her and continue to be. She’s long valued how they allow students to feel heard and her to respond to their needs in real time.



Other interventions, though, were new to Kirk, like the “growth-mindset” reminders. It’s another way she’s appreciated being able to establish a rapport with her students.&nbsp;



“This is just my way of assessing how well I'm getting across to you — how well you are understanding what it is I'm saying,” she now tells her class before tests. “Because if I need to revisit some things, I want to do that.”



While Kirk doesn’t expect one practice to expel her students’ performance anxiety completely, she thinks they appreciate the sentiment. One even wrote in the course feedback that the language “made me feel calmer.”



Samantha Robinson, a professor in the chemistry department, teaches lectures with between 100 and 300 students. The uphill battle is made steeper by chemistry’s reputation as one of the most difficult and demanding subjects.&nbsp;



“They hear horror stories. They’re under this impression that we're ‘weed-out’ classes,” Robinson said. “And that isn't ever our goal.”



In 2025, Robinson started implementing Five for Flourishing in two courses that tend to draw those without strong chemistry backgrounds — those who might feel particularly uncomfortable or nervous about the class.



“Those are really great student populations for this sort of an initiative because they are feeling pretty intimidated to be in a STEM class in a lot of cases,” Robinson said. Five for Flourishing, she hoped, could increase their sense of belonging and support.&nbsp;



Over time, Robinson determined which elements of the program she found helpful. She likes the syllabus and growth-mindset language and the “moment-to-arrive” slides. The midterm evaluations present more of a challenge because, given the highly structured nature of her courses, she can’t plan to change much about them half-way through the term.



Both Robinson and Kirk came out with mixed reviews of the effort to have students meet weekly in small groups. They know it’s difficult to get students to get together on their own outside of class.



Robinson found that the students in a 120-person course were more likely to meet than those in her 285-person class. Kirk tweaked the structure so that the groups gathered during “quiz sections,” a pre-existing T.A.-led class time.&nbsp;



More formal assessment of the initiative has also been ongoing since the beginning thanks to the contributions of Lovenoor Aulck, a data scientist working in the provost’s office.&nbsp;



Aulck developed pre- and post-course surveys to assess the impact of the five interventions on students’ reported sense of belonging, confidence, and academic support, among other measures. Aulck said he’s found “small positive gains,” based on data from the first year of implementation.&nbsp;



Some of the promising findings include that, by course end, students were more likely to indicate feeling accepted and comfortable being themselves in class and less likely to indicate feeling worried about being judged negatively based on their identity.



But data collection is in its pilot phase as much as the rest of the program; and the Five for Flourishing staff plans to continue tweaking each facet of the work as needed.



That doesn’t mean the program can’t grow at the same time. Already, the group has collaborated with the University of Georgia to help engineer its own version of Five for Flourishing called Wellbeing by Design.&nbsp;&nbsp;



As the U.W. team monitors their own progress, and swaps stories with partners near and far, perhaps students nationwide will begin to find their big classrooms feel a little smaller.



You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at&nbsp;<a href="mailto:mames@learningwellmag.org">mames@learningwellmag.org</a>&nbsp;with comments, ideas, or tips.

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Jumping In

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How to Thrive at College with Mathilde Ross

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Stacking Majors in an Age of Anxiety

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