74 Learning Reflections

I appreciate a good teacher. The best ones I have had the pleasure of learning from were the ones who started from the ground up, set the foundation for the topics we would learn, and held my hand throughout the process until I had enough knowledge to form my own analyses. A standout example is the infamous Earth and Environmental Sciences professor, Dr. Kate Tierney. When I first took her class on the geology of the US National Parks, I came in with absolutely no prior knowledge of Earth science and no idea how to play catch-up if the class turned out to be over my head. However, she gracefully addressed the class as if we had never taken a geology course before, explained each process in excruciating detail, and allowed us the space for humor and personality in an otherwise scientifically objective and lecture-heavy course. Every scientific process contained a photo of her real-life examples, a diagram, a captivating anecdote, and a detailed outline. Oftentimes, she brought a sample to class to pass around. Every way a student could have learned in that class was accommodated for, and her willingness to go above-and-beyond was not lost on me. I was more willing to sit and listen to what she had to say. I suppose I could easily say I learn best with detailed diagrams or hands-on experiences. But in the end, I learn best from a passionate teacher who shows they care and are willing to start from the beginning.

I spoke with my roommate for this active listening assignment, and a major part of it was allowing her to get her thoughts out uninterrupted. She has specified before that it has felt like we (my other roommate and I) tend to not give her the space to speak or feel heard. What made this interaction different was the purposeful space I tried to give her to word vomit and not think about what I was going to say next. I tried not to give big emotional reactions to things I might have disagreed with or felt strongly about, but rather let her explain. I found that she was able to circle back on things I might have disagreed with to clarify them without me having to interrupt. She continued to talk about the deeper feelings underneath the surface level conversation, eventually bringing in really tough topics of grief and loss.

The conversation was very emotional and heavy, but I tried to make a conscious effort to be fully present, maintain eye contact, and remain quiet while she spoke. My role was just to listen and provide a safe space for her to express her feelings. Although she didn’t notice anything explicitly different, I was able to see that she expanded more on her thoughts and seemed more comfortable sharing. Had I not actively listened, the conversation might have been shorter or less meaningful. What stood out was how much she really needed to speak freely, and while listening to such an emotional topic was challenging, it also felt relatively natural because my focus was entirely on her tough experience instead of what I would say next. Overall, this experience with active listening reinforced how important it is to simply be there for someone, especially when they are dealing with something as difficult as grief.

Overall, I had a good experience practicing active listening despite finding it difficult to keep my mind from wandering, especially in topics that I cannot personally relate to. I think this exercise is important for anyone to learn to build the foundations of being a good listener.

In reflecting on my experience with Visual Thinking Strategies (VTS), I was reminded of my AP U.S. History class, where we’d analyze primary sources. VTS felt different in that it was more personal. It wasn’t just about breaking down what was in front of me; it was about actually connecting with it, letting the art “speak” to me in a way that felt natural. I’ve come to understand VTS as a way to make sense of the world around us through observation, and how each person’s perspective adds to that understanding. It’s not about finding a right answer, but using context to enhance more about what the art made me feel, and how I interacted with those feelings. That’s what makes it unique—it allows me to dive deeper into both the art and myself.

Looking at the painting of Anarcha with Dr. J. Marion Sims, I didn’t fully grasp its significance at first. All I saw was the discomfort of a black woman in front of white men, and the power imbalance was clear and uncomfortable. But once I learned the history—the fact that Sims’ advancements in gynecology came at the expense of enslaved black women—the painting hit me harder. It was no longer just uncomfortable, it was painful and tragic. I’ll never forget that feeling because it’s a reminder of how progress can come with deep, personal costs, especially for those who didn’t get to choose.

When we visited MERF, I was surprised at how much a building could influence my feelings. Initially, I didn’t know how to make sense of it, because it was just a different style medical building. But as we walked around the courtyard, I noticed little details like the contrast of the blue-green tiles with the clinical beige brick. It felt calming, like the building was designed to make me feel comfortable while still being serious and academic. The openness of the interior space and the natural light made it feel welcoming, like it was encouraging collaboration and innovation. I loved the medical-related art and personal details of the study spaces for each cohort and it almost made me emotional to see a building catered to its designated population. One person in my group said it reminded them of how medicine IS art. It struck me how even a building can have a personality, and it made me think of how these kinds of spaces shape our experiences and interactions.

Throughout this semester, I’ve gained several insights into artificial intelligence’s capabilities and limitations, most specifically in academic and professional contexts. My experiences with AI have been mostly in academia and research, including text generating, creating the best way to phrase my thinking, professionally and concisely writing emails, to research assisting, all of which consistently reinforced the criticality and importance of human oversight and evaluation.

In this Health Humanities course, we explored AI’s potential in several exercises. We used Notebook LM to create article summaries, which revealed AI’s strengths in quickly synthesizing information, but also its occasional tendency to oversimplify complex arguments or repeat its own interpretations. It should always be cited in a very specific manner, a valuable skill I learned directly in this class after making my own mistakes this semester. I gained an understanding in professors’ expectations for AI use and how best to tackle an AI related problem from multiple perspectives. This semester has revealed very interesting negative perspectives on AI; it has been enlightening to see who antagonizes new technology and computer programs and reminds me of historical instances where older populations reject modernity. It makes me wonder how well those populations might adapt to a technology-forward world in the near future. I anticipate going into the workforce with the knowledge of citations for AI.

Proofing and research tools like Grammarly and Notebook LM highlight AI’s current capabilities and the direction in which AI is going for education. While these tools can assist in drafting and structural support, they are not perfect. I learned that its grammar checking can be incorrect, and AI-generated summaries or explanations often require significant human refinement. In my public health curriculum, AI has become a valuable brainstorming tool for generating health intervention ideas, but always with the caveat that humans should be behind it using personal expertise, cultural understanding, and ethical considerations to guide implementation. As AI continues to evolve, I anticipate it will become an increasingly helpful collaborator, but most importantly, not a replacement for human’s critical thinking.

Before this health humanities class, I viewed art therapy and art-related health interventions as somewhat peripheral to healthcare—nice additions, but not central to healing. Through analyzing art at the Stanley Museum and how physical spaces in the MERF reflect the community that occupies it, I learned that art is not just a supplemental tool, but a valid method of understanding health and illness because art can articulate health narratives/experiences. When we studied the shrines for deceased twins or listened to music through the lens of a specific health topic like addiction, I learned to see how art-related healing captures more parts of a whole.

The skill I learned in this class was reflecting on my learning. One that stuck with me most was reflecting on the active listening exercise, which allowed me to understand more deeply how the exercise related to a broader applied skill. Documenting not just what I learned, but how I learned—exploring the emotions, struggles, and reactions of myself and the other person in the exercise—I worked on the skill of critically examining my own learning, understanding the context of what we were doing in class, and recognizing how personal experiences shape understanding.