Presence is still the point
Let’s start here: I’m not anti-AI.
I experiment with it. I’ve used it to help draft lesson plans. I’ve asked it for activity ideas. I’ve even prompted it to rephrase course objectives or revise a section of my syllabus to better reflect my teaching philosophy.
I see the potential. I’m not pretending this isn’t happening.
But I’ve also noticed something. The more we talk about what AI can do—at scale, with speed—the less we seem to talk about the kind of work that doesn’t show up on a slide deck or a dashboard. The kind of work that lives in real rooms, in real time.
The kind of work that’s hard to quantify but easy to feel.
When I look back at the teaching moments that actually mattered—either to me or to the people I was teaching—they almost never happened because I had the most efficient tool or the cleanest LMS.
They happened when something shifted in the room.
A pause.
A laugh.
A question that hit unexpectedly hard.
The moment someone looked up, made eye contact, and said, “Oh… I get that.”
None of that can be fully automated.
What presence does that platforms can’t
I’ve taught in person and online. I’ve designed hybrid sessions, flipped classrooms, asynchronous learning experiences. Each has its place. Each can be done well.
But when I’m in the room—physically there with people—I have access to so much more:
I can see who’s scribbling ideas in the margins
I can see when someone might want to speak but needs a space or encouragement to do so
I can feel when a room needs to slow down, not speed up
I can change my plan based on the group in front of me—not just the plan I made on paper
Presence lets us attune.
And attunement is part of the pedagogy.
This isn’t about being nostalgic
There’s a temptation, especially among educators who came up pre-Zoom, of which I am included, to romanticize “the room.” To act like anything analog is automatically more meaningful, more personal, more real.
That’s not what I’m saying.
There are moments of deep presence that happen in virtual settings too. I’ve experienced them. I’ve built for them.
But I also think we’re being asked to move too fast. To adopt without pausing. To “keep up” without asking, Is this better—or just faster?
And that’s where I get stuck.
Because presence isn’t efficient. It’s not scalable. And it doesn’t look great in a quarterly report.
But I firmly believe that it is a critical element of what makes a learning space feel like something more than content delivery.
If we’re not careful, we’ll start designing teaching and training spaces where the only thing that matters is information transfer. Where efficiency wins, and complexity is something we try to “solve.”
But learning is messy.
It’s emotional.
It doesn’t always show its progress right away.
And people don’t just come to our sessions for answers.
They come to be seen. To test ideas. To ask better questions.
To feel like they’re part of something.
That’s hard to outsource.
So what does this mean in practice?
For me, it means staying grounded in a few choices:
I still light a room with intention before a workshop.
I still use music before a session starts.
I still use handwritten prompts and index cards.
I still try to notice who’s not speaking, not just who is.
I still check in, not just log in.
None of that is revolutionary. But it’s real. And it’s replicable.
And sometimes, it’s the difference between someone showing up and someone checking out.
A final note
I’m not saying we abandon the tools. I’m saying we don’t abandon ourselves in the process of adopting them.
Presence may not be new. But that doesn’t make it outdated.
Sometimes the most human parts of this work are the hardest to quantify.
Let’s not lose them while trying to optimize everything else.
Want to reflect together?
If you’re someone who teaches, facilitates, or supports learning spaces—and you’re thinking about the role of presence in your own practice—I’d love to hear from you.
What’s something you do (or don’t do) to keep your sessions feeling human?
