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I have taught a lot of synchronous IL instruction since we went remote a year ago. I did my first ones— a marathon morning of three speech classes in a row—on March 24, 2020 and since then, have taught another 55 session. Fewer sessions than what I would have done in person, but enough that I feel like I could do Blackboard tech support in my next life.

Information literacy in a remote classroom is…weird. Per policy, the faculty cannot require students to have their cameras on, which is fine for me as I don’t really like to have mine on, either. I still feel like I’m talking to myself, especially when I’m sharing my screen and can’t see what’s happening in Blackboard. In fact, last week I did a session one of my teaching faculty partners scheduled during their office hours and no students showed; I did the session with invisible students so that it could be recorded for them to watch later. And in those moments, I realized that this was how teaching online feels all the time, even when the students are (ostensibly) in the room—like performing for an empty auditorium.

This has been a big challenge for me. My teaching and presenting have always included some comedy, some improv—I was a children’s librarian for 20 years so I do ham it up a bit and I know how to play to a crowd. I’m only a little embarrassed to admit that in my synchronous IL, I still make jokes and then laugh at myself because I don’t hear any response from students. Not being able to judge the room, I plow on; there are times I catch myself getting nervous and tongue-tied because I feel like I’m flopping and even with the tips and tricks for online teaching I’ve learned, it seems like there’s no way out.

But the hardest part of this faceless format is the loss of connection. Literally, of course, as many of us experienced last week when Verizon, Microsoft, and Google all had outages and emergency updates simultaneously. But those actual losses of connection are outside of my control, and worries about hacking and cyberattacks aside, are stressful, but mostly in that moment. Much worse is not being able to connect with students in ways that feel meaningful and genuine. I also do a lot of one-on-one sessions with the students I see in IL if they need and request it, and those moments do feel like lifelines to me. My teaching partners have said they see a difference when students meet with me about their research and citations, but even these connections, helpful though they may be, don’t feel exactly real.

The bottom line is, I miss my students. I miss the ones I knew “IRL” who will likely have graduated before we return to campus so I won’t see them again. And a year’s worth of new students who have never stepped foot in the library, never attended a live IL session, Research 101 workshop, or Research Party. I miss having the chance to make those often serendipitous connections with students at the reference desk or computer or during class. I know that once we are all able to be back on campus safely, this will be what I will be most grateful to experience. Until then, I’ll plow along, laughing at my own jokes, and hoping my connections hold.


  1. Vikki! I love this post and found it so comforting to read– comforting because another teaching librarian feels the way I do about zoom lessons. This line struck me: “like performing for an empty auditorium.” I mean, we are doing our best, and the fact that we continue to show up for empty auditoriums and teach for (what feels like) a vacuum is a testament to how much we care. In “real life” (quotes because… what is real life actually???) I gauge the audience very intently and it shapes my lesson. For me, I’ve often wondered if I let the audience sway my performance too much, and I tell myself I should learn how to plow through my lesson even when the audience seems unresponsive, because what if I am getting through to students who don’t visibly respond? But the reality is those tiny sighs, or laughs, or smiles, or eye-contact keeps me going. Zoom lessons are teaching me to put all my faith in my lesson, even with silence on the other line! In a weird way, maybe I am learning to slow down and have faith in my listeners in a way that IRL teaching couldn’t give me. Maybe? Or I’m trying hard to see a silver lining in a rough time. Anyway, thanks for writing this!

  2. The following line says it all: “Much worse is not being able to connect with students in ways that feel meaningful and genuine. ” This speaks volumes to those of us in “Instruction”. That one-on-one live interaction now deferred because of an invisible disease that challenges and ‘dares’ all of us to break the imposed ‘rules of engagement’ referred to as ‘social distancing, mask wearing, washing hands.

    For how long? And more importantly, will we ever be the same?

    LaRoi Lawton
    Bronx CC

  3. Vikki, I totally laugh at my own jokes during online instruction – and sometimes I see a smile 🙂 in the chat. Mostly it keeps me sane and I hope helps students loosen up or feel like I am a friendly person they can email later.

    Thanks for your thoughtful piece – it sums up the experience so well!

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