Friction and Fireflies: Learning, Plasticity, and the Primary Classroom

Some evenings in serene places, when the sun slips away and the earth begins to exhale, you can see fireflies. They blink on and off like tiny ideas floating in the dark — sudden, brief, magical. Learning in a classroom can feel like that too. A flash of insight here, a flicker of connection there. Fleeting but unforgettable.

But most days, it’s less like fireflies and more like pushing a bicycle uphill. Tires drag. Legs ache. There’s sweat and frustration and the quiet, grinding work of trying again. For both the teacher and the child.

We often imagine learning as a straight path — a child sees a letter, hears a sound, repeats it, and then one day, reads. But the brain is more of a shifting landscape than a straight path. It learns not just by repetition, but by what neuroscientist Andrew Huberman calls “state change.”

Put simply, when the brain is in a heightened state — alert, curious, moved — it’s more open to change. This is what scientists call plasticity: the ability of the brain to rewire itself. Catecholamines like dopamine and norepinephrine, which are chemicals the body naturally produces during excitement or focus, act like little switches. They open the door for plasticity. When they’re present, fewer repetitions are needed to learn something new. One strong moment — like the pain of touching a hot stove — can teach us instantly.

But here’s the challenge: how often are our classrooms places where such natural excitement arises? Especially for children who come to school with empty stomachs, heavy hearts, or homes full of chaos?

Friction: The Hidden Ally

Most adult learning, Huberman says, is self-directed. It requires effort. It doesn’t come with an automatic “high.” In neuroscience terms, this friction — the struggle to focus, the effort to stay with a task — is not a failure. It’s a feature. It’s the very gateway to self-directed learning and plasticity.

Primary classrooms are full of friction. A child struggles to form the letter 'b' without turning it into a 'd.' Another is unable to sit for more than two minutes at a stretch. A third one speaks very little, but eyes follow every move. These aren’t just challenges. These are opportunities — not the romantic kind, but the gritty kind that asks for persistence, repetition, and patience.

But repetition alone doesn’t always open the door. I remember, in middle school, watching a teacher ask a younger student to repeat the spelling of the word “thousand” some fifty times. Again and again, the child said it aloud, carefully, obediently. But to the teacher’s shock — and my own quiet discomfort — he still couldn’t spell it correctly. Fifty repetitions, and the learning hadn’t landed.

Back then, I didn’t have the words to explain it. But now I know: the brain hadn’t shifted into a state where it was ready to change. There was no real connection. No emotional charge. No flicker of interest or focus. Just repetition, bare and tired.

It’s a reminder: friction alone isn’t enough. For plasticity to take place, the brain needs to care — even just a little. And that caring can be kindled by warmth, by relevance, by rhythm, by safety. We often underestimate how essential these invisible ingredients are in making repetition meaningful.

Creating the Conditions for Change

So, what helps a classroom become a place of real plasticity? Not just rote, but change. Not just instruction, but transformation?

Not high-speed internet or the latest ed-tech. Not even a perfect lesson plan.

It’s state change. Not loud or flashy, but the kind that comes when a child feels seen. When the teacher leans down to say, “I noticed you tried again even though it was hard.” When a classroom sings a silly song and laughter breaks the air. When a story stirs a child’s imagination. When learning feels just real enough — and just safe enough — to matter.

These are the catecholamine moments in school. The moments that awaken the brain’s openness to change. The ones that reduce the number of repetitions required, not because they shortcut the process, but because they signal to the brain: This matters. Pay attention.

The Teacher as a Catalyst

A teacher in a single-teacher school once told me, “Some days I feel like I’m just repeating myself into the void.” Her classroom had no fans in summer, no walls in one corner, and no help in sight. Still, she came. Every day. With her voice. Her chalk. Her small rituals of hope.

What she didn’t know is that her quiet consistency — her way of showing up despite the friction — was altering plasticity in her students’ brains. Every time she invited them to notice, try, wonder, fail, and begin again, she was helping them lay new tracks.

In her, learning had a companion. In her, friction had a guide.

Final Thoughts: Light the Spark, Welcome the Struggle

We don’t always need fireworks to teach. But we do need spark. A small burst of attention. A story that clicks. A question that lingers. The brain, like the child, is waiting for a reason to change.

And when that reason isn’t naturally exciting — as it often isn’t in everyday classrooms — we rely on something else: friction. Effort. Repetition with care. The quiet magic of a teacher who believes that even slow, ordinary learning matters.

Because here’s what neuroscience reminds us: learning isn’t just about how many times something is taught. It’s about when — and in what state — the brain receives it.

So here’s to classrooms that allow both: the spark and the struggle. The firefly moments and the uphill pushes. Here’s to teachers who walk beside children through both.

Because in doing so, they don’t just teach. They change lives — one synapse, one small act of focus, one day at a time.

“Teachers are designers of learning, and the learning they design is not just for the mind. It is for the brain. That is, for the whole living, sensing, thinking, feeling, physical brain and body of the learner.”
— James E. Zull, The Art of Changing the Brain

References

1. Huberman, A. (n.d.). It takes 28 days to form a habit – and other myths about neuroplasticity.
   (Based on insights shared by Dr. Andrew Huberman, neuroscientist at Stanford University, through the Huberman Lab Podcast and a LinkedIn post.)

2. Zull, J. E. (2002). The Art of Changing the Brain: Enriching the Practice of Teaching by Exploring the Biology of Learning. Stylus Publishing.

3. Palmer, P. J. (1998). The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life. Jossey-Bass.

4. Intrator, S. M. & Kunzman, R. (2006). Starting with the Soul: Igniting a Connection to Teaching. Educational Leadership, 63(6), 38–42.
   (Inspiration behind the phrase “spots of time that glow.”)

5. Liston, D. P. (2004). Teaching, Learning, and Loving: Reclaiming Passion in Educational Practice. RoutledgeFalmer.