Finding the Glimmers: Small Moments To Sustain Us This Semester

Author: Gabrielle Likavec, Teaching & Learning Consultant, Office of Curriculum & Instructional Support

Faculty enter the semester carrying a complicated mixture of emotions. We may feel energized by new ideas, hopeful about the students we are about to meet, and excited to return to the topics that first drew us to our disciplines. At the same time, we may anticipate a demanding workload, worry about enrollment, or wonder how we will balance teaching with research, service, advising, and everything else competing for our attention.

The opening weeks can pass quickly. Before long, we may find ourselves moving from one task to the next, noticing primarily what is unfinished, what needs improvement, or what might soon become a problem. As we begin this semester, perhaps we can also make room to notice something else: the glimmers.

Trauma therapist and author Deb Dana uses the term glimmers to describe small moments that create a sense of safety, connection, well-being, or possibility. A glimmer might be a familiar sound, a friendly face, genuine laughter, or an unexpected moment of calm. Unlike triggers, which alert us to potential difficulty or danger, glimmers gently draw our attention toward experiences that help us feel grounded and connected.

In the teaching life, a glimmer might be the student who stays after class to say, “I think I finally understand why this matters.” It might be the energy in the room when a discussion takes an unexpected but thoughtful turn. It could be a colleague who stops by at exactly the right moment, an assignment that works better than it did last year, or the rare and beautiful email that begins with “Thank you” rather than “I have a quick question.”

These moments may be brief, but they are not insignificant. As we enter a new semester, learning to notice them can help us remain connected to the purpose behind our work. 

Beginning with possibility

 The start of a semester often invites faculty to think about what could go wrong. We anticipate the concepts students may struggle to understand. We check links, clarify policies, revise due dates, and develop contingency plans. This kind of preparation is both necessary and valuable. Thoughtful instructors want students to know what to expect, and we know from experience that small problems left unattended can quickly become larger ones.

However, beginning the semester entirely in problem-prevention mode can shape what we notice once classes begin. If we enter the classroom expecting confusion, disengagement, or resistance, we may become especially alert to evidence that confirms those expectations. We notice the student looking at a phone, the directions that need to be repeated, or the silence that follows a question we were certain would spark conversation.

Those observations matter. But they are rarely the whole story.

Perhaps several students arrived early and began talking with one another. Maybe someone asked a question that revealed genuine curiosity. Perhaps the student who did not speak during the full-class discussion contributed thoughtfully to a partner. Maybe most students completed the reading, even though the three who did not were easier to notice.

Looking for glimmers does not mean ignoring problems or pretending that every class went perfectly. It means widening our attention so that challenges do not become the only information we carry forward.

As we begin the semester, we might ask not only, “What might go wrong?” but also, “What am I hoping to notice?”

Maybe we hope to notice students beginning to trust one another. Perhaps we want to recognize the first time someone connects the course to their own experience. We may want to notice moments when students take an intellectual risk, ask for help, revise their thinking, or recognize that they are capable of more than they initially believed.

Naming what we hope to see can make those moments easier to recognize when they appear. 

A glimmer from our work

One of my favorite kinds of glimmers is working with a faculty member who is deeply committed to student learning and genuinely excited about the ongoing process of improving their teaching.

Recently, I met with an instructor who arrived prepared and energized. They had clear goals, thoughtful questions, and a course that already reflected considerable care and expertise. They did not come because everything was going wrong. They had come because they believed something good could become even better.

It can be difficult to invite someone else into our teaching. A course is rarely just a collection of readings, assignments, and due dates. It represents hundreds of decisions, years of disciplinary knowledge, previous experiences with students, and often quite a bit of ourselves. Even a suggestion about reorganizing an assignment can feel more personal than either person intended. 

This faculty member, however, was not seeking a rubber stamp. They were seeking a partner.

Together, we examined the course through the lenses of clarity, equity, alignment, and student experience. We discussed what students were being asked to do, why they were doing it, and whether the course structure made that purpose visible. We considered how relatively small changes to an activity, explanation, or sequence might make learning more accessible without reducing rigor.

Rather than defending every original decision, the instructor leaned into the conversation. They were curious. They asked questions. They considered possibilities. They became excited about what the revised course might allow students to do.

It was not a dramatic moment. No music swelled in the background. No one left the meeting having solved every challenge in higher education. Still, it was a glimmer.

It reminded me that good teaching is not static. It is a living, evolving practice that grows through reflection, experimentation, evidence, collaboration, and a willingness to remain curious about our students.

It also reminded me that higher education is at its best when faculty are supported not only as experts in their disciplines, but also as reflective educators. That may be especially important at the beginning of a semester. We often feel pressure to have everything settled before the first day of class. Yet teaching has never called for perfection on day one. It requires a strong foundation, clear intentions, and a willingness to learn alongside our students as the semester unfolds.

Why small positive moments matter

Noticing glimmers is not about pretending that the difficult parts of academic life do not exist. Faculty workloads are real. Many instructors are navigating changing technologies, increasingly complex student needs, uncertain resources, and difficult conversations about the future of higher education. A pleasant interaction with a student does not erase those pressures. Nor should the idea of glimmers become another way to place responsibility for systemic problems on individuals.  No one needs to hear “the workload may be unsustainable, but have you tried appreciating the sunrise on your walk across campus?”

Glimmers do not require us to ignore frustration, exhaustion, grief, or legitimate concerns. Instead, they help us resist allowing those experiences to become the only things we notice.

Human attention is naturally drawn toward problems. In many ways, that tendency is useful. When a student is confused, an assignment is not working, or a deadline is approaching, we need to recognize it. Academic work also trains us to identify gaps, question assumptions, and look for weaknesses in an argument. We are, in many respects, professional problem-finders.

The challenge is that this habit can follow us everywhere.

We may finish a class in which 28 students were engaged, but spend the afternoon thinking about the two who were not. We may receive several encouraging comments and fixate on the one that stung. We may complete nine items on a list and leave work thinking only about the tenth. Glimmers invite us to widen the frame.

Psychologist Barbara Fredrickson’s broaden-and-build theory offers one explanation for why positive emotions may matter. Her work suggests that emotions such as joy, interest, contentment, and connection can broaden our attention, allowing us to explore, think creatively, and build relationships. Over time, these experiences may help us develop personal and social resources that support resilience and well-being.

The central idea aligns with what many educators experience: when we feel connected, interested, or encouraged, it is often easier to remain curious, imagine alternatives, and engage generously with others. Faculty well-being also matters beyond the individual instructor. It influences the patience we bring to a question, the enthusiasm with which we introduce a topic, the way we respond to a mistake, and the possibilities we can imagine when a lesson does not go as planned.

This does not mean faculty must perform constant cheerfulness. Students do not need relentlessly enthusiastic instructors who deny the realities of a difficult day. They do, however, benefit from learning environments in which interest, respect, humor, and genuine human connection have room to emerge.

Looking for glimmers in the first weeks

The beginning of the semester offers many possible glimmers, although they may not always look like dramatic teaching successes. A glimmer may be learning a student’s name and seeing their expression change when you use it. It may be watching students begin to recognize familiar faces as they enter the room. It could be the first time a student asks a question without apologizing, or the moment the class laughs together and begins to feel a little less like a collection of strangers.

Perhaps a student responds to a welcome announcement, visits during office hours, or shares that something in the course connects with a future goal. Maybe an activity reveals that students already know more than you expected. Maybe their questions help you see a familiar topic differently. These moments matter partly because they provide early evidence that a learning community is beginning to form. 

Research on belonging in higher education consistently points to the importance of relationships and meaningful interactions. Students experience a sense of belonging when they feel connected, accepted, supported, and valued within an academic community. Faculty interactions can make an important contribution to that experience.

A glimmer for an instructor may therefore also be a glimmer for a student.

The moment we learn a student’s name, express genuine interest in an idea, acknowledge an effort, or help someone understand that confusion is a normal part of learning may feel small to us. For the student, it can communicate: You belong here. Your learning matters. Someone noticed.

Those moments do not replace thoughtful course design, accessible materials, clear expectations, timely feedback, or appropriate academic challenge. They work alongside them. Belonging is not created by warmth alone, but warmth can help students engage with the rigorous work we are asking them to do.

Creating conditions for connection

Although glimmers are often unexpected, we can create classroom conditions that make them more likely to occur.  Consider beginning the first few classes with a question that invites students into the course rather than launching immediately into policies and announcements. Ask what they are curious about, what they already associate with the subject, or where they have encountered the topic outside the classroom.

Provide opportunities for students to learn one another’s names and ideas. These interactions do not need to involve elaborate icebreakers or forced personal disclosures. A brief peer conversation about a course-related question can begin building a connection while keeping the focus on learning.

We can also explain why we are excited to teach the course. Students often hear what they are expected to learn, but may know less about why the subject continues to matter to us. Sharing a brief story about a question, discovery, experience, or problem that shaped our interest can make our enthusiasm visible.

Clarity can create glimmers as well. A student’s relief when an assignment finally makes sense is a small but meaningful moment. When we explain the purpose of an activity, describe what successful work looks like, or help students see how one task connects to a larger goal, we make it easier for them to direct their energy toward learning rather than deciphering hidden expectations.

The beginning of the semester is also a good time to create opportunities for early success. A low-stakes activity, a short reflection, a practice quiz, or a manageable first assignment can help students understand how the course works while giving both students and instructors insight into where support may be needed.

These experiences do not need to be effortless. Early success is not about removing all difficulty. It is about helping students see that progress is possible and that they have strategies, resources, and people available when the work becomes challenging.

Building a practice of noticing

The encouraging thing about cultivating glimmers is that they do not require an elaborate new wellness plan. Faculty do not need another color-coded tracker, mandatory initiative, or daily practice that produces guilt when it is inevitably abandoned during midterms. The first step is simply to notice.

After each of the first few class meetings, pause before immediately turning to what went wrong and ask, "What worked today?" The answer does not need to be profound. Perhaps students understood the directions more quickly than expected. Maybe an example landed well. Perhaps someone made a connection that you had not anticipated, or the class seemed more comfortable speaking by the end than at the beginning.

Naming one successful moment does not prevent honest reflection about what needs to change. It creates a more complete account of the class. You might also consider keeping a simple record of these moments. Add one sentence to your teaching notes after class. Keep a document on your desktop or a notebook near your workspace. Save the email from a student who tells you that something helped. Some faculty call this a “sunshine folder,” although you are welcome to choose a name that produces less secondhand embarrassment.

The point is not to prove that every day is wonderful. It is to create a counterweight for days when a single difficult interaction threatens to rewrite the story of the entire semester.

Another approach is to share glimmers with colleagues. When someone asks how your class went, resist the automatic “fine” and mention one thing that surprised or encouraged you. Ask colleagues what is going well in their courses, not only what problems they are trying to solve.

These conversations can shift the tone of our professional lives. They remind us that teaching is not solely an individual performance behind a closed classroom door. It is a shared practice, strengthened through conversation, reflection, and mutual support.

A semester filled with small moments

There will be classes that do not go well. There will be meetings that could have been emails and emails that somehow become meetings. There will be technology failures, difficult feedback, disappointing outcomes, and weeks when noticing anything positive feels like more work than we can manage.

The goal is not to locate a magical moment every hour or to judge ourselves when we cannot.

Nor is the goal to become endlessly positive. Glimmers can coexist with frustration. We can appreciate a student’s thoughtful question and still be concerned about class attendance. We can enjoy a productive conversation with a colleague while remaining exhausted by our workload. We can care deeply about our institution and still identify the ways it needs to change.

Holding both is part of the work. Noticing glimmers reminds us that challenge is not the whole story.

Teaching is filled with unfinished moments. We plant ideas without always seeing where they grow. We provide feedback without knowing when a student will be ready to use it. We explain, question, encourage, redirect, and try again. The results of that work are not always immediate or visible.

That is why small signs matter.

A thoughtful question. A genuine laugh. A breakthrough. A student who returns after considering dropping the class. A colleague who leans into a difficult conversation. A moment when the room becomes still because everyone is thinking. A reminder, however brief, that the work has meaning.

As we begin this semester, perhaps we can make a small commitment—not to force positivity or add another expectation to our already full lives, but simply to remain attentive.

• Notice the first moment when the class begins to feel like a community.
• Notice the student who takes a risk.
• Notice when an explanation finally lands.
• Notice the colleague whose enthusiasm renews your own.
• Notice the moments that remind you why you chose this work.

These glimmers will not solve every problem in higher education. They do something quieter. They help us see more clearly what is worth sustaining.

Here’s to a semester filled with curiosity, connection, growth, and small moments that make the difficult days a little lighter, the work a little brighter, and our shared mission a little clearer.

References

Dana, D. (2018). The polyvagal theory in therapy: Engaging the rhythm of regulation. W. W. Norton & Company.

Fredrickson, B. L. (2001). The role of positive emotions in positive psychology: The broaden-and-build theory of positive emotions. American Psychologist, 56(3), 218–226. doi.org