The 3 Types of Clarity You Need in Your Online School (or Else You’re Basically Just Screaming Into the Void While Wearing a Muppet Costume)
Let’s talk about clarity. Specifically, clarity in online education. But before your brain checks out and starts replaying that one argument you had with your middle school nemesis in 2003, I promise this will make sense. Eventually.
See, I run a productized education business, which is just a fancy way of saying, “I help people build schools that don’t suck.” And I’ve discovered there are three types of clarity every online school needs if it wants to avoid becoming an elaborate Google Doc that haunts its creators like a Victorian ghost who died mid-Zoom call.
So, let’s break them down:
1. Clarity on Where You’re Going (aka: What’s the Freaking Point?)
You know that feeling when you go into a room and completely forget why you went in there? That’s what most online schools feel like without goal clarity.
You need to know where you’re leading your students. Otherwise, it’s just a chaotic journey with no map, and somewhere along the way someone ends up crying in a Slack channel about existential dread and module 7 not loading.
Ask yourself: What’s the transformation? Are you taking someone from “confused potato” to “confident baked potato with sour cream and a PowerPoint”? Because if your course doesn’t have a clear destination, then your students are just wandering the digital tundra with no shoes and a dream that died in lesson three.
Set a goal. Say it out loud. Write it in lipstick on your mirror like a true maniac. I don’t care. Just make sure the journey has a freaking destination.
2. Clarity on Where They’re Starting (aka: Don’t Assume Your Student is You, Unless You’re Time Traveling, In Which Case… Tell Me How)
Let me tell you something: your student is not you. Your student is you before therapy, caffeine, and that horrifying moment when you realized your email list is made entirely of spam bots and your mom. (Thanks, Mom.)
You have to understand where they’re starting. Are they beginners? Are they secretly experts pretending to be new so they don’t have to admit they skipped onboarding? Are they confused squirrels with Wi-Fi?
If you don’t meet them where they are, you’ll lose them. And not just metaphorically. Like actually. They’ll ghost you so hard it’ll give your analytics abandonment issues.
Get clear on their current state. Do a quiz. Send a carrier pigeon. Read their confused little minds. Just don’t build your curriculum for the version of you that already has the knowledge. That person doesn’t need your course… they need a nap and a tax accountant.
3. Clarity in the Path (aka: Make the Yellow Brick Road Paved, Not Made of Legos)
So, you’ve got the start. You’ve got the end. Now you need the middle, also known as “everything else” and “why people leave one-star reviews that say things like ‘I got lost in Module 4 and never came back.’”
Your students need steps. Clear steps. Not just vague nonsense like “unlock your full potential” or “become a thought unicorn.” Give them structure. Show them milestones. Gamify the heck out of it if you must. I once made a student badge that said “Did Not Cry During This Module” and it was the most celebrated achievement of the course.
Think IKEA, but with instructions that actually make sense. Don’t just throw information at them like a rogue PowerPoint gremlin. Give them a journey that feels intentional.
In Conclusion, or Possibly a Rant About Spoons
Clarity is everything in an online school. Without it, your students flounder, you flounder, and the whole thing collapses like a badly-made soufflé during an earthquake. I don’t know how soufflés work. That’s why I teach people how to build online schools and not bake French air-cakes.
So remember:
- Know where they’re going.
- Know where they’re starting.
- Make the path smooth (not covered in emotional Legos).
And if all else fails, send them a gif of a raccoon giving a thumbs up. Because if you can’t be clear, you might as well be charmingly unhinged.
You’re doing great. Probably. Maybe check your syllabus again.
Want help building a school that won’t make your students cry or your tech stack spontaneously combust? Let’s talk. I promise not to wear the Muppet costume. Unless it’s Tuesday.
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