Some people stumble into lifelong learning. I think I was born into it.
I was the first woman in my family to go to university — but I was far from the first to have a hunger for knowledge or an eye for getting things right. My Nan was an expert machinist. She was never the fastest — her sisters could outpace her on a machine — but she made the best. She was the one brought in to create the samples, the pieces that had to be perfect. Speed was never the point. Quality was.
My Mum carried that same quiet determination in a different direction. In her 50s, she returned to university and earned a Master’s in Graphic Design from the University of Derby. I remember thinking at the time: of course she did. It was never a question of whether she could; it was simply a matter of what came next when the time was right.
And then there were the stories of my grandfather, endlessly taking things apart — not to fix them, not to break them, but simply to understand how they worked. A whole family of people who needed to know, needed to make, needed to do it well.
I was the first in my family to go to university straight from school. But looking back, I was surrounded by lifelong learners long before I had a word for it. It’s in my blood.
Learning as a Professional Constant
I’ve spent my career in front-end web development — a field that practically demands you stay curious. Technologies shift, user expectations evolve, and the tools that defined best practice five years ago may be obsolete today. For me, keeping a close eye on those changes has never felt like a chore. It feels like the natural continuation of my grandfather pulling apart something on a Sunday afternoon just to see what made it tick.
But there’s a difference between passively watching a field change and actively positioning yourself within that change. That distinction sits at the heart of what educational theorist Malcolm Knowles called andragogy — the study of how adults learn. Unlike children, adult learners are self-directed. We bring experience to the table, we learn best when we can see the real-world relevance of what we’re studying, and we’re motivated by problems we genuinely want to solve. That has always felt less like a theory and more like a description of how I naturally operate.
Where Theory Met Practice
About two years ago, I took a step that felt both practical and deeply personal: I enrolled in HZFM881 – Online Teaching: Creating Courses for Adult Learners. It marked a shift from simply doing lifelong learning to actually understanding it — its mechanics, its pedagogy, its why.
That course opened a door. I’m now in my second year of study with the Interaction Design Foundation (IxDF), working through a curriculum that sits at the intersection of design, psychology, and human behaviour. My completed courses have ranged from User Experience: The Beginner’s Guide and Visual Design to Gestalt Psychology and Web Design and AI for Designers — a breadth that reflects how interconnected good design thinking really is.
What I didn’t expect was how much the learning community itself would become part of the experience. The IxDF’s model rewards consistency and engagement — I’ve earned distinctions including the Assiduous Learner Award and been recognised as a Top 10% Course Taker — but more than any badge, it’s the discipline of sustained study alongside a working career that I’ve found genuinely valuable.
I’m not telling you this to recommend a platform (though if you’re curious, it speaks for itself). I’m sharing it because the shape of this learning journey — informal curiosity leading to structured study, practical skills reinforcing theory — is something I think more people in technical and creative fields would benefit from recognising in their own lives.
It’s In the Doing
The older I get, the more I believe that lifelong learning isn’t really about collecting certificates or keeping a CV tidy. It’s an orientation toward the world — a decision, made over and over again, to stay a beginner in some corner of your life even as you become an expert in others.
My Nan never rushed. My Mum never stopped. My grandfather never lost his curiosity.
I’d like to think I’m carrying all three forward — one course at a time.
