I started this week’s activity thinking I might have a yet-to-be-discovered hidden talent. I had watched Uyen Nguyen use Miura-Ori folds to create fashion, and she made it look—if not easy—at least fascinating. Perhaps this was origami I could get behind. It seemed (foolish of me to think) easier than making paper cranes.
I was sure I could whip a few out and astonish my mathematically inclined teens, and maybe even entice my friend who cringes whenever the word math is spoken. I am always trying to show her mathematics in new ways, but I haven’t convinced her yet. Math attitudes are hard to shake.
Anyhow, I grabbed some copy paper and cut a couple of squares. I watched the first video, but some of the action was off screen and I didn’t quite understand how to finish after making the second set of triangular folds. I fiddled with it for a bit and eventually declared (to myself), “This must be the wrong kind of paper! It’s too soft, too crinkly, too hard to work with!”
I briefly looked at the other activities and considered giving them a try. Alas, it was the Miura-ori folds that had hold of me.
I watched the next video and gained some new insight. It was easier to see what was happening. Without a voice giving instructions, I noticed the details more carefully. Even so, it still didn’t seem to be coming together quite correctly. I paused to search for the correct square size for this type of folding and came across a website that appeared to be part of a course assignment. The author noted that folding the pattern by hand requires patience and practice (Woodruff, n.d.).
This immediately validated my feelings of intense frustration. Of course I couldn’t get this right the first time I tried. It’s actually quite finicky.
The experience reminded me that when students bump up against new mathematical concepts, they too may feel the urge to quit or need to step away for a moment. Learning something new—whether it’s origami or mathematics—often involves moments of confusion, persistence, and small breakthroughs along the way.
In the end, my Miura-Ori fold is far from perfect, but the process itself turned out to be the real lesson. What looked simple at first required patience, careful observation, and a willingness to try again after frustration. It reminded me that learning mathematics often unfolds in the same way. Students rarely master a new idea the first time they encounter it. They need time to struggle, notice patterns, adjust their thinking, and try again. Perhaps that is part of the quiet beauty of both origami and mathematics—the way persistence slowly transforms a flat sheet of confusion into something structured, surprising, and meaningful.
If there is a wish folded into this experience, it is that my students—and perhaps even my math-averse friend—might someday see mathematics the same way: not as something rigid or intimidating, but as something that rewards patience, curiosity, and the courage to keep unfolding an idea a little further.
Woodruff, S. (n.d.). Miura-ori folding instructions. Retrieved from http://www.stevenwoodruff.com
Hi Kristie,
ReplyDeleteYour reflection made me smile, especially your hopeful start thinking you might have a hidden origami talent! That shift from confidence to frustration is so relatable and really mirrors what many of our students experience in math class.
I appreciated how you named the role of the materials (the paper being too soft or crinkly). It’s such a good reminder that sometimes what feels like a “lack of ability” is actually about the tools or conditions, not the learner. That’s an important perspective for both us and our students.
Your persistence, even through the frustration, really highlights the kind of productive struggle we talk about in mathematics education. I also loved your connection to trying to engage your friend who doesn’t enjoy math, this activity feels like exactly the kind of entry point that could begin to shift those attitudes over time.