Discovering the Maker Mindset

By Ben McIver, MakerUSA Program Manager and STE(A)M Truck Operations Manager

An art piece made out of found materials by STE(A)M Truck team members.

If you had asked me a few months ago, I would have said I was probably the least qualified person to write a blog post about the Maker Movement. I couldn’t have defined what a makerspace was, explained the “maker mindset,” or even articulated why the movement mattered. I still saw myself as a film professional—someone looking for a new path in the media world—when the opportunity to work with STE(A)M Truck appeared.

STE(A)M Truck had already spent 14 years shaping Atlanta’s maker community. The organization had built an impressive collection of tools and equipment, drawn together people who shared a spirit of creativity and innovation, and brought hands-on learning experiences into schools. Their programs introduced students to tools, ideas, and ways of thinking that encouraged exploration and invention.

But I didn’t see myself in that world. I had no STEM background. My roots were in music and film production—two fields that rely heavily on creativity and logistics, but rarely cross paths with circuitry and coding. When I applied to STE(A)M Truck, it was with the simple intention to help an organization whose mission I admired while earning a living as I searched for what I thought would be my “real” job.

The position I accepted was largely clerical and administrative—focused on taking inventory of tools and supplies. Yet it placed me right at the foundation of the organization, surrounded by boxes of parts, wires, sensors, and boards I couldn’t identify. I didn’t know what a Gemma or a diode was, but I could clearly see that STE(A)M Truck had a lot of them—and even more ways of using them to spark curiosity and learning.

The work was slow, sometimes tedious, but it had meaning. The organization was at a crossroads: it could remain weighed down by disorganization and lack of space, or it could position itself for growth. Ever the idealist, I chose to believe in the latter.

As I sorted through those boxes, I began to notice something deeper. There was a kind of poetry in the materials themselves—the intersection of high-tech and low-tech, the way simple and complex tools existed side by side. I began to understand that the “maker mindset” wasn’t about technical expertise. It was about the idea at the center of the work. It was about curiosity, experimentation, and the willingness and even expectation that you will fail before you  can learn.  And then you try again.  It’s about, dare I say, teaching scientific thinking.  

That realization was a turning point. I recognized that I’d been carrying this mindset all along. My background in music and film had always demanded creativity, problem-solving, and adaptability—the very essence of making. I might not have known how to program a CNC router or print an object in 3D (yet), but I had an instinct to ask questions, to explore, and to figure things out through doing. That, I realized, made me a maker too.

As I personally became aware of the “Maker Mindset”, STE(A)M Truck’s executive director Dr. Marsha Francis, officially connected me with MakerUSA and I became a Maker USA Program Manager.  Instantly I learned this movement that was new to me was not new. In my bubble, I thought STE(A)M Truck was alone in pushing this important methodology of engaging and inspiring young minds.  But there was a national network of makers and had established like-minded programming personalized to the unique needs of their individual communities.  And, crucially, they were eager to share their knowledge – what succeeded and even what had failed.  This partnership with MakerUSA provided networking and support and gave me new confidence to dream big, and to present and pursue innovative ideas at STE(A)M Truck to help expand the organization’s reach.  

With that shift in perspective and a network of support, my work took on new energy. Ironically, my greatest contribution so far came from the least enjoyable task—the month-long inventory. It gave me a comprehensive understanding of the organization’s materials and curriculum, as well as the educators who used them to inspire students. I began to see how a simple straw or an Arduino could teach powerful lessons in design, physics, or problem-solving. That awareness gave me confidence to contribute ideas of my own.

STE(A)M Truck team members working on the design of the art piece above.

Recognizing my enthusiasm, STE(A)M Truck asked me to reorganize and reactivate our makerspace. After pandemic downsizing and a move into a smaller facility, the need for a functional, inspiring workspace was urgent. The goal was to create an environment where staff could innovate, host community events, and invite visitors to start building the moment they walked in.

My first instinct was to plan it all myself. I spent hours sitting in the space, surrounded by clutter, sketching out a detailed layout that I fully intended to present as the plan. But something about that approach felt wrong. I realized that a true makerspace thrives only through shared vision and participation.

So instead of delivering a finished plan, I presented a proposal. I invited my colleagues—and even outside partners who had used the space—to share their insights. I asked what worked, what didn’t, and what their boldest hopes were for the space. Their responses changed a lot of what I had envisioned. The final plan reflected not just my perspective, but the needs, values, and creativity of the entire team.

When implementation began, I handled the logistics—ordering shelves, reorganizing tools, and establishing a more functional layout. But I still wanted the space to feel personal and connected to the people who used it. So, in true maker fashion, I found two old STE(A)M Truck signs that were headed for disposal, gathered art supplies and electronic components, and invited the staff to collaborate on transforming them into art pieces. The results—two distinct works showcasing our logo—now hang in the space as living symbols of collaboration and renewal.

Now that the makerspace feels welcoming again, my next goal is to fully activate it in support of STE(A)M Truck’s mission. Recently, I attended the Maker Works Operations Boot Camp in Ann Arbor, Michigan—a visit that was both humbling and inspiring. Maker Works represented the ideal version of what a makerspace can be: abundant tools, thoughtful organization, rich programming, a wealth of expertise amongst a diverse membership, and a culture of inclusivity and purpose. What stood out most to me wasn’t the equipment or infrastructure, but the intentionality behind every decision. From its inception, Maker Works prioritized community, accessibility, and belonging.

Standing there, I could have easily felt overwhelmed by comparison. But instead, I saw a challenge—and a direction. The goal isn’t to replicate Maker Works; it’s to bring that same intentionality; that same clarity of purpose to STE(A)M Truck.

So now I find myself asking: How do I best support the mission and create?  What kind of energy do we want to cultivate? How do we make our makerspace not just functional, but reflective of who we are and what we value? Are we trying to replicate the Maker Works model verbatim or take the best of their method and create what is perfect for STE(A)M Truck?

I have plenty of ideas and strong opinions about what’s next. But if I’ve learned anything from this journey, it’s that real progress in this world—just like real making—depends on collaboration. The space will only thrive if everyone has a hand in shaping it. That’s what makes it sustainable. That’s what makes it alive.