Dear Maria,
Few, if any, analogies are perfect, and figurative language is the slipperiest of slopes, of course. Yes, yes, I see what I did there. A recent picture I posted on Facebook, that of a newborn being held by her older brother—older by a few years—other than being nearly angelic in the moment, led me to think about how she does not thwart him in any fashion like his other siblings yet and then my mind was quick to extend the thought to all of us. Isn’t life a series of moments and decisions that often seem to thwart our desires, our hopes, our expectations.
Okay, so an image recently has come to mind of each of us holding a hand—fingers together—up in front of our face, palm just millimeters from our nose so that our sight, if not blocked completely, is limited and askew. Bear with me. I am thinking of this image as our young selves and what we know of the world. Now, take the index finger of your other hand and touch the middle of your palm and slowly push your hand out. Slowly. That changing perspective is you learning—formally and informally—more and more about the world.
Were your arms long enough, at some point you would see all and your hand that once so significantly controlled your view would become just a small part of the larger landscape.
Okay, fair enough, you ask: The thwarting part? If you allow that each and every individual has their palm in front of their faces and that each and every one of us sees a larger picture, if you will, to varying degrees—how can we not thwart one another? No doubt, some folks keep that palm planted pretty close to the nose and don’t care whether they thwart someone else or not. Got that.
A friend of mine recently told me she was headed toward a committee meeting that did not seem especially engaging—imagine that, hahaha! Maybe next time she can take a moment to guestimate where each committee member holds their hands, metaphorically speaking, by how they speak to one another and how they listen to one another.
Do I overreach?
Some of this idea is rooted in how I recognized that we often ask our students to push their hands out a bit and sometimes ask them to reach too far—socially, psychologically, academically, etc. But, that bird walk for another time.
Cooler weather is arriving, and as the sun shifts lower and to the south, the roses bloom in scattered fashion. My Knockouts never do mass, but I rather like the floating blooms at the end of long, reaching stems. A sort of, well, yearning. Most likely mine.
Stay bundled, be well, and maybe soon.
Still, srk
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
A Time to Wonder
Dear Maria,
Again, in pleasantly casual conversation yesterday evening, I trotted out my latest catchphrase for retirement: Don’t let them kid you, it’s good, very good. I also remarked that I am not quite one quarter into retirement—after a bit more than 120 quarters of teaching high school English. Some folks measure by coffee spoons, I by class periods, quarters, semesters, school years. Or, I did.
The being unencumbered is, and not so surprisingly, the earth-shaking change. So very little is asked of me these days. Nearly gone are expectations and responsibilities. These days, indeed. The light of morning and then the coming on of the night serve as time’s most meaningful pulse. No bells, barely a nod to the calendar, hardly any sense of deadlines.
Since I don’t wear a watch and don’t keep my phone at hand much less in hand most of the time, the days take on a different rhythm. Mostly, I eat when I am hungry. I sleep when I am sleepy. And that I might sit after breakfast for five minutes or fifteen and just ponder how the roses stretch toward the southwest—well, that is fine, too.
I cannot claim much by way of revelation, but I do know that I have been surprised by how easily what I once did with such focus and energy slips away so that I very nearly believe that it was literally a former life. Begs the question, I suppose, of what endures in a meaningful way.
The heart does. My concern for the well-being of students and colleagues continues to be deeply felt. While I am not with them, I remain for them. The foolishness—a kind word, to be sure—of what goes on in the name of education still rankles, but I do not feel it tearing into my psyche, worrying that wound.
The flickerings of disappointment, frustration, and anger become fainter and fewer. Breathing is how I tout it—time to breathe. Besides, the I Ching several times a week counsels that this is a time of being, not doing. Who am I to blow against the prevailing wind. Or, as I told a young friend last week, I now have time to wonder.
Hope you are well, and as always I am with you and for you.
Just, srk
Again, in pleasantly casual conversation yesterday evening, I trotted out my latest catchphrase for retirement: Don’t let them kid you, it’s good, very good. I also remarked that I am not quite one quarter into retirement—after a bit more than 120 quarters of teaching high school English. Some folks measure by coffee spoons, I by class periods, quarters, semesters, school years. Or, I did.
The being unencumbered is, and not so surprisingly, the earth-shaking change. So very little is asked of me these days. Nearly gone are expectations and responsibilities. These days, indeed. The light of morning and then the coming on of the night serve as time’s most meaningful pulse. No bells, barely a nod to the calendar, hardly any sense of deadlines.
Since I don’t wear a watch and don’t keep my phone at hand much less in hand most of the time, the days take on a different rhythm. Mostly, I eat when I am hungry. I sleep when I am sleepy. And that I might sit after breakfast for five minutes or fifteen and just ponder how the roses stretch toward the southwest—well, that is fine, too.
I cannot claim much by way of revelation, but I do know that I have been surprised by how easily what I once did with such focus and energy slips away so that I very nearly believe that it was literally a former life. Begs the question, I suppose, of what endures in a meaningful way.
The heart does. My concern for the well-being of students and colleagues continues to be deeply felt. While I am not with them, I remain for them. The foolishness—a kind word, to be sure—of what goes on in the name of education still rankles, but I do not feel it tearing into my psyche, worrying that wound.
The flickerings of disappointment, frustration, and anger become fainter and fewer. Breathing is how I tout it—time to breathe. Besides, the I Ching several times a week counsels that this is a time of being, not doing. Who am I to blow against the prevailing wind. Or, as I told a young friend last week, I now have time to wonder.
Hope you are well, and as always I am with you and for you.
Just, srk
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Bless the Beasts...
Dear Maria,
Some images stick deeper than others, of course. Sondra Hoyn’s picture of the young Thai boy Bank knocked unconscious during a Muay Thai boxing match is one such captured moment for me. To see the fragility of that child and know that adults encouraged the event—well, no thousand words from me can do justice.
I was just saying to a friend of mine the other day that I have been thinking that at the moment a baby is born that perhaps somewhere out there in the universe a star may have come to light at the same moment. That star may burn billions of years, and then I think of Bank stretched out on the canvas.
Now I read this morning that the Taliban want to kill Pakistani Malala Yousafzai for her outspoken call for girls to be educated in Swat Valley. The New York Post quotes the spokesman for the Taliban as saying “She is not a brave girl and has no courage. We will target her again and attack whenever we have a chance.” Ah, the courage of a gunman firing at a girl of 16.
Last night I watched a stream of high school students—both female and male—parade across the auditorium stage to receive academic awards for their achievements in the classroom.
Approximately 250 babies, as sources estimate, are born per minute in the world. What life may hold for each of them. I thought, too, the other day that celebrating a Year of the Child was not long enough. Perhaps a Millennium of the Child?
Does the Taliban gunman believe that 1,000 years from now his ancestors will still be killing children? At the very least, I would offer up this opinion: You can never kill everyone who disagrees with you.
Bless the beasts and children, indeed. Hold your own children a little closer. Be well.
Just, srk
Some images stick deeper than others, of course. Sondra Hoyn’s picture of the young Thai boy Bank knocked unconscious during a Muay Thai boxing match is one such captured moment for me. To see the fragility of that child and know that adults encouraged the event—well, no thousand words from me can do justice.
I was just saying to a friend of mine the other day that I have been thinking that at the moment a baby is born that perhaps somewhere out there in the universe a star may have come to light at the same moment. That star may burn billions of years, and then I think of Bank stretched out on the canvas.
Now I read this morning that the Taliban want to kill Pakistani Malala Yousafzai for her outspoken call for girls to be educated in Swat Valley. The New York Post quotes the spokesman for the Taliban as saying “She is not a brave girl and has no courage. We will target her again and attack whenever we have a chance.” Ah, the courage of a gunman firing at a girl of 16.
Last night I watched a stream of high school students—both female and male—parade across the auditorium stage to receive academic awards for their achievements in the classroom.
Approximately 250 babies, as sources estimate, are born per minute in the world. What life may hold for each of them. I thought, too, the other day that celebrating a Year of the Child was not long enough. Perhaps a Millennium of the Child?
Does the Taliban gunman believe that 1,000 years from now his ancestors will still be killing children? At the very least, I would offer up this opinion: You can never kill everyone who disagrees with you.
Bless the beasts and children, indeed. Hold your own children a little closer. Be well.
Just, srk
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