I am disillusioned.
Utterly and completely.
This world of the-best-time-of-your-life, grassy quadrangles, Monopoly money, and monthly emails I live in is cruel and hateful, divisive and manipulative, revered and fetishized. I don’t believe in what I am doing here.
But strangely, I am hopeful.
Perhaps, trust-full is a better world.
I think it’s all the reading (and talking) I’ve been doing lately…Rousseau, Dewey, Freire, Montessori, Plato, A.S. Neill, and Nel Noddings…
My education is not this. My education is a lifetime, and today, my education is writing this note.
I’ve recently learned that there isn’t a universal truth; there isn’t a ruler we can hold to every case. That crushing desire to have a plan is fruitless. I have crafted my toolbelt though. I have hand-stitched the pieces of leather and canvas together, punctured the holes with my trusty awl, and hidden secret notes to myself in between the layers.
My hope is this: to find a simple set of tools to slide through the loops on my belt and to grace them with age and use.
My trust is this: I will know what to do when the time comes. And sometimes that “knowing what to do” is actively and openly and humbly, not knowing at all.