toolbelt

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.

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