everything is possible again.
one of my favorite fiction writers, jonathan safran foer, is coming out with a new book called “eating animals”, which is about exactly what you would expect it to be about.
but that’s another story. or, as he would say, a different story about a different story.
however, in a new york times article he wrote that was adapted from the book, i found another reason for why i’m in education:
“Children confront us with our paradoxes and dishonesty, and we are exposed. You need to find an answer for every why — Why do we do this? Why don’t we do that? — and often there isn’t a good one.”
oh, jsf, you fantastic writer.
this, by the way, is what i love about writing, and, consequently, also about reading: buried treasure. in an article about vegetarianism a good writer can clarify, succinctly and poignantly, what i have failed to articulate amongst the cacophony of questions in my head. what is important to me in terms of education, and why do i still like it so much in spite of the sisyphian* task it appears to be?
because i need to be confronted with my own paradoxes.
because i need to continue to think and work hard at thinking.
because i need to do what i am requiring my students to do.
because there needs to be better answers to the questions, and better questions.
elsewhere in the article foer talks about a response his friend had to him when he discussed embarking on a new journey when his son was born. his friend said: “everything is possible again”. this idea that new journeys are marked with new promise, a new hope and a renewed sense of possibility around every corner must be cultivated to live, thrive.
the effort to farm this sentiment is relentless, and exhausting; i do not look good with a pitchfork.
but, i think it’s true. everything is possible again. everything. everything. a great harvest is always worth the effort.
* hands down, one of the best and most useful adjectives. use it. own it. gah, i love myth.