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.