Soiling Certainty

"All generalizations are false, including this one."

- Mark Twain

There's a potentially dangerous beast lurking among us. It often disguises itself as Fact, and quite easily slips past even the most astute and defensive observer. In fact, this monster is so subversive it's currently spawning in every household, inflicting every parent, and consequently every child the world over.

Today I came face to face with this seething, certainty-breeding giant, witnessing firsthand its potential for harm. To make matters worse, I happen to know that it dwells deep in all of our minds. It's even right here, in my writing, in the last sentence. It can't be escaped. That's right, I'm talking about Generalization.

My first period class is called Current Topics in Science. The focus of the course is to arrive at a better understanding of what constitutes (and does not constitute) science, and how our lives are influenced by science in myriad ways. There are only five students enrolled, but our conversations are some of the most inventive and exploratory in which I've ever participated.

Over the past few days we've been discussing some of the philosophical origins of science. In particular, we've discussed David Hume's famous problem of induction, and Sir Karl Popper's defining criterion of science as lying in its capacity to disprove or falsify hypotheses.

Learning about these philosophies shines a light on the many problematic "all" or "every" statements that surround us. Scientific thinking, in theory, teaches us to be aware of the doubt in many of our conjectures.

Of course, in popular culture we don't often practice scientific thinking, and we are often too certain about what we claim to know. To find examples, one need only peruse the comments on any number of news websites. They are full of the unchecked assumptions and hazardous conviction espoused with Generalization. Instead of pursuing respectful dialogue with a sense of caution and a will to listen and learn, both sides of an issue seem to further cement their respective stance on the issue, becoming more isolated and further polarized. If we're not careful, generalizations can make us make enemy-types of one another.

We could never do away with our capacity to generalize. And I don't think we want to. The philosopher Hegel suggested that generalization underscores the process of thinking. We don't have to kill the beast. We just need to learn about it so that we may tame it, and come to live peacefully with it. Like an exotic pet.

As a homework assignment in out CTS class, I invited students to find several articles in the science news section of the local paper, or on the Internet. Their task was to scrutinize the evidence presented in the popular media, and to think about ways to test the evidence in their own experiments.

As we discussed our findings the conversation flowed wonderfully; the students bought into the process. There were a lot of brilliant ideas being discussed, and a lot of creative thought experiments. Then, and I'm not sure how it came about exactly, but somehow Generalization reared its ugly head, taking one of the students hostage.

One student raised her hand in response to another. I don't even remember the context. But I remember what she said: "All gays are girly sinners. I just try to stay away from anyone I can tell is gay."

Somehow this usually sweet student found her tongue dripping with spite. My heart endured a hairline fracture as she sat back in her chair, proud and sure, grinning from ear to ear. She couldn't have known that her words were so cutting, not with the smile she sported. It was so pure.

I didn't even have time to take up my negotiating post. The others in the class swooped in to collect our hostage from Generalization's tranquilizing grip.

"Hey! You can't say that!" piped one fellow at the side of the class. "You can't generalize people like that. And how is someone else's sexuality going to harm you?" His voice was growing flammable.

"He's right," chimed in another girl, "you're being unfair. And tell me what it means to be 'girly'? Don't you realize you've just made and 'all' statement." My heart smiled softly.

The girl who made the comment looked sheepish. "I guess I did." She mumbled, recoiling a bit from the outbursts of her peers.

For the rest of class we discussed the labels we create for one another, and the judgments we associate with those labels, both positive AND negative. We talked about considering one another as a fellow human being before anything else be it "gay", or "black", or "Christian". I suggested that being able to question the assumptions that anchor our labels is an act of courage, because it means you might have to admit you're wrong. And doing so regularly means getting comfortable with being wrong. I shared my opinion that perhaps this is a small price to pay if it helped us learn to get along.

The girl confessed that she hadn't really thought about what she said before she said it. She also didn't realize that her words could be hurtful.

Just before we finished the discussion, the first boy to challenge her now reached out to her. "You know, I used to think similar thoughts. I think we hear these ideas from our families and friends and society and I just always accepted these ideas until I found out that one of my best friends was gay. At first I freaked out a little, then I realized he's still the same best friend." When class finished they all left together, getting along.

It's a nice break to have the students teach themselves, defending one another from the throes of inductive reasoning.

What would this place look like if more of us recognized the dangers of our generalizations?

Ode to discomfort

“The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.”

                                                                                                         - M. Scott Peck

I'm officially four and a half months into my first year of science teaching, and it's official: I'm lonely.

No, that's not a cry for help or a complaint. I'm not looking for pity. Don't send your virtual hugs. Okay, well, maybe a virtual hug is okay. 

No, I write this declaration publicly as a testament to the sense of self-security I've been strengthening this year. A year ago I did my best to keep vulnerability at bay. An ocean away from me at any given moment. In fact for most of my life I've been enveloped in self-loathing when I showed "weakness". Talk about issues.

It's a bit of a strange topic for a blog that's supposed to pursue wonder, but hear me out. 

I find it amazing. That it's taken me 28 years, and a thousands-of-miles sojourn to be comfortable with myself. And I have my loneliness to thank, for bringing it all together. 

Growth sprouts from a fertile bed of discomfort. As part of my quest to "suck the marrow out of life" I've taken to putting myself in as many uncomfortable situations as I can stomach. Trying new things for the sake of the stretch. Experiencing different ways and embracing challenging ideas in order to keep myself in check and expand my awareness. For all of the pain, and grief, and awkwardness that must be endured there is always something to gain, even if it's just another story for the grandkids. 

This year, I knew that living and teaching on my own in a new culture would give me space and contrast for my ideas. I knew it would be filled with many wonderful experiences, and unique learning opportunities. I also knew it would allow me time to focus on dealing my issues (see above). And in a sense, I knew that it was loneliness that I most wanted to meet.

It's not so much a longing, nagging, anchor on my heartstrings. It's far lighter, more like a concrete pillow, not without a firm place, but causing no real exhaustion. It really only keeps me awake when I try to sleep with it on my mind. 

No I've gotten used to my concrete pillow. I've made friends with loneliness. And irony. 

Of course, there are many people in my life, which means I'm not actually alone. And the conversations I enjoy, and memories that I visit are energizing reminders of the impossibility of total solitude. Through the magic of juxtaposition, loneliness has filled me with sense of gratitude deeper than I ever thought possible. Gratitude in solitude. It makes being lonely a whole lot lighter, and a lot less frequent. And realizing the gifts I already have has been worth all the discomfort. Kinda leaves me with a hankering for more discomfort. Does that count as mild masochism?

I've enjoyed such a rich experience so far, but I'm excited for the opportunities in the months to come. Because I know that the growth from loneliness (grownliness?) has only just begun. 

After all, admitting it is the first step. 

New Beginnings

I'm back! 

After a short holiday and lots of preparatory work, I have begun teaching a second semester here in Ghana. We are a little more than a week into the semester, and I'm finding a decent rhythm. Certainly I feel better adapted than I did at the beginning of September. 

At the beginning of this term I set out to create better classroom infrastructure. I have attempted to make projects more accessible, and my grading more reliable. I have also taken a page out of my old karate teaching days, and incorporated a "message of the week" into my classes. Every Monday I plan to spend about 20 minutes discussing our strengths and weaknesses with respect to various learning habits. I promise its not as patronizing as it seems. 

The students have put up a strong showing to start the semester as well. They seem better prepared for class, and are taking things with a greater degree of purpose. I don't want to speak too soon, but I have great expectations of the learning that will happen in the next two and a half months. 

Yes, things are looking more positive at school. And despite my hiatus from this Internet cloud, I have been writing expertly. Not to be confused with writing with expertise... I mean I've been writing a lot. I'm often unsure of any advice I offer, which is why I don't follow my own very often, but I stand firmly behind the practice of frequent journalling. Writing creatively, and writing crap; writing is categorically cathartic! 

With things looking up on many fronts, it wasn't until today that I felt a surge of pure excitement about this semester. After school the Magic Club of CIC Ghana had its inaugural meeting! That's right. The muggles are converting. There are approximately twenty students (half the school) who are keen to learn the ways of the wizard. I'd love to tell you what we talked about tonight, but it's a secret. 

Okay, it's not really a secret.

We did no tricks today. Instead we practiced real magic. That's right, the magic of our minds. I can hear you groaning from here.

I know that many students come to a magic club meeting with the intent to "be in on the secret". Many students don't have any desire to create magic themselves. Or maybe they do, but they don't believe they are capable of it. Many students believe magic requires dexterity, and boldness, and wit. And it does. But these things do not a magical moment make. 

Before anything else, magic requires belief. The magician must believe in his capacity to master technique and create wonder. The magician who does not believe in the magic he creates will never capture belief from an audience. 

Instead of jumping right into trickery and tomfoolery, our meeting tonight was about building self-belief. Magic is a real, visceral experience, created by and felt within, our minds. I wanted to impress upon the students the very power our beliefs have in creating reality. So we played with pendulums. 

If you've never played with a pendulum before, I encourage you to try this yourself. 

We took about 8 inches of twine, and tied a key at one end. Holding the opposite end of the string, so that the key dangled in front, I invited students to stare at the key until it became totally still. Then I asked them to imagine what it would look like if the key started to swing back and forth, on its own, without any movement of their hands. There was a pause of intense concentration, and then one by one the pendulums began to swing. Eyes widened. 

I suggested that they imagine it swinging to and fro. Then rotating in a circle. Then in the other direction. And sure enough, many of the novice necromancers found their jaws on the floor. It truly is a magical moment, to realize that your thoughts have the power to manipulate the world. 

Of course, this is not new. Our thoughts, of course, DO create the worlds we live in, by shaping our words and actions. But sometimes we lose sight of this fact, and forget about our personal telepathokinetic powers. We forget how much control we have over our thoughts, and we forget how much influence for which our thoughts count. A pendulum offers a beautiful reawakening. 

As we completed this little demonstration, the energy in the room was palpable. And I drank in what I could, and floated in the rest. Tell me that's not real magic!

Yah, it's going to be a great semester. As the pendulums demonstrate, prophecies are often self-fulfilling.

Thanks for reading. 

A Story and an Oath

The last few weeks of 2012 have been truly fulfilling. Since school ended I've been traveling, introspecting, and growing a beard: a holiday to counter-balance what was an eventful, facial-hair-less year.

2012 was full of self-realization for me. I experienced many growth spurts, with many associated growing pains. I also enjoyed a wealth of opportunity and wonderment.

One of the most significant moments of wonder happened just a few weeks ago, at about 5AM GMT on the 18th of December.

The story begins when Joel, my visiting Canadian friend, and I were planning our travels along the coast of Ghana. We wanted to stay in the small town of Beyin near the border of Cote D'Ivoire, so that we could travel via canoe to Nzulezu, the village on the water.

We were considering staying at the Beyin Beach Resort, which we had read about online a few days prior. A quick consultation with my Lonely Planet easily convinced us that the BBR was the spot for us: “...owners can help you arrange trips to Nzulezu, as well as night hikes to look for turtles.”

That's right. Moonlit walks on the beach with the owner of the resort, looking for nesting sea turtles. From August to March there are frequent sightings of Green, Olive Green Ridley, and Leatherback turtles. They glide onto the shores of West Africa to lay clutches of eggs in the warm sand. After 45-75 days, the hatchlings climb out of their beach nests and, following their instinct to move toward the brightest light, they hobble a strenuous hike to the bright, open horizon. If they are lucky they get swept away by the tide before predators (including humans) notice them. It is a fascinating practice of regeneration.

It's worth noting that of the seven species of sea turtle, six of them are currently endangered. They are becoming rarer and rarer due to their vulnerable birthing process and careless fishing practices. There's something deeply saddening about our human involvement in this family's destruction.

Those who know me will admit that I have been fascinated by turtles my whole life, beginning with my foray into the martial arts via the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at the age of four. Joel seemed to share my interest, and we became excited- nay, we were ecstatic in the possibility of seeing a rare turtle in the wild. 

"We might be disappointed," Joel tempered our excitability with reason. "How do we know it's turtle season?" 

"Of course it's the season... Turtles at Christmas! They are a perfect match!" I was alluding to the chocolates that are popular in Canada at this time of year, trying to point you a funny coincidence. "You know that song?"

"Oh sure," Joel said, playing along without really knowing what I was talking about. "How could I forget THAT one?"

And without skipping a beat, he burst into song! Not the song I was thinking about, but an improvised two-minute ballad about Turtles and Christmas. It was hilarious and we laughed all the way to sleep. We were all hopped up on the giddy-gas of turtle prospecting, and visions of leatherbacks danced in our dreams.

--

We set out early the following morning. After about 5 hours of tro-tro travel we arrived at our lodgings with a great sigh of relief. We managed to have a tour of the stilted village that afternoon, returned to the resort for an ocean swim, and by dinner-time it was clear that we were the only guests of the BBR. As the night crept in we re-focused our energy on our newfound purpose of turtle-spotting. We approached Gifty, our host, about the legendary night walks on the beach.

"Actually, the owner hasn't done turtle walks this year." she told us gravely. 

I sighed. "Shoot. Is it possible that we could still see a turtle on our own?"

"Of course," she giggled, "but I don't know if you'll find one." The owner of the resort walked by just as she finished saying this. She called him over. "Patrick, these men are interested in seeing a turtle."

Patrick lamented that he was no longer doing turtle walks because it was so tiring, and the sleep was so irregular. He advised us to take a walk along the beach between 10pm and 2am, and at this time of year there we had perhaps a 45% chance of seeing a turtle. Those were best odds for seeing a sea turtle in the wild that I've ever had! Patrick had renewed a sense of hope within us.

At 10pm promptly Joel and I set out along the moonlit beach. The stars were uncountable, and if you stared long enough into the darkness a new star would appear from the abyss. The sound of the ocean eased life's rhythm, and I felt myself dissolve into the universe a bit. It is a great privilege to experience such raw natural beauty.

We felt determined that we would find a turtle. Joel sang his seasonal turtle song. I did my best turtle call (ever heard it?). Both of us beckoned and willed the great marine matrons to our little spot of shore. How does a turtle choose where to nest?

As we tried to decipher the shadows around us, I began seeing turtles everywhere. It really is amazing just how much the mind yields to our desires. We came upon a small mound of freshly turned sand on the beach.

"Joel! Look at this sand! I bet this is a nest! I bet a turtle has been here! Ohhhh we musta just missed her-"

"Actually Brandon, I think that's just a sand crab's burrow." Joel spoke gently, as all good teachers do.

"Are you sure J-"

Before I could finish, a sand crab darted sideways out of the "nest". I nodded in the wake of my error. Of course it was a crab's burrow. It was far too small for a turtle, obviously. Funny that reason itself may be mercurial.

As if proving the point to myself, a few paces later I unwittingly did it again. Yes, I was THAT excited to see a sea turtle. "Joel, look at this sand! This has gotta be a nes-" I stopped myself just as another crab darted from the burrow. And that was all it took.

It took two crabs to start the final diminishing of our hopes, and the steam of our earlier excitement had fully dissipated after about an hour of beach-walking and no signs of nesting. I think it occurred to us that this was a kind of “needle in the haystack” operation. Or like a “winning the lottery” situation, where being in the same place and time as a sea turtle in the wild defies some extraordinary odds.

We chalked up our journey to an inspiring walk on the beach (still awesome) and opted to go to bed. As we fell asleep we joked about the turtle song and call again, having accepted our turtle-less fate. Or so we thought.

--

My eyelids popped open at the knock on the door. I groaned in the darkness, unsure where I was.

"I'm sorry to wake you," came a British accent through the window. "But I know you were interested in seeing a turtle, and there's one nesting on the beach right now." At the word "turtle" I snapped back into my surroundings and recognized the voice as Patrick, the owner of the resort.

"Whaddya think?" asked Joel, feigning calmness. We paused briefly as reality set in before we jumped out of our beds and chased Patrick down to the beach. In that ten-second power-walk of anticipation I looked up at the stars and smiled. I briefly pondered the notion that somehow we're all made of stardust. 

I froze when I reached the sand and saw the large awkward shadow crawling slowly on the beach, against the backdrop of the twilit Atlantic. I caught myself literally jaw-dropped, and I was overcome with amazement. Our turtle-calling had worked!

We shyly approached her, led by Patrick. We carefully gazed at her under a flashlight. She was about two and a half feet long and around 2 feet wide. She had already finished her nesting, and was now carving a path through the sand back to the water. She had bid her offspring good-bye, unsure of their survival. Patrick himself was excited. He pointed out the five pairs of scutes on her shell revealing herself as a Loggerhead.

According to the Patrick, there have been no recent sightings of Loggerhead turtles, and they are feared near extinction. The fact that she was nesting here of all places added to the uniqueness of our situation.

The rareness of the experience sunk deeper with every tread this treasure of the ocean mustered. I stared in total silence, as she pulled herself along the sand toward the waves. The crashing of the ocean lulled me into a trance, and I dissolved completely into a state of awe. We watched her disappear under a wave, and I imagined her dissolving likewise into the infinite horizon at the edge of the sea.

As I walked back to our hut I was filled with gratitude. For having experienced something so rare and beautiful. For having been woken up by a resort owner who cared about our experience. For having been born of this world in the first place.

I felt a deep appreciation for all life, and for existence itself. I dwelled again on the inconceivable odds against our existence, let alone the odds against having the capacity to experience such tremendous, ephemeral beauty. In that moment of appreciation I felt my connection with all things deepen, and contemplated the mysteries of our planet, and the universe.

Experiencing the presence of the loggerhead is as good an example of the experience of wonder I can list in my recent memory. Though I try to experience some degree of wonder on a daily, if not momentary basis, it's been a while since I've been rendered speechless for so long. 

A friend recently sent me the following short documentary. It details the experience astronauts have when they see our planet from space. If you have twenty minutes I highly recommend it, as you might be able to relate.

The astronauts discuss a profound sense of connection to the planet, and to all things OF it. Seeing the Earth as one great, vulnerable ecosystem, in which all of us play a part. They speak of recognizing their interdependence on all other things in this system.

It's been said that to experience wonder is to recognize yourself as part of something greater.  This is why I believe wonder to be such a valuable experience. It “refreshes our cache”, disintegrating our ego into some larger community of co-existence. In the experience of wonder we stretch ourselves around new experiences and perspectives. Wonder draws our attention to the vast sphere of the unknown and unknowable, and points us to reflect the certainty of our own beliefs.

In this way, the experience of wonder is somehow what we all need a lot more of. We need to recognize and value our shared existence. We need to find a way to challenge our assumptions and extend ourselves beyond the comforts of our beliefs. I believe we need to identify with our shared capacity for suffering in all its forms, and find unity in the recognition of our fragile interdependence. We are all earthlings. We are all stardust.

Getting along with one another requires a sort of cognitive humility. An acknowledgement that we experience such a small scope of possibility, and that others see and construct things differently. It requires making space for doubt, allowing the possibility that despite my best efforts I might be wrong. To me, this is the mindset of a willing student. Indeed, I believe the experience of wonder depends enormously on the mindset of the individual.

So this New Year, I've decided to re-commit myself to the mindset of a student of wonder. I have developed a bit of a student's oath, which I hope to bring with me wherever 2013 brings me. Admittedly its a bit of a draft, but I wanted to share it with you at this dawning of a new year.

Student's Oath

Everything is connected – we (all things) are all stardust, and my thoughts, words, and actions have influence greater than I could ever know. This simple premise goes a long way down, and reminds me to see myself in all things and approach each day with a sort of universal respect.

Understanding follows curiosity – Questions help me make sense of my experience, which determine how I interpret future experiences. Curiosity drives my intellectual development, shaping my perspective, and often allowing me great personal discovery by seeing things in different ways.

Challenge all assumptions - I must recognize that the assumptions upon which my model of the world is based may not, in fact, be reflective of the absolute truth. I feel I have a responsibility to ensure that every assumption is treated as fairly and judiciously as possible, and that I have the capacity to understand the rationale underlying others' assumptions

There is always another way – Despite years of practiced linear thinking, and searching for one right answer, I have learned that different perspectives reveal many answers. I dwell in possibility.

I might be wrong - At the end of it all, there's a teaspoon of uncertainty inherent to the structure of my reality. This is, in effect, one of the most important facets of the students' mindset, and perhaps one of the most difficult to practice. Our minds don't like the anxiety that is associated with uncertainty and not knowing, so we'd sooner cling to our beliefs than admit we might be wrong. Getting used to being wrong is something I think our schools and society need to begin to model. Kathryn might agree with me.

Thank you for considering the stories and ideas here. I've appreciated having you along for this most fulfilling journey. I hope all of you have enjoyed a rejuvenating holiday, and found growth and meaning in your personal reflections of past year. Here's to sharing a wonder-filled new year of kindness, consideration, and connection.

Yours in mystery's wisdom,

Brandon

Project Wonder - Day 74 - Delays

Many of you will know that I have a terrible time trying to get out of bed in the morning. I just love morning sleep. So much more than night-time sleep. I've even developed a habit of waking myself up 90 minutes before I actually have to get out of bed, so that I can have the satisfaction of hitting the snooze button five or six times. I thoroughly enjoy drifting back to morning sleep after these false alarms. (Thinking about it now, it seems like such ridiculous behaviour. Intentionally sending myself into a panic only to dwell the relief of its falsehood. Crying wolf just to enjoy the calm in the aftermath. )

Even Christmas morning doesn't often stir me from my beautiful slumber. In this way I'm a morning sleep snob. 

Not today though. Today morning sleep got bumped off my priority list, as I raced into the waking world. I bounced out of bed as though I was seven and Santa-happy on the 25th of December. Today is indeed a special day. It's the day my great friend Joel was supposed to arrive for a 10-day visit in Ghana. I was totally stoked, and floated all the way to school.

At about nine-thirty the chemistry class was halfway through it's final exam, when I received a call from a strange number. Sure enough it was Joel. 

"Hi Brandon, so I missed my connecting flight here in Ethiopia. The airline is paying for a hotel, and I'll be over to Ghana tomorrow."

Of course. 

That was my first thought. Of course. As though I'm somehow always the victim of circumstance. Of course this would happen to me. 

It's funny how quickly I felt/feel "hard done by". I have so many things and thoughts for which to be grateful, and here I am frustrated by the slight delay in my gratification. Never mind that my mind didn't immediately think about how Joel might feel about the situation, after having traveled his overnight trans-Atlantic journey. 

Thankfully, I recognized my gut reaction while still on the phone with my pal. Also thankfully, Joel is a pretty adaptable guy, and we were able to share a laugh at the fortune. 

I spent some time this afternoon wondering about my capacity for delayed gratification. I wonder what the world would be like if we were all a little better at postponing immediate pleasures for greater rewards later. If nothing else, I imagine our debts might not be so gargantuan. 

Even more wonder-worthy then, is how do we educate students to learn to appreciate delay and deference of our own self-interested desires?

Thank you for reading. 

Expectantly, 

Brandon

P.S. The famous Stanford marshmallow study sought to demonstrate the value of deferring gratification, and took stock of the age at which we begin to rationalize the value of patience and waiting. The following is an entertaining reproduction. 

Project Wonder - Day 73 - Mangoes

"Everyone who enjoys thinks that the principal thing to the tree is the fruit, but in point of fact the principal thing to it is the see. -- Herein lies the difference between them that create and them that enjoy." - Friedrich Nietzsche 

Every day I make efforts to pause and enjoy my senses. I'm not sure exactly when I began to cultivate this habit, but I'm very grateful for the practice. It helps to gravitate my days around moments of presence, no matter what future problems to which I'm supposed to be tending.

Of course as the future problems fade into the background a bit, it becomes easier to enjoy the fruits of existence. Which is why today I came home from school, and instead of immediately unpacking my satchel and getting to work on the final bit of marking, I opted to eat a mango. Okay, okay, I ate two.

Synaesthesia - Looking at these baby mangoes fills my nose with their fresh scent.

If you have never eaten a freshly picked mango, I am sorry that this PW will seem somewhat exclusive. You really should add that to your bucket list. And if you don't have a bucket list, start one, and make mangoes the first thing on the list.

A freshly picked mango from the tree outside our home has somehow been perfectly tailored for human consumption. The firm, dense body fits neatly in my palm, inviting my fingers to gently massage at its waxy exterior. Curiosity compels gentle compression, and slowly I succumb to full out squeezing, releasing the juices trapped in the once solid flesh and careful not to prematurely puncture the skin. Once I'm convinced my work is done, and the mango is ready, I set it down on the counter, and gaze one final moment at it's ephemeral beauty. Finally, I yield to temptation and gently tear a small hole in the thin golden layer. And my work is rewarded immediately, as the sweetest, fullest flavour rushes into my mouth and dances a happy dance on my tongue.

It is single-handedly the messiest, slurpiest fruit I have ever had the fortune of ingesting. But the flavour is unrivaled making the work just as much a part of its enjoyment. I feel an great, if completely disproportionate, sense of accomplishment as I rinse my hands of the sugars I couldn't lick clean. Enjoying my senses indeed.

I can't help but be completely amazed that this fruit exists. It came from the Earth! Somehow the elements have synchronized their efforts to produce this immaculate treasure, in such incredible abundance that I could eat myself sick of mangoes every day for weeks!

And even more amazing is that this fruit is not just for my taking, but serves it's bearer. The great leafy tree packages its genes in these golden treasures, and our consumption of the fruit helps to spread its seeds far and wide. The tree nourishes us with savoury sweetness, and we promulgate it's existence acting as storks of future seedlings. What an incredible relationship.

I often think that we COULD learn to live in some state of sustainable symbiosis. We could learn to value life in all its precious wonder. But too often we're not happy with "just" the mango.

Yours in simple pleasures,

Brandon

Project Wonder - Day 72 - Butterflies

Tomorrow marks the last day of school. My first full semester is coming to an end. Signed, sealed and delivered; rather, planned, experienced, and evaluated.

I'm so grateful to be in my current position, looking back at what seemed like insurmountable mountains from the other side. Many times I felt overwhelmed. I followed my own blind advice, and put myself through the paces, one step at a time. While the peak was often buried above the clouds, the students were with me to make the journey itself worthwhile. And of course, the hills behind me seem to have shrunk now that I'm here.

No, it's not Ghana. It's India. Still, it depicts my current sentiments. 

The students. The raison d'etre in my current capacity. I have learned so much from these bright minds. Not a day went by that they didn't stretch my understanding of the world. Nor was there a day when my faith in humanity wasn't restored by witnessing some small (or big) act of kindness. Indeed, the students have been the fire, and I'm surer now that I will spend a as much of my life as I can to fan their flames.

Perhaps one of the best, and simultaneously frustrating, things about working with these students is that they are yet unaware of the impact they have. On me, on each other, and on the world at large. It's great because their acts are sincere, but frustrating, because if they knew how much power they had, combined with their youthful energy, there's no telling what they would accomplish. Indeed, I've been caught on multiple occasions daydreaming about the possible paths these students might tread. It always leaves me smiling.

At one point during the semester we spoke about "the butterfly effect": the idea that a seemingly insignificant event can have huge, albeit indirect, consequences. I can't even remember the context in which we discussed it, but it got us (me) thinking about the beautiful complexity of the universe, and the small, yet immeasurable parts we all play within it.

This weekend I've been working on gifts for our classes. I want to impart the message that their journey is important. I figured the butterfly was a fitting symbol.

Origami butterfly - you can make one too! 

Thank you for joining me on this momentous journey. I'm already excited for an even better second semester.

Yours in complexity,

Brandon


Began the days with butterflies,
fluttering in my stomach,
flitting about my eyes.
Palettes of immiscible colours

Am I to net these painted wings?
They've already captured me.
Tapping into a vein of fantasy
calling memories of simple beauty,
noticing the purity of the universe
as she dances with herself,
and I strain to hear the music.