Notes from a Supposed Peer
"You are young," she said to me, (at twenty, shadowed by women who had really lived.)
"and you don't know what you are doing."
Fisticuffed but Bobbleheaded, I had no real reply. Was she right by prophecy, luck or projection that managed to hold onto its recipient? A shame she only knew me in passing, through meetings. A shame my students never got to make the comparison: experience or vision.
But, regardless, it was true; I don't know what I'm doing. I also fail to see the problem.
"and you don't know what you are doing."
Fisticuffed but Bobbleheaded, I had no real reply. Was she right by prophecy, luck or projection that managed to hold onto its recipient? A shame she only knew me in passing, through meetings. A shame my students never got to make the comparison: experience or vision.
But, regardless, it was true; I don't know what I'm doing. I also fail to see the problem.
posted by mchughtie at 2:06 PM
2 Comments:
what a satisfying grand finale—that last sentence.
Methinks when we start knowing what we are doing, we will have lost the precious aliveness which accepting the impossibility of such knowing affords us, rendering us bad teachers(and learners) indeed.
Plus i wonder if we aren't at our peak of knowing before we commence all of the senseless doing and thinking of adulthood.
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