A moving and deeply profound piece, Michael. I respect your willingness to not just talk about a subject so close to your heart, but to also connect it to your own struggles.
“What’s the point?” Is a question that plagued my thinking a lot when I was younger, and what I never had the ability to comprehend then, but what I would say to my younger self now, is: “even if you don’t know what the point is now, that doesn’t mean that later on you won’t find, discover, or make your own point one day, so just keep going.” — I doubt that would’ve made much consolation to me then, but I am deeply thankful for being here now to look back on it.
Also, I have to echo what Rlyeh said — you sharing this story in such an open and vulnerable way helps and inspires people in ways that stretch beyond anything you could imagine. I mean, to be completely honest, reading this piece really helped me with what I’m going through right now. And so, yeah, thank you Michael. :)
Those are kind words, Michael. It’s been such a strange week to have begun with this and those class visits and ended it doing multiple-choice problems and complaining about smartphone hygiene. It’s easy for me to settle into “What was the point?” but you’re right, this wasn’t a message for them four days later but a message to stay inside, a message that might only make sense in the far off future or might absorb into other thoughts and feelings. I appreciate your insight. It’s helpful to remind me that gestures like this matter even if the mattering is invisible.
As for whatever you’re going through, I’m happy to know it was helpful. In the absence of Katelyn’s life, it’s a gift that in the act of remembering her now, there can be droplets of good that find their way out into the world and to people I care about. That makes me proud to act as a docent.
This piece is in itself a beautiful piece of art, a stunning memorial to lives lost but never forgotten. Thank you for always remembering, for sharing, and most importantly—to me—for being here to share your stories. The courage to ask for help, to fight through pain, both physical and emotional, and to be vulnerable is inspirational. It gives others hope and a model of how to survive through difficult, seemingly overwhelming circumstances! Thank you for being a Human Docent.
I meant to say it in person yesterday, but thank you for this response. Reading it yesterday, I thought back to our conversation a few years ago about being ferrymen for our students as they transition from one stage of life to another, and how out-loud remembering helps them navigate a similarly challenging line.
I get confused about my purpose in other parts of our job, but this one feels clearest to me. Thank you.
A moving and deeply profound piece, Michael. I respect your willingness to not just talk about a subject so close to your heart, but to also connect it to your own struggles.
“What’s the point?” Is a question that plagued my thinking a lot when I was younger, and what I never had the ability to comprehend then, but what I would say to my younger self now, is: “even if you don’t know what the point is now, that doesn’t mean that later on you won’t find, discover, or make your own point one day, so just keep going.” — I doubt that would’ve made much consolation to me then, but I am deeply thankful for being here now to look back on it.
Also, I have to echo what Rlyeh said — you sharing this story in such an open and vulnerable way helps and inspires people in ways that stretch beyond anything you could imagine. I mean, to be completely honest, reading this piece really helped me with what I’m going through right now. And so, yeah, thank you Michael. :)
Those are kind words, Michael. It’s been such a strange week to have begun with this and those class visits and ended it doing multiple-choice problems and complaining about smartphone hygiene. It’s easy for me to settle into “What was the point?” but you’re right, this wasn’t a message for them four days later but a message to stay inside, a message that might only make sense in the far off future or might absorb into other thoughts and feelings. I appreciate your insight. It’s helpful to remind me that gestures like this matter even if the mattering is invisible.
As for whatever you’re going through, I’m happy to know it was helpful. In the absence of Katelyn’s life, it’s a gift that in the act of remembering her now, there can be droplets of good that find their way out into the world and to people I care about. That makes me proud to act as a docent.
Thanks as always Michael.
Well said, friend. :)
This piece is in itself a beautiful piece of art, a stunning memorial to lives lost but never forgotten. Thank you for always remembering, for sharing, and most importantly—to me—for being here to share your stories. The courage to ask for help, to fight through pain, both physical and emotional, and to be vulnerable is inspirational. It gives others hope and a model of how to survive through difficult, seemingly overwhelming circumstances! Thank you for being a Human Docent.
I meant to say it in person yesterday, but thank you for this response. Reading it yesterday, I thought back to our conversation a few years ago about being ferrymen for our students as they transition from one stage of life to another, and how out-loud remembering helps them navigate a similarly challenging line.
I get confused about my purpose in other parts of our job, but this one feels clearest to me. Thank you.