Education

Education.

Perhaps this word brings to mind school houses, apples, and rulers. But for me I see conversations around kitchen tables, starry nights, paintings, and laughter- all ways that I have been educated.

What about teachers?

Can you see the social figure standing in the front of the room? Chalk in hand and grade book near by? I think of someone else. I see my parents; best friends and enemies- the grocery store cashier, an eight-year-old child. And Walt Disney.

In the pursuit of furthering education we get caught up in symbols and pieces of paper. But what if education wasn’t measured by a letter? What if it was measured by your ability to live? Your capacity to see and hear- to observe? Your application of love? Suppose we were only tested on our willingness to change. What if it depended on passion and gratitude?

Can somebody really tell me what qualifies me as “educated?” To sing or to multiply or divide. To laugh or to cry. If I’m feeling I learn. If I’m in pain I progress. You don’t just find this in socialized institutions. It’s also found in tearful sunsets, burnt cookies, gusts of wind, and beliefs.