They trooped in after school, ostensibly, for a worksheet. And instead what followed was a delightful impromptu micro-community connection, a rap and a discourse, a back and forth. We didn’t talk about anything significant really, but talk we did. And as Owen, Ann, Kyle, Jaylen, Adrian, and Damon filed away, I marveled at the seasons of change, of what were once the young, messy kids of the school, who were now the up-and-comers, the ones standing on the precipice of leadership and culture changers and influencers.
The slipping away of idyllic, hot, and free times, and the incoming furor of crisp winds, cloudy and moody days, and regimens of work to be done and commitments to be honoured are regular, natural, and interesting. But the seasons of people change are just as striking. It hit me last June, when I sat in a circle with John, Ashwin, both Noahs, Zach, Carson, and others, and speculated about their upcoming grad year. Not a grad was around in that eerie moment. These young adults had yet to take their place, but they were already in place right then. One group goes out, and another group assumes their spot seamlessly.
We can be guilty of getting too caught up, thinking about how seasons change. In his book 4000 Weeks, Oliver Burkeman pushes the theme of enjoying everyday moments. We all roughly have about four thousand weeks to live on earth, so do we really need to be constantly preparing and planning, or giving so much effort trying to be efficient and quick. It’s easy to fall prey to that false cycle of ‘I did poorly on a test which means I’ll get a bad course mark which means I’ll go to a bad university which means I’ll get a bad job which means I’ll have a bad life.’ Your life is now, not some distant future you. Of course, we should try our best, and do a little prepping and organizing. I get it, schedules and plans are needed to function, and being practical isn’t a bad thing. But what about some looking around and seeing what’s going on right here and right now? Schools are the worst places for this because we’re always noting the next holiday break, the next due date, the next end of term, the next next next. Forget next. Today is what we planned for yesterday, isn’t it?
Outside my room, there’s a new sitting place at the top of the stairs. Lunchtime is busy time, but I want to stop for a little while and sit with whoever is there, and talk nonsense and life, and make silly comments about people walking past. When Cindy, Vivan, Rachel and Cadence send me pictures from Logan’s birthday party, I don’t want to hit delete. I want to laugh at those pictures, print them out, and put them on my wall. And after seeing the picture of Nico hugging David in comfort, I’d like to know the background behind it. When Nila is finished with the student orientation part of her day, I want to hear her story, her thoughts, and her observations. Kai Yee may be in grade 8, but it’s worth it to spend the focused five minutes listening to her explain the plot of the trilogy she’s reading.
Learning, studying, activities, and events make our school a great place, a strong place, a thriving place. But the little everyday moments, the every now things, the inconsequential and the unurgent things, they add up and make big things that paint the landscape behind what we do and who we are. As the seasons shift and move under our feet, we’ll have moments of unsteadiness and the unsustainable. But these not special and yet special interactions remain the same, are always there, and constantly provide a hold and a grasp. Post Malone sang, “Seasons change, and our love went cold. Feed the flame, because we can’t let it go.” He’s right, the flame needs to be fed lest we get swept up in thinking only of the unending, always-changing seasons.
Those here and now, ever so temporary, so transitionary sparks are wonderous. They can be beauty to behold and meaning to marvel at even as the people seasons change around us.