Is rugged individualism now truly in our DNA? Did centuries of systematically pursuing individual liberties lead us beyond policy, beyond philosophy, to a place in which our bodies became coded as lone wolves and utter assholes? Did we, over time, so often allow “me!” to be the loudest voice that it’s now built into our very gene expression, so programmed into each of us that collective change seems impossible?

Three ages. One familiar path. A life measured in miles, memory, and stillness.

Consider this: Asking a six-year-old, “why is blue dog blue?” opens neural pathways that support understanding how many different ways there are, for instance, to calculate the number 7: 3+4, 18-11, 63/9, and so on. Likewise, putting words to a visceral response (asking and answering “why does Mapplethorpe’s work disturb you?”) instead of dismissing, censoring, or refusing to acknowledge the work, bridges connections and feeds higher level thinking.  Art, not standardized testing, is the basis of that thinking.

I find myself in the thick of the holding-dear-and-letting-go days, middle-age combined with having teenagers at home – teenagers who will eventually leave the nest. We will be free in new and different ways, all of us, not too long from now. With that increasing freedom comes a keener appreciation for small mementos and the odd, fleeting gestures of comfort and familiarity.