Wednesday, May 14, 2014

10,000 Gladwell Outliers

 It's a beautiful placid morning here on the island.  Yesterday's torrential monsoon washed afresh the city's grit and grime and now the sky is a tranquil blue.  Early before class, I sit beside the open window of rickety wood and glass pane, this old classroom's starboard side, and ponder the day's most certain events.  This is when I always put pen to paper and write letters.  Now I am writing to you.
 Leaving the city up the slow hill we turn and drive into the mountain forest.  Park.  Walk through trees past stone pagoda temples and chapels and places of higher thought, up to my classroom ship.
 So much time spent here.  Planning.  Thinking.  Wondering.  What a life.
 A stack of books on my desk.  Stones to hold them down.  Unscrew the cap of my favorite ball point pen.  Black ink stains on thumb and palm.   Wooden desks.  Chalk dust in my ears.
 There's such quiet in these days.
 You live and you thrive in your own way.  You carve out a place for yourself and seek contentment.  Able-bodied.  Sound heart and mind.  You become something.
Gladwell said, "...if you work hard enough and assert yourself, and use your mind and imagination, you can shape the world to your desires..."  but no one needs to tell you this.  You're that very thing.

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