Dear Reader,

Last weekend I had the privilege to sit alongside a beloved childcare center and support their process of saying goodbye to the work they've done for over 30 years in service to families in our local community. What a sorrowful gathering it was. What a joyful gathering it was. No one but the corporation that owned their property was ready for them to end their program - no one asked for their input or perspective or inquired about the impact the closure would have on those who relied on it. These kinds of endings are not rare these days - as our systems continue to collapse, we will all experience our share of rough initiations - the term that Francis Weller uses to describe a kind of change we did not choose. It's so sad to lose a loved thing, and so vital to remember how it was loving, how it left us changed, how it has become a part of us.

We are so fortunate, those of us who have had the chance to spend so much of our lives alongside children. They make it possible and help us feel inclined to dwell in possibility - to practice ways of living together that could be better than the way things usually are. They help us imagine the best ways to make the time we have together matter, and to be beautiful. It's the practice the world desperately needs - and groups of children and their caregivers are the best people for it. The memories are indelible.

Child development centers and schools are places that are designed for comings and goings, hellos and goodbyes. I remember how much I used to grieve the end of a school year, how much I missed the children when they moved on, and how much I looked forward to meeting the new group in the fall. My own youngest child now is getting ready to graduate from high school, initiating me into an empty nest, leaving me full of sorrow, full of joy. All the growing we've done together, even as we go our separate ways, keeps working on the world bit by bit. It makes a difference. Sorrow doesn't come where there hasn't been joy. And the reverse is true as well.

​On Substack this week, I wrote about what it could mean for us to build environments and experiences for learning that are grounded in values - and that invite children to explore their own. I hope you'll head there to read and subscribe.

WATCHING, LISTENING, READING

Good things:

Matt and I write a new post every couple of weeks and publish them on Substack. We hope you'll subscribe over there - though we'll continue to offer links for you here. This newsletter will also be published about twice a month and will include updates on current offerings.

This new interview with Alison Gopnik on VOX is a good reconnection - or introduction - to her work. What We Lose When We Become Adults​

Our friends Ben Mardell and Lisa Goddard have an excellent new paper out: Teaching Through the Trouble: Children's Minor Gestures Toward Radical Hope​

Speaking of Ben - are you keeping up with The Remake?

Reminders about the health benefits and life-changing power of the arts are so important - here's a new one.

Now in the Studio CHANGE How are your values a raft in the currents of change? What keeps you focused on what you can do? How do you find balance between letting go and looking away? Join us

We'll be guided by Mike Tinoco Mike is the author of Heart at the Center. He is an educator and nonviolence teacher from California. He is a certified trainer in Nonviolent Communication and Kingian Nonviolence, and he is committed to helping create a world that demands justice, centers love, and holds room for everyone to be part of the Beloved Community. We're thrilled to have his insight as a guide this month. Meet Mike

The Language of WATER​ ​ ​ For materials work in May, Kathryn Ann Myers engages us with marbled paper, playing with and recording water’s marks. That materials focus picks up on adrienne maree brown’s maxim: Be like water. Water is multifaceted as a metaphor, which we'll return to many times over the month. Meet Kathryn Ann →

“Freedom can only begin with an affirmation. And so it takes a bit of courage. … To act at all is always to step out of line, at least a little. If we do act and speak as ourselves, we leave behind a trace, uniquely our own, but imperfect; and we must own that imperfection, which is the same as our humanity.”

— Timothy Snyder

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