letters to my class

Dear Humans,

Your socks will lose their matches. That’s just something that happens. You can set up systems to slow it. But eventually you’ll be holding a green argyle sock in one hand, fruitlessly digging through the laundry pile for the other one. 

There are just too many places a sock has to go. The hamper, the washing machine, the dryer, the to-be folded pile on the couch. And finally back with its partner into the sock drawer.

But if you’re lucky, by the time your sock loses its partner, the heels are worn through or the elastic cuff has lost its stretch or there’s a hole in the toe, and it’s time for a brand new pair anyways.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

Human beings are a moving species. Ever since our ancestors descended from the trees and walked upright, we’ve been keeping our eye on the far distance. And our curiosity has driven us there. To every corner of the Earth and beyond.

We are shipbuilders, astronauts, deep sea divers, hot air balloonists, and travelers. Even when we settle down and plant crops, we don’t last in any one place for long. Sometimes we choose to move, sometimes we’re forced to move by the environment or other humans, sometimes it’s both. But we are a moving people. It’s what we do. 

And our homes are wherever we make them.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Season Watchers,

It doesn’t take long for the trees to lose their leaves. It seems like we’ve been waiting for weeks. One day you notice a shocking color of orange, red, or purple. And then, all of a sudden, the leaves are on the ground. 

And then we’re back to waiting for the buds again. 

Though maybe the waiting is the best part. Or at least the most memorable. Or at least what we spend most of our time doing. And, as Annie Dillard says, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” And since the waiting is unavoidable, what’s most important is who we spend our waiting days with.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Performers,

Before my daughters have a performance or a game, they often say they’re feeling nervous. And my response is always the same, “That’s because you’re about to do something important.”

Feeling anxious or nervous is a normal human emotion. Like everything, it can be taken too far. But, like oils on a painter’s palette, it’s another way of helping us more fully experience this world. In the same way, we’re not meant to be content all of the time. If we are, it probably means we’re not living our best lives.

So the next time you feel some butterflies in your stomach, remember that it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It just means you’re about to do something important. 

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Investigators,

We do things, say things, think things, buy things for a reason. Or reasons. Complex, conflicting, and unconscious reasons, but reasons all the same.

It could be what we believe, what we were taught, what we see other people doing, or simply how our brains got wired. And our job as thinking humans is to investigate this world for reasons. 

Because life is shot through with meaning. There are great stories to be told about why we do what we do. But it has to be discovered, uncovered, deduced, intuited, pointed out, and shined upon with our light (dim though it may be) of reason.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Gift Givers,

Not much you can do about a bad day. Sometimes the traffic is backed up, the coffee spills on your shirt, and the copy machine jams. (I understand this is specific to my job.) You try to keep a positive attitude, but it doesn’t help.

Because what you need to turn around a bad day is a gift of grace. A surprise. Something unexpected. And just like you can’t tickle yourself, you can’t give yourself a gift.

But you can give it to someone else. And it’s the easiest thing in the world. A smile. A kind word. 

So the next time you’re having a bad day, just forget it, and try to brighten someone else’s day. It will come back to you.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Geographers,

I suppose you don’t have to know your 50 states to live a full life in America. But I think it helps. Because you’ll find if you start memorizing facts about states, you’ll start to get a feel for them. They won’t just be random shapes on a map. They’ll mean something to you.

If you know your 50 states, a lot of things will make more sense. That red and blue map on election night, why certain football teams play each other more often, what people do in different places, how they talk, and what they believe. 

All of these things are rooted in place. So if we know the places, it’s like a key to unlock knowledge about all that happens there. 

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

One thing I often have to tell you is don’t use too much Scotch tape. Right now I can hear the ugly screech of tape rapidly unspooling and it makes me shiver. 

Because if you take off a big piece of cellophane tape, it’s just gonna get wrapped up around itself and turn into a useless, unsticky ball. It’s better to take it one small piece at a time. 

Life is the same way. You have a lifetime full of hirings and firings, meets ups and breakups, diagnoses and all clears, windfalls and bad beats ahead of you. And the only way to live through them—to tape them together onto the construction paper that is your life—is one small piece at a time.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Skywatchers,

On Saturday there will be an annular solar eclipse. Annular means ring-shaped. So our Moon will appear slightly smaller than the sun and block it out except for a fiery ring. (Remember: don’t look directly at the sun!)

Before humans could explain what caused eclipses, we gave some pretty wild explanations for them: omens, angry gods, and end times. But now we can explain and predict exactly how, when, and where they will occur.

But I don’t think this has made them any less spectacular. Rather, I think our human powers of explanation, based on millennia of observations and shared meaning making, make the world even more beautiful and more awesome. And maybe even a little more mysterious.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

I was getting low on body wash, so I bought a new bottle a couple weeks ago. And I’ve been excited to use it. Which sounds strange. But when you get older, you start to appreciate the little things like the first squirt of a new bottle of body wash.

And though I’d really like to give that new bottle a prodigious squeeze, I’m using every last drop of the old bottle. And that old bottle seems to be endless. It just keeps giving and giving.

And I think maybe it’s the universe sending me a message (in a bottle): endings are pretty good, too. And they should be cherished just as much as the new beginnings they give way to.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt