I have a bad habit.
No, it's not picking at scabs; although, that is something that, at almost 40, I STILL have issues with.
And I'm not referring to my chocolate-like-it's-crack habit.
On the contrary, the bad habit that I am referencing ... that I'm eluding to ... is that I ask WHY?
... A lot ...
... More times than is necessary ...
... Way too much ...
I think it is a good thing to cultivate curiosity. Why else would I teach fourth graders? And trust me, I've asked myself that particular question A LOT this past week.
So, yeah, the cultivation of curiosity ... life-long learning. I'm in! I love it! I value it! I hold it dear! And so really, asking WHY? has always been a good thing.
Except, this week, among other emotionally churning moments, I really found myself digging into that question and fervently searching for an answer ... any answer.
The end result? I don't have an answer ... at least any answer that satisfies my need to answer the question to begin with.
I use the analogy all the time that most days, we're standing behind a life-sized tapestry, and it seems all knotted and scattered and there's no real rhyme nor reason to the whole thing. But the minute you walk around to the front, you realize that there is order and sense and the whole big picture is laid out there for you to appreciate.
I'm asking WHY? and all I can really see right now are the knots and colored strings crawling all over the back of the canvas. I haven't walked around to the front yet. Not sure when that will happen, but my guess is it will ... eventually. When it does, another piece of the WHY? puzzle will be solved.
In the meantime, I guess I will continue to stare at the knots and strings and behind the scenes views of this particular tapestry ...