The Real Bastille

I've seen the key to the Bastille hanging in Mount Vernon. A gift from the French Government to George Washington, apparently. No way to know if it was actually THE KEY used to free the prisoners during the French Revolution in 1789, but it could have been. Good enough for me, I suppose.

I've also seen the caves at Lascaux but my French being poor I didn't realize that what I was seeing was a facsimile until many years later. Had I never known that the original caves were closed, I would've gone on believing what I wanted to believe. Since my language skills were obviously lacking, I missed critical information that would've allowed me to see them in a different light. Now I wonder why I wasted my time. I'd like those hours back, actually. That being said, hitchhiking back to Thonac was interesting - definitely more memorable than forged cave scribbles.

So today, on the anniversary of French independence, I raise a glass to the Acadamy Francais and their relentless hold on all that is the French language. The precision and attention to detail they've provided over the years has stood a pillar of truth and belief in the power of words -- their words. I wonder, however, how long they will be able to withstand the encroaching globalization that is life in the 21st century. Recent attempts to ban head coverings is a stark example of a society that is trying desperately to retain what once was. The fear inherent in this latest move is another cultural backlash against a rising tide of interdependence and interconnectedness. It's a losing battle.

On a seemingly unrelated, but not entirely unrelated topic, I continue to believe that I'm really only 25 years old and that my body is lithe and nimble.

It isn't.

Yet.

In the gym, as I  regain the good parts of my twenties and as I avoid the stupid parts, I'm reminded that change is inevitable. Whether I want to admit it or not, through inactivity, laziness, and general inertia (doing nothing) I've caused my body to change, but not in a good way...

Doing nothing is no longer an option. When noon rolls around, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I know that I've committed to a fight toward something; a direct action conceived to bring something positive into the world and to be less of what I used to be - to be a more authentic me.

While I hesitate to always bring these experiences and thoughts back to my work as Head of School at Casady, I can't help it. My life is completely intertwined with this institution and its identity.

Our School will commit to a similar program and journey. Not only health and wellness-wise, but more importantly, a commitment to the health and wellness of our curriculum, our facilities, our program, and especially our students, in mind and body and spirit. If we can do that - if we can build on the positives and shear away those intrusions and obstacles that cloud our vision - the authenticity of our work will be clear and powerful.

Facsimiles are everywhere, but we don't always recognize them for what they are until it's too late. While the paintings in Lascaux were a close approximation of the authentic item, I still haven't seen the real thing and I'm no better off for having gone (hitchhiking aside). At Casady, we can and must create authentic and meaningful educational programs that prepare our students for the real world.