July Edition

Dearest friends, colleagues, and loved ones, 

We are gathered here to say our goodbyes to the first batch of rotations, which died recently from a noxious battle with habituation and feverish aporia.

Over the past few months, these rotations have given me the gift of being very different things to different people: an off-tech organizer, a brief Toastmasters member, an aspiring law student, and a private homeschooling instructor.

The fury I felt against addictive technologies that propelled me into the NYC Off Tech scene has sputtered out, survived by a tempered ambition to participate in a more supportive role. This was a consequence of a growing satisfaction with my own relationship with devices, but more so because the work is being carried out by some truly remarkable folks, with a stronger proclivity to be revolutionary yet tactful than I have.

I will always treasure the opportunities this time has given me to talk to strangers. Although tabling and attending networking events may not have entirely erased my fear of public speaking, these environments have provided a more natural sandbox in which to practice these skills when studying for the LSAT took priority over attending Toastmasters meetings. 

To know me as an aspiring law student was to know that taking the LSAT was more gratifying than receiving the results. The purchasing power of my score will likely not be strong enough to properly participate in the prestige economy. I feel somewhat embarrassed, yet liberated, to share my underperformance with you all, and with it, the admission that my legal endeavors are restricted by aptitude rather than exclusively by whim.   

In addition to the post-assessments and teary yearbook signings, the bittersweet end of the spring semester also served as a microcosm of Thomas Sowell's axiom, “There are no solutions. There are only tradeoffs.” Pardon my reduction, but if private homeschooling offers bespoke curricula and individualized pacing, while the traditional classroom offers peer socialization and varied pedagogical approaches, then why do compromises like learning pods still feel like an unjust Catch-22 of educational reform that I can’t seem to move past?  

The vigil candle blinks out. We see the smoke before we smell it: silver wisps curling over the lip of the glass vessel like an eccentric mentor’s shoddy comb-over, trailed by notes of sandalwood and the grilled chicken waiting for us at the reception outside. I hope you have found that these condolence platitudes pair well with the oversalted poultry; both were prepared by yours truly. 

We waltz our weary shoulders, sagging almost as much as the paper plates, into the tulip beds that cushion the garden of my mind. We dare to peer into the open plot before us, laden with the knowledge that the next batch of rotations has not yet emerged as we had thought it would by now, and debate whether the gaping void is a planting pit or a grave.