We ended our week long art camp in Bogota today. We celebrated our projects with the community. We shared our work. We sang and laughed and danced.
My class painted a mural in a lot that had been used for trash. It was a reclaiming of space. It was transformational.
My kids stood in front of their neighbors, tall and proud, to share their dream world, the subject of the mural, with their real world.
I stood back and watched through tear-filled eyes as they explained the process and told what they learned.
Adults from the community came to the stage, in an impromptu mic share, to express their gratitude for the newly renovated space.
We took a group photo.
It was a monumental day. I will never forget it.
All week long, though, nothing that we were doing felt significant. We drew pictures of our worlds as they are and then of our dream worlds. We picked up trash. We scraped chipping paint off of a dirty wall. We sanded it. We primed it. We drew on it. We painted it.
None of those tasks felt deserving of recognition. None of them felt noteworthy. I wondered if I had wasted my time, wasted the kids’ time. I wondered if they would have rather been riding bikes or playing video games.
I wondered if the finished project would mean anything to anyone but me.
All of those not-noteworthy tasks ended up being noteworthy.
All of the pieces came together to make a new picture. I couldn’t see it in the moment. I could only see the pieces.
I do that sometimes. I get lost in the middle.
I forget that the details matter, the days in January when it’s difficult to get out of bed. Those days are actually the substance of the school year. They are what we stand on when we get to the days in June.
I forget that the middle is the rich part, the part that holds the flavor.
They matter. They mean something.
They make it possible to have the final projects that are so easy to recognize as mattering.
Today, my kids were proud of their work, the community was proud of their work, and I was proud of them.
We marveled at the finished piece. And I remembered that it was merely a compilation of tiny little pieces that don’t always make sense in the moment. I remembered the value of the moments we are constantly collecting as we move into the future.
I remembered the need to be fully present in every situation, to live in the now.
I remembered to not get lost.
We took a picture. Maybe I can look at it in January and remember again.