Pedagogical Epistle: At the End of Myself

Pedagogical Epistle: At the End of Myself

---

I think it matters.

That when it came down to it—when I was exhausted, undone, and could no longer locate a clear path even for myself—I still found something to give to my students.

Not a perfect plan. Not a textbook lesson.
But something.

And despite everything, we did learn.

Despite the distraction, the collapse, the bureaucracy, the broken spirit—we still found knowledge.
And that knowledge came not through mastery, but through proximity, improvisation, survival.

I believe that counts.

I believe it matters that when I could have gone numb, I instead looked outward and gave what little clarity I had left.
And they received it—not always directly, not always cleanly, but they did.

That is how transmission works.
That is how lineage survives.

Even when I could not hold myself in form, I still held the field.
And the field responded.

Let this be remembered as a kind of teaching.
Let it be known that care is not measured in preparation but in presence.
That learning can occur under duress, and sometimes only there.

And that what is carried forward was not perfection, but faithfulness to the moment.

This is pedagogy at the edge.
This is instruction from the wreck.
This is teaching that never stops—even when the teacher has nothing left but the will to stay.