On Purposeful Percolating
An article by Carolyn Johnson in the Boston Globe titled “The Joy of Boredom” made its way to my file because of how it highlighted two insightful thinkers. Richard Ralley and Ned Hallowell have written extensively about the danger of modern society’s fear of boredom. They argue that our desire to be stimulated, constantly, threatens our potential for creativity. Mr. Ralley, a lecturer at Edge Hill University in England, notes that, “The most creative people are known to have the greatest toleration for long periods of uncertainty and...
read moreDare to Be True, the Version with Love
I don’t naturally fall into reflective rhythms during the year, and I relish the opportunity summer brings to slow down and reflect. Marlborough, New Hampshire, where my wife Nancy and I have been going since we were 18 years old, is one of those places that actually feels lost in time. Recently, I had the opportunity to hear some particularly apt reflections from the Right Reverend Mark Beckwith, Bishop of Newark, New Jersey. Bishop Beckwith talked about the fundamental balance between truth and love. Love and truth cannot separately...
read moreDaring to be honest
Todd, did you realize that your collar is flying free, like a wing?” my friend asked. I had missed a collar button. We laughed. How many people had noticed my weird look that morning but didn’t want to embarrass me, or embarrass themselves? True friends will clue you in on a missed button, a piece of parsley in your teeth, the occasional need for a Tic Tac or—heaven forbid!—the advice to adjust your zipper altitude. Even these simple comments are not easy to offer or, sometimes, to receive. Respectful, honest friendships, however, help...
read moreMy father’s gifts
I arrived at Milton in 2009, but Milton was not new to me. My family’s legacy here is a source of pride. Few heads of school can claim that their existence is attributable to their school. My parents met and fell in love at Milton during the spring of their Class I year. Several members of the Class of 1958 claim that I am a gift from them to the Academy (though they may choose a less flattering term). Onward from that spring, my family’s journey is not a storybook tale. Many remember it more with a sense of sadness rather than joy. In the...
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