The Treehouse by Naomi Wolf

A lazy Sunday afternoon, curled up in my chair, reading "The Treehouse: Eccentric wisdom from my father in how to live, love, and see" by Naomi Wolf. A beautiful book about a beautiful person-- the kind of writing that makes you wish you had know the subject. Leonard, Naomi's father, was a poet and a teacher, and his words speak to me softly but powerfully.

The first chapter "Be still and listen" is exactly what I needed to hear right now, although I didn't know it. Yes, this is what I was seeking, time to be still and listen, time to create my own little "treehouse" where I can just be still and listen. Karen B had once told me that music didn't lie in the notes but in the silences between them; I'm relearning what she meant.

"Teachers are the people who are the living signposts of our life. They see you coming, and. prescient, they know in which direction you ought to go, and they point to it. They see into the heart of your matter" (Wolf, 11).

I've had teachers like that... so many of them. The fourth grade English teacher who wrote in my report card "Has talent, but needs encouragement." The sixth grade English teacher who knew I was a writer before I knew it. Sunita Ma'am, Anu Ma'am, Aaditto, Mrs. Mukherjee, all of who showed me directions I hadn't seen before but now can't imagine not having pursued. Ken, who did more for the writer in me than any other person, who showed me my way but perhaps never found his own; how I wish he had had a teacher as good as he was. Mauro in Mexico who trusted and pushed me to become the best facilitadora and strongest young woman I could be. James and Ted who found a way of bringing my passions and interests into every project; who never stood in the way of the direction I was pursuing. And, of course, above all, Sensei... how can I even sum that one up?

Thank you, dear teachers. There's so much more to say than that, but for now, I'll let the silence speak.