OPINION

STEVE STRAESSLE: Purpose in chaos

"I need to get out of town."

My wife looked up from her magazine. "That'd be a more intriguing statement coming from someone else."

"Ouch."

She put down the magazine. "You're not running from the law or a drug cartel. You're not famous or infamous even, though there's still time for the latter. Let me guess, it's time for 'a change in scenery,'" she finished with air quotes.

I nodded.

My mind had been stuck in school reopening neutral for some time. There remained so much to be accomplished. Massive unanswered questions, data points followed by trains of ellipses, variables that couldn't be pulled from clouds into concrete all created a blanket of indecision. Not the indecision that comes from lack of courage or will, mind you, but from information lacking any sort of detail. Really, any basis in reality.

In late May, I listened as my school's reopening committee ticked through scenarios, what-ifs, and a complicated matrix of schedules. We'd enthusiastically embrace a scenario only to watch it slowly evaporate like vapor rising off a stream. We needed more. More guidance, more structure, more decisiveness from the powers that be. Until then, our wheels spun.

So, in June, my mind still stuck in its neutral position, I awoke to the possibility of getting out of town. New sights, new feels, new smells could send jolts of energy and ideas through me. Breaking away could inspire a new purpose, or, reignite an old one.

"I have just the place," my wife said. "My parents parked their RV at Tompkins Bend and are heading back to town for a few days. It's open for a visit."

"I'm a sucker for a good campground. Especially an RV campground." Though I don't own an RV, I've developed a weird fascination with the lifestyle.

"I know honey. I know," she said with only a slight patronizing drawl.

We had five of our kids still in town, still dwelling in the middle ground of few job opportunities, closed colleges, and finding ways to fill time productively. We strapped kayaks to the top of the Suburban and filled ice chests with meat and drinks. We packed bathing suits and tents and headed west.

Tompkins Bend Recreation Area is a fist of land jutting into the southwest waters of Lake Ouachita. I loved it the minute we drove up. The RV had room for three and the others would make camp in the tents we brought. The lake was in view.

"Tammy? Is that you?" A woman called to my wife.

"Me? No, my name is Ann."

"Oh. You look just like my friend, Tammy. She's your doppelganger."

My wife smiled and waved as the lady walked by with her little dog.

"Tammy." I stated.

"Don't."

"I always thought you looked like a Tammy."

She started to say something, bit her lip, and walked away shaking her head.

The first night's weather was more October than June as lows dipped into the 60s and smoke from campfires scented the air. Two of my daughters wanted the first shift in the tent while the rest occupied the RV. About midnight, my cell phone rang.

"Dad, there's an animal out here. We want to come in."

"It's probably a raccoon. Go to sleep," I said, hanging up.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to the RV opened. My wife hopped up and offered to switch places with the girls. Before I could get my eyes fully open, I realized I was unzipping the tent and stretching out with my wife inside it.

When you're married a long time, your sleep pattern matches your spouse's. I felt my wife awaken and opened my eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Look," she said, sweeping her hand across the nylon tent ceiling. She'd removed the dew cover and we stared into the glistening universe of stars. Tree branches reached over us like massive arms and blackened bits of the night sky. Summer bugs hummed, the trees swayed and gently creaked, the stars and planets shined like beams of tangible hope, radiant and reassuring.

Sometimes, we best realize the smallness of our hang-ups, the notions keeping us in neutral, when we stare into the vastness of a charcoal sky. We realize the chaos that abounds, the order that chases it, the seemingly random bits that miraculously fit together.

The long weekend at Tompkins Bend brought certain energetic truths to my stalling mind. It made me think of the task standing before teachers in our state.

Though uncertainty swirls, schools continue to run scenarios, trying to solve the equation. For certain, finding the right way to educate during a pandemic wasn't included in teacher preparation curriculum. There will be setbacks. We'll travel miles on the wrong path and we'll make plans that seem outdated quickly. Sometimes, we'll fall for the doppelganger.

The good news is that some of our finest front-line workers are tasked with figuring it out. Educators are used to working under pressure, making bold decisions, and tempering their own desires with the needs of their students. One size does not fit all in this case. Not in a state, a district, or even a school building.

It all takes me back to that tent at Tompkins Bend, to that night sky littered with jewels of light cast haphazardly into the darkness. When life seems chaotic, uncontrollable, and veering into a tangle of confusion, it's important to pull one's mind--one's soul--out of neutral and realize that we share one valuable characteristic with each and every bit of the heavens. Though seemingly hidden, oftentimes difficult to find in the chaos of our times, there's one critical element of ourselves to be shared in order to truly proceed.

We must discover--or remember--our purpose.

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Steve Straessle, whose column appears every other Saturday, is the principal of Little Rock Catholic High School for Boys. You can reach him at [email protected].

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