The Stretch of May
It has only been two weeks of May, but already the community celebrations, class plays, presentations, projects, Pentathlons, concerts, volunteer days, appreciations, and events that bond us together as a school community are popping off in a whirling cascade. It can sometimes feel like a dizzying month-long reel to dance—hence “The Ninety Days of May” moniker you might hear around campus, one which a colleague recently tried to rename “The Thousand Days of May” (oh dear.)—but each and every time we come together, something in us and in the school changes. We’re all nudged a little towards becoming who we want to be together when we’re stretched by these moments, these events, and these celebrations. And yes, there are a lot of events, but I think it feels like ninety days because of how this month changes us and, by extension, changes the school.
Much goes into our school celebrations and events, but really, each one is simply a container. The celebrations only happen when the container is filled, and the container is filled when the people gather. On a micro-level, these are May events in one school year cycle; on a macro-level, when we gather and celebrate, we are carrying on a rite which humanity has enacted and reenacted for longer than we’ve had language to articulate it. If the past three years has taught us anything, it’s that regularly coming together—for work and for play—is the essential nourishing ingredient in the SWS special sauce. Without it, none of this works the way that it should. Without it, social renewal and social change won’t happen. But with it, when we can gather again, even the interminable to-dos dissolve in the brightness of what we remember and carry forward.
Every time we come together, we have an opportunity to redefine what it means to live well together. So remember to attend (wait for it! I feel the etymology coming on!) at your next gathering. Remember to take in one long, deep, full-bellied breath the next time you’re on campus. Press pause. Say hello to that vagus nerve and its life sense. Say hello to what you’re noticing. Say hello to what is surprising you. Say hello to the story you’re telling yourself about what you’re saying hello to. That’s one way of attending. Each gathering is a sequence of moments we are all invited to attend on all levels of who we are.
Okay, now for the etymology part: I really do mean attend, a word we have in English from the Latin attendere, meaning “to stretch” (think: tendons). Attending is more than just showing up. Attending, stretching (figuratively, but my creaky limbs also say literally) can be a chore, it can be a discomfort. Stretching can also become a poem, a prayer, a potential—a story that only you can tell. It’s where you can craft a magical millisecond of space amid the whirl to name: I am here, we are here, with each other, for each other. When you do it, you can feel yourself stretched into who you weren’t before. It doesn’t have to be revolutionary (right, Ninth Grade?); a small stretch is still a stretch worth acknowledging.
Welcome to the Ninety Days of May, the festival of stretching. This is life, and we’re living it together one event-filled day at a time.
