The Autumn Semester

Returning to the Joy of Being a Student

There is something about this time of year that has always made me want to sharpen my pencils, pick out a new notebook, and learn something new.

When I was little, the night before school was one of my favorite evenings of the year. My mom would sit at the kitchen table with a black marker and, in her beautiful, unmistakable handwriting, carefully write our surname along the side of every marker, on my scissors, and inside each notebook. It was such a simple ritual, but somehow it made everything feel official. That night, I’d sleep on top of the duvet because I was far too excited to settle in under the covers. Looking back, I wasn’t excited about homework or spelling tests. I was excited by the promise that comes with a blank notebook and a brand-new beginning.

Even though my school days are long-long behind me, I still find myself craving that same feeling every August. Not because I miss deadlines or grades, but because I miss the excitement of discovering something I didn’t know before.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means to remain a student long after graduation. Somewhere along the way, we quietly convince ourselves that learning belongs to classrooms and careers. That once we’ve earned the diploma, we’ve somehow earned permission to stop being curious.

I don’t believe that anymore.

In fact, I think some of the most meaningful education happens after we’ve left school. It happens when we sign up for a class simply because it sounds interesting. When we visit a museum without rushing through it. When we finally read the books that have been patiently waiting on our shelves. When we ask questions, travel with intention, or learn a skill that we’ll probably never monetize.

I’ve realized something over the past few months: I don’t want to spend the next decade collecting more things.

I want to collect more understanding.

So this autumn, instead of creating a list of goals, I’m creating something a little different.

A syllabus.

Not for a degree.

Not for a certificate.

Simply for the joy of becoming a lifelong student.

This semester, you’ll probably find me standing knee-deep in a river, continuing my fly-fishing education and hopefully booking a few guided trips with people who know far more than I do. Fly fishing has taught me far more than how to cast a line. It has taught me patience, observation, and that nature always rewards those willing to slow down.

I’ll finally open the basket-weaving kit that’s been patiently waiting for me from My Own Two Hands. Will I become a master basket maker? Probably not. But I suspect I’ll never look at a handwoven basket the same way again, and that feels like a worthwhile education.

My bookshelves have also become wonderfully ambitious over the years. This season, I’d like to stop collecting novels and start reading them. The stories deserve to be opened, dog-eared, and discussed instead of admired from a shelf. Alongside fiction, I’ve challenged myself to slowly work through one of Pierre Bourdieu’s lecture series—not because I expect to understand every page the first time, but because I believe wrestling with big ideas stretches the mind in the best possible way.

I also want to train my palate. Whether it’s a wine tasting, a coffee cupping, a chocolate pairing, or even hosting friends for an evening dedicated to tasting olive oils or butter, I want to become more observant. I don’t aspire to become an expert. I simply want to appreciate the craftsmanship behind the things I already love.

And perhaps the least glamorous item on this semester’s syllabus is preparing for a garage sale.

At first glance, it hardly feels educational, but the older I get, the more I realize that editing our homes teaches us something about ourselves. Every item we choose to keep—or let go—is a quiet reflection of the life we’re building. I’m hoping to make room not just for beautiful things, but for meaningful ones.

As I wrote this list, I noticed something.

None of these goals are about becoming the best.

They’re about becoming more curious.

Maybe that’s what a life well lived really looks like.

Not knowing everything.

Just never losing the desire to learn.

So consider this my official first day of school.

If you know of a wonderful workshop, an unforgettable lecture, a beautiful retreat, or a class that changed the way you see the world, I hope you’ll tell me about it. I’d love for this little corner of the internet to become a place where we share ideas, encourage one another, and remain students together.

After all, I have a feeling the best education of our lives is only just beginning.