The low glow of the iPhone was the solitary source of light the kitchen at 4am. I was attuned to two sounds – my water boiling in the tea kettle and the “whoosh” of the text I just sent off. Like every day, it said the same two words, “Making tea” with a time stamp. I was reaching out to my writing partner to let her know I was awake and preparing to set to work writing while the world was quiet. I write best when the world is quiet…when email, stocks, news, and texts are asleep…and the weight of the day has yet to cloud my thinking.

The days of writing my dissertation were nearly all dark. The alarm would go off early in the morning, about four. My brain works best when the world is asleep, and the demands of the day have yet to pile on. What time of day do you write best? It is a question that is vital to graduate school success.

A shower to wake up, brief breakfast, and then slide out the front door to drive to the coffee shop in town that opened the earliest. If I stayed home to write (or study), either the isolation would be overwhelming, or I would fall back asleep in a chair. Both of which would elicit a cycle of regret over lost time or emotions. I study best with white noise, how about you?

I am constantly looking for items I have misplaced. Particularly important objects like my keys, wallet, or cell phone. Semi-panicked, I scour around in a frenzied manner attempting to locate that which I have lost.

Have you ever lost yourself? I am not asking whether you have been lost – unable to recognize your surroundings. Rather, I am asking if you have ever lost yourself, unable to recognize who you are…having misplaced your true self as if it were a set of keys or wallet.

I am often asked about the most important piece of advice I might offer to a graduate student, and it is this, “The vision, the sense of wonder, that motivated you to begin the journey, must be greater than the hurdles you will encounter along the way.” In mathematical terms it might be written as: VISION > HURDLES. What was it you saw that motivated you to begin this leg of your journey? Some of you uprooted partners, families, and pets to join you on this academic adventure. Others of you quit well-paying jobs, moved away from established communities, and deferred life opportunities. Do you recall what it was… that vision… that broad sense of wonder that prompted you to embark on the unknown?

I recall the moment when a graduate professor of mine returned a short paper. She slid a copy across her desk that had been bloodied with red ink and almost entirely rewritten. I felt numb, having already convinced myself that my writing abilities were grossly inadequate and that I was not even good enough to belong. From the opposite side of her desk I offered a witty reply to combat the awkwardness, thinking a little levity might help assuage my overwhelming feeling of incompetence. Silence followed. She did not laugh.

I looked down at the paper to avoid eye contact. My original words seemed eclipsed by her brilliance. I felt like a shadow, and I wanted to hide somewhere dark where shadows remain unseen, often forgotten. To this day, I remember when the silence broke. She said, “Josh, you are my student and I am committed to you. If we are to work together, you must understand that my corrections are intended to strengthen and develop you. This is how I invest in people. This is what mentoring looks like for me.”

Life looks different now. Unexpected circumstances have required us to engage our world in new ways. We have had to rethink activities like work, school, worship, travel, and childcare. Our class alone underwent a digital transformation in order for us to continue. We have been stopped from approaching graduate education in the typical way… but in this we have the opportunity to establish new forms of being, learning, and engaging.

While typical and customary approaches to activities provide us with familiarity, we can at times take their function for granted. We assume certain practices will be readily available. Like travel… or visiting a grandparent. Attending a symphony… or hosting a family holiday gathering. They were always there.

A decade ago, Jarbas Agnelli saw something peculiar in a photograph. The image captured what you and I might deem as normal, commonplace, or even unnoticeable. It was simply a school of birds sitting atop strings of telephone wires. But Jarbas saw something else, something invisible to the eye.

Among the birds and the wires – hidden in plain sight – Jarbas visualized a symphony. In lieu of birds he saw musical notes, and in lieu of wires he saw scales. He transformed the unnoticeable, opening up a new world of engagement and possibility. His story, and what he saw, has everything to do with our class this semester.