You're the cream in my coffee

You'd be hard pressed to find a cup of coffee in Jaisalmer. Not to be misleading, there are plenty of menus with 'coffee' on them and drink stalls that boldly advertise 'Hot American Coffee.' But do not be deceived, dear friends. It would be roughly the same as calling an archaic can of peaches 'Fresh Off the Tree! Organic and All Natural!' The coffee is a rather fascinating swirl of hot water, whole milk, heaps of sugar, and a powdery brown substance called Nescafe Cafe.

But here's the kicker: If I weren't looking for coffee, if I weren't expecting a specific French Roast brew, I might rather enjoy this steaming cup of enigma. But my expectations are framed by a finite definition of the taste, aroma, and atmosphere of coffee. So I position myself for crushing disappointment with each sip.

So as my wilting hour of 4pm in the afternoon creeps up, I often wonder if I'd be just a bit more content if I expanded out my cramped little definition towards a palette that is a tad more inclusive than the snotty little coffee club. And it's not too far from what frames our assessments and evaluations of The Merasi School.

I trot into class with crisp, parametered expectations of what 'learning' is. Everything that spills out of those walls couldn't be quite significant enough because it exceeds my categorization. But, what I am learning in fits and starts, is that learning happens, education occurs, and knowledge is created, developed, contributed to and challenged in all shapes, sizes, colors, and tastes. And it grows, digests, and ripens under a big, generous tent that puts my neat, prim little assessment rubrics to shame.

Suriya, Synah, Asif, and Sanwar continually remind me to check my sack of expectations at the door and open my eyes a bit wider to something a bit larger and more significant that I could even conceive of. And, the more that I do that, the more that I see that what lies outside the framework of definition holds a much more elegant, beautiful possibility than what lies within.

This is not to say that I've renounced fine French Roasts for cups of water and brown powder. But I'm trying, with minimal grace, mind you, to stretch around the edges a bit more and acknowledge that unmet expectations can be quaint, convenient excuses for sidestepping the surprising beauty and glorious complexity of what lies directly infront of us.