The Weight of the Current

In the nineteenth century, the great river systems were the arteries of the world, carrying not just goods, but the slow, inevitable migration of ideas. To live near water is to accept a certain restlessness; the ground beneath you is never quite as solid as it pretends to be. We often speak of education as a climb—a ladder to be ascended, a mountain to be scaled—but perhaps it is more like a crossing. It requires a vessel, a bit of faith in the buoyancy of wood and iron, and the willingness to be moved by forces larger than one’s own ambition. There is a quiet gravity in the act of moving toward something that promises a different life, especially when the path is fluid, shifting with every rainfall and every tide. We are all, in a sense, waiting for the boat to arrive, watching the ripples widen as we prepare to leave the familiar bank behind. What happens to the weight of our dreams when they are carried over such deep, dark water?

Shahnaz Parvin has captured this delicate transit in her image titled Taxi Boat for School. It is a quiet testament to the persistence required to reach for the horizon, even when the world is submerged. Does the water feel like an obstacle to you, or a necessary path?