“The effort of the imagination is to turn the boundary into a horizon because there is no end point for you. The boundary says, here and no further. The horizon says, welcome.” —Barry Lopez, Horizons (a short film by Jeremy Seifert)
1-12-2022—As long as I can remember I’ve been attracted to nature, first as a place of exploration, then wonder and more recently as a trusted companion. Because of my dad’s work we moved on a regular basis. My brothers (no sisters) and I realized we were about to experience a new social and ecological climate when my dad, following dinner, called a rare family meeting. He shared with us all the great things we could experience in our new home. I was energized by the possibilities of new plants, new animals and novel experiences with nature. My dad always bought a house near the end of the street or close to nature. He wanted to provide his sons with access to the outdoors. I never knew what his motivation was, but I’m grateful for that gift. Even as I recognize that as a white middle class male I never worried about belonging in the woodlots surrounding our new home.
I share this story to situate my thinking, grounded in nature, of the role of imagination, boundaries, welcome and horizons as places of formation and deformation in my teaching. As an educator these terms represent both the challenge and possibilities of socially constructed classrooms. And like my early childhood experiences of moving, each course, each class and every student offers a new landscape of discovery. A chance for my personal and professional growth as I strive to see learners, beyond their social and linguistic boundaries to the essence of their being. For me, this takes instructional imagination, a willingness to see through the confines of my power and privilege, to create a learning space that is holistic and humanizing for all.
Lopez, in the epigraph, positions boundaries as something to resist and to flip from constraint to limitless vistas. My lived experience in nature and teaching validates this basic claim. It is nature’s way to resist and redefine boundaries, whether ones of exclusion and inclusion, to encompass more expansive possibilities. In schools, boundaries often take the form of exclusion through standardization, high stakes testing, prescribed curriculum, and technocratic approaches to teacher observation. But there are also boundaries of inclusion when the norms of the school match the lived experiences of students to such an extent that stepping outside comfort zones can be challenging. Finding ways to avoid these limitations and work toward “welcome” that leans toward acceptance and growth in curriculum and pedagogy is a worthy instructional task.
I don’t want to slide too quickly into reform-minded horizons without first naming some of the social, linguistic, economic and racial boundaries in education. The deforming boundaries in education have historically represented places or ways of being that exclude marginalized students, students who experience a mismatch between their lived experiences and school expectations. These barriers are typically cultural fences, linguistic norms, social taboos, economic capital or intellectual ecologies that normalize what it means to live productively in the world. To be a person defined by White, economic wellbeing and Western ways of knowing and thinking.
The destructive impacts of not fitting in falls heavily on marginalized learners, but boundaries of inclusion also skew the horizons of some mainstream learners. First, they infrequently feel deep levels of frustration or blocked ambitions because their social power seems normal, is consistent with school expectations and offers some level of protection from the challenges of life. Secondly, the boundaries they do encounter, if warranted, can be skirted with economic or linguistic privilege and their potential for growth is truncated. Yet, at the same time, students who experience boundaries of inclusion, if allowed or encouraged, can live into an extensive horizon that exists beyond their zones of social and linguistic comfort.
What might it look like to allow all students and educators to lean as fully as possible into suffering, disappointment and broken dreams? How can boundaries be seen and experienced less as something to be padded, diminished or shied away from in curriculum, but rather worthy of our full attention as gateways to our humanity? How might boundaries and horizons, through the workings of imagination, become walking partners, each contributing to more inclusive notions of human flourishing?
The film referenced in the epigraph ends with Lopez responding to the social and ecological crisis of our time on earth, “We need another way of knowing. And if we are to succeed at that we must listen not only to each other, but also those we have been historically marginalized”. And here is a truth hidden in plain sight, a source of wisdom many educators can overlook, students who have been marginalized because of race, gender orientation, linguistic or social status. Marginalized learners experience boundaries in ways that educators like me (white, male and middle class) can only partially glimpse. Just as Lopez flips the script on boundaries and invites his readers to see horizons where dead ends or detours exist. I invite educators to flip the script on boundaries (curricular, social and epistemological) to see new possibilities and novel ways of working past the normalizing and constricted framing of schooling.
How do we invert the all too frequent and specific boundaries for economically and linguistically marginalized leaners or the narrowing of curriculum experienced by all students that states, “here and not further”? How do educators, for themselves and their students, begin to see and lean toward a horizon of liberation and flourishing? Lopez suggests “imagination”, but I wonder what else might work? In the same interview that forms the epigraph, Lopez offers this intriguing observation, “you don’t own the story. Carry it beautifully and give it to someone else”. What stories are you carrying in your heart? What wisdom resides deep in your soul that longs to break free? What stories do your students carry? What stories of meaning and purpose do you need to pick up, carry with tender care past the boundaries of standards, accountability and cultural deformation, and pass along to someone else? How might, “here and not further” become, welcome, explore and live fully?
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