Nine Thousand Pounds of Somebody Else's Lesson

You don't need a diploma to know the difference between a harvest and a photo of one.

I'll be. Nearly ten thousand pounds a year to learn how to make TikToks. That's a whole lot of salt to lay around the cornfield.

You remember when the Potter's land went dry? Nobody convened a committee. Nobody enrolled in anything. We picked up shovels at the right time of year and got the thing done. Now, I'm not saying these kids are doing wrong going after a degree. But I am saying the world around here has a way of teaching you things whether you signed up for the course or not. Last June you could look out the window and see the corn waving like it was being heralded through by a marching band. Not a soul in Harrow Corners needed a credential to stand there and watch it. Some things just happen to you, and you either have the sense to pay attention or you don't.

They talk about the content creation degree like it's a golden ticket. But the ticket isn't what teaches you. It's what you do once you're through the gate. The government's been pouring money into influencers like they're filling a bathtub with a sieve, and you ever see Old Man Henderson's well? That's what happens when you stop watching the water level. You can dig all you like. Doesn't mean the hole stays stable.

Now, Destiny's earning, and that's good for her. Good for anyone who manages to get paid for their trouble. But here's a bit of plain talk from this old bird: you cannot buy the kind of foundation that holds in a storm. I remember when the church roof blew off in '62. We didn't wait around for someone to hand us the theory of roofing. We got up there and nailed it down. Measure twice, cut once, and don't run the blade with your fingers crossed.

As for the ones saying you don't need the degree, well, they might be right and they might be missing the point simultaneously, which is a thing people manage more often than you'd expect. It's not about the paper. It's about the discipline. You don't eat the fruitcake all in one sitting, and you don't learn everything at once either. That fruitcake comes back to me every Christmas, same as it has since 1954, and it has never once asked me whether I had the right qualifications to receive it. It just shows up. So does the work.

Take Aiesha Beasley, talking about how the degree would have given her a clearer pathway. The path has been plain as creek water since God invented the internet. It's just easier to stay on it when somebody's holding the flashlight. That's what these degrees are: nightlights. They won't burn the darkness down. But they might keep you from cracking your shin on the furniture at two in the morning, and that's worth something, even if it's not everything.

And Jacky Gurr over at Nottingham Trent has a point about luck, even if she's wrapping it in institutional language. Luck's like fishing. You can have the best rod, the best spot on the whole lake, and the fish still decide for themselves. You cannot force a bite. You can make yourself ready for one. Ever since the lake gave the Hendersons' boy back, we've understood in this town that some things are past your pulling, and you make your peace with that and keep your line in the water anyway.

So here's the whole of it. The world is full of shiny promises, and plenty of people selling maps to places that don't pan out. A picture of a cake is not a slice of it. The last time someone in this county was confident the grass was greener on the other side, the cows just kept on grazing and didn't weigh in either way. You want the kind of sense that comes from being out in the world, from doing the thing and bearing the consequences of the doing. That kind of sense doesn't have a tuition rate. But it does have a cost, and you pay it in full, and you don't get to negotiate the terms.

The real lesson isn't in the teaching. It's in showing up to learn it.

Count what you've got and finish what you started. -- Aunt Dot
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