What is an education, anyway?

What did I get from Simon? An education – the thing my parents always wanted me to have. I learned a lot in my two years with Simon. I learned about expensive restaurants and luxury hotels and foreign travel, I learned about antiques and Bergman films and classical music. All this was useful when I went to Oxford – I could read a menu, I could recognise a fingerbowl, I could follow an opera, I was not a complete hick. But actually there was a much bigger bonus than that. My experience with Simon entirely cured my craving for sophistication. By the time I got to Oxford, I wanted nothing more than to meet kind, decent, straightforward boys my own age, no matter if they were gauche or virgins. I would marry one eventually and stay married all my life and for that, I suppose, I have Simon to thank.

But there were other lessons Simon taught me that I regret learning. I learned not to trust people; I learned not to believe what they say but to watch what they do; I learned to suspect that anyone and everyone is capable of “living a lie”. I came to believe that other people – even when you think you know them well – are ultimately unknowable. Learning all this was a good basis for my subsequent career as an interviewer, but not, I think, for life. It made me too wary, too cautious, too ungiving. I was damaged by my education.

An excerpt written by Lynn Barber, whom the movie An Education was based on.

What’s an education, anyway?

What did I get from Simon? An education – the thing my parents always wanted me to have. I learned a lot in my two years with Simon. I learned about expensive restaurants and luxury hotels and foreign travel, I learned about antiques and Bergman films and classical music. All this was useful when I went to Oxford – I could read a menu, I could recognise a fingerbowl, I could follow an opera, I was not a complete hick. But actually there was a much bigger bonus than that. My experience with Simon entirely cured my craving for sophistication. By the time I got to Oxford, I wanted nothing more than to meet kind, decent, straightforward boys my own age, no matter if they were gauche or virgins. I would marry one eventually and stay married all my life and for that, I suppose, I have Simon to thank.

But there were other lessons Simon taught me that I regret learning. I learned not to trust people; I learned not to believe what they say but to watch what they do; I learned to suspect that anyone and everyone is capable of “living a lie”. I came to believe that other people – even when you think you know them well – are ultimately unknowable. Learning all this was a good basis for my subsequent career as an interviewer, but not, I think, for life. It made me too wary, too cautious, too ungiving. I was damaged by my education.

An excerpt written by Lynn Barber, whom the movie An Education was based on.

The whereabouts of time

There are few ideas I think of more often than the concept of time. The, however foolish, way I understand time is that it is a constant, as defined, interpreted and created by society. It’s a socially constructed idea that would continue to exist without said definition — time goes on without its acknowledgment. What?

As with every new year, I’m prone to those awful pensive state of minds where I can’t help but rant about my discontents about this arbitrary time of new found goals, the shortcomings of society, the educational system — anything really. [Exhibits A-Z of my cynicism and negativity: On people becoming increasingly banal, on being skeptical of NY resolutions, on arbitrary ambition, on — this one is just really me being incoherent and trying to sound like a smart 16 year-old, on apathy, on being devoid of personal emotions, etc. See the archives.]

This year, hopefully as a sign of growth and progress, I will transcend beyond those diatribes.

Anyway, as the frou frou statement, “As I grow older…” goes — As I grow older (and wiser, I hope), I’ve realized that:

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Chicago, I love you

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