A Little MS with a Little MSW

I think zen gardens are aptly named. There is something wildly cathartic about using a miniature rake to create designs in a tabletop sandbox.

My favorite college professor had one on his office desk. He passed away recently and I think he would be pleased to know that my memories of him are tinged with serenity.

He was kind. An encourager. His obituary revealed that he spent most of his teen years in a monastery, and his presence was exactly what you would envision a wannabe-monk-turned-college professor’s presence would be.

He was warm. Warm people are my favorite people. They are paradoxical humans: strangers that feel like home. One’s essence is difficult to teach or fake. It emanates and radiates, pushes and pulls. An invisible force that can be as inviting as grandma’s hugs and a fresh—baked plate of chocolate chip cookies, or as impenetrable as a wall of steel.

Dr. Baumgarte, I am thankful you left the monastery and found your calling as a professor all those years ago. I am also thankful that your monastic spirit followed you throughout your days. Thank you for the kindness you bestowed upon me at our every encounter, and for that little zen garden on the corner of your desk that calmed this anxious soul, time and time again.