There are two rooms in the house where I live. One is closely surrounded, almost on all sides, by the other buildings nearby. The other room has a building only on one side, while one side is more open. Interestingly, the room that is encircled by other buildings gets quite warm, and I often find myself moving into the other room, which remains surprisingly cool even though it catches a lot of sunlight during the day.
I feel the reason behind this has less to do with how much sunlight the room receives and more to do with how well it can ‘breathe’, because the warm air within can be easily vented into the open air. This is also true of human beings: we too need to find a vent for our feelings now and then. It’s important to listen and absorb, but it’s equally important to forget sometimes, and let things pass. Although it seems unlikely at times, forgetting happens on its own. We try to hold on to a memory and we try to make sense of what had happened, but many times our reason for doing so slips away. Yet, the act of recall itself is not a waste; it is part of the journey.
Sometimes I feel our bodies already know this truth. I wonder — is the body more intelligent than the mind? It seems to know what needs to be thrown out and what must be kept. It does not ponder over it; it simply knows. Maybe there is a psychological ecosystem too. Just like everything in nature has its place, perhaps every thought and emotion within us also has a purpose.
We often try to rid our minds of certain thoughts, but do not succeed in doing so. Maybe they remain because they are needed for some kind of inner change to take place. Life cannot stay still for long. It has to move. Even when life seems stagnant, even when we feel stuck, perhaps life is quietly ‘packing’ and getting ready for a new ‘journey’.
We often forget this when it comes to children and their learning. We expect visible, measurable progress. We look for answers, accuracy and performance — as if the mind is a machine that must constantly produce more — but just like a room needs to breathe, learning needs openness. A child may be silent, may seem to be stuck while working, but something could be moving deep within her. The mind is not the only place where learning happens.
Every small thing, every fleeting thought, every little emotion is more valuable than we often realize. Sometimes, this is beyond our understanding. And when the mind cannot understand something, it quickly labels it as being useless or calls it garbage. But we are not made only of the mind, and neither are children only their marks, their handwriting, their speed. A slow child is not dull, nor is a distracted child mentally weak. Maybe they are looking for a way to breathe.
We often give too much importance to the mind. We think it is the most important part of us because it helps us to reason, question, deal with worries, and figure things out. But this is only a part of what every individual does…what about the rest of our being? What about the silent movements inside? What about the psychological ecosystem we are carrying within ourselves?
Sometimes a child who is struggling with a concept just needs space, not more pressure. What seems like resistance may only be mental fatigue. What we call indiscipline may actually be a silent cry for connection. However, we rush in to try and fix a problem, explain away a difficulty and control the situation. We forget to wait; forget that not all flowers bloom in spring. Some bloom late; some bloom unseen. Each one has its own rhythm.
In a school too, we need rooms that breathe — spaces where children’s ideas can unfold at their own pace. Not everything needs to be loud or visible, nor does all learning need to be accounted for, evaluated. Some parts of it are like compost — quietly decaying, but also quietly creating a nourishing mixture. It may look like nothing is happening, but something deep and essential is taking place.
We are used to achieving outcomes and being evaluated — so much so that we forget how the inner world of a child works. We forget to ask how a child feels while learning or find out what is going on in the child’s mind. What thoughts are building quietly inside? Learning is not always linear. It is like a sailboat, sometimes moving fast, sometimes slow, sometimes without direction — but always moving, even when still.
I feel we teachers are playing a part in something that is much bigger than we are aware of. Although we cannot see the whole picture, our small actions and emotions are not meaningless. We are shaping something larger that is still beyond our sight, but we also cannot see it because we are inside it ourselves. We do not have separate trajectories from our students and their parents. We are shaping others and being shaped at the same time.
Everything is happening because it has to happen. Life takes its own course — through right and wrong, through knowing and not knowing. We will keep asking questions, keep trying to find answers, because that too is part of the journey. But things will come and go through us. A concept that made no sense yesterday may suddenly become clear tomorrow. A student who struggled all year may surprise us one fine day. And even if they don’t, they are still moving. Something inside them is moving. We are not stuck; we are sailing.
And in this journey, we must remember that education is not only about shaping the mind — it is about shaping the being. It is not about knowing everything, but about remaining open to new experiences, open to reflection and open to transformation. The role of a teacher or a parent is not to push the boat forward but to help create the conditions in which the sails of the boat can find the wind. Not every breeze is visible, not every current is understood, but the journey goes on.
So let the child — and yourself — breathe. Let the room be open. Let learning unfold.