I’m telling you I adjust it multiple times a day.
Maybe it’s caused by some malevolent sprite with a penchant for moving violations.
Maybe it’s my own posture as I intermittently slouch (after a long day of, well, slouching) and sit straight up so I can scream-sing the lyrics to Dinosaur Jr.’s “Get Me.”
Maybe the dang thing needs to be fixed, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.
Whatever it is, my Jeep’s rear view mirror is causing an existential crisis.
The windshield-rear view mirror provides the clearest metaphor for life despite each’s dichotomous utility. Forcing us to simultaneously hurtle toward an unknown future at varying speeds while constantly (read: obsessively) checking for what’s behind us. A flaw in either distorts our reality to the point at which driving can become unsafe.
It’s a trip, man.
So here we are. Cruising toward the one year Covidversary at a cool 55 mph, just trying to avoid the myriad distractions, frustrations, and anxieties in front of us, like a perverse version of the classic video game Paperboy. Still, our rear view mirror hangs at the fringe of our periphery, daring us to peek at what we just left behind.
But here’s how we flip the script on the metaphor: the rear view mirror must be used as a sort of visible wormhole allowing us to course-correct what lies on the other side of the windshield.
We need to rethink state testing. We need to reframe our social studies and history curricula. We need to reconsider the length of our school day. We need to review what social justice means to and for our community. We need to reenvision public education.
Or we choose to disregard everything our collective rear view mirrors have taught us since last March.
And just keep driving.