The Perils of My Work

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being held up by a bazooka-weilding 8 year-old

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Coming to Honduras

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The other day in philosophy class I was teaching about existentialism, a philosophy with which I have myriad problems. The universe is absurd, life is meaningless, authenticate yourself with irrational leaps of faith! Hopeless and disconnected from reality if you ask me. Get out of the café Camus, mix with some common folk! Nevertheless, as I was introducing the material I mentioned that the existentialists really probed the questions of Life's meaning and purpose: "How do I create myself to be unique and significant?" "How do I live an authentic existence?" "How do I give my life meaning and purpose in an otherwise meaningless universe?" These seem to be questions that are attendant to societies that possess extreme wealth and privilege and an over-abundance of leisure time. I have serious doubts that 15th Century English peasants or even nobles for that matter, spent much time contemplating how they might make their lives unique or leave a...
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Another Migrant Crisis

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I've lived and worked in Honduras for 10 years both as a missionary, serving the very poorest of society and now as teacher, where I give philosophy and history classes to the children of the very wealthiest. I don't pretend to be an expert on Honduran society and I certainly cannot claim to have many answers with respect to issues of immigration. The whole topic strikes me as far more complex and nuanced than what many voices on either the Right or the Left make it out to be. Nevertheless, I know the milieu in which I live, I know why many poor Hondurans choose to emigrate illegally, I know why many wealthy Hondurans fly to Miami or Atlanta to give birth to their children and I know that all else remaining constant, this current caravan is only the beginning. A poor Honduran lives his life with little to no hope of ever achieving anything approaching financial stability. The people I know make their livings off of garbage collecting, selling unripened bananas and day-laborin...
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William Nickols This Is For You

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It's been far too long since last I've written and while there's been much that I've wanted to say and comment on, I've found my ability to articulate these thoughts to be wanting. My old knack for putting finger to keyboard and unloading my missives in a coherent way seems to have dissipated over these past few months. It's not been for lack of inspiration; there's much within the culture that has me frustrated and much here in La Ceiba that has me either pensive or overjoyed. For whatever reason though that perhaps God only knows, I've found that every time I've sat down to write nothing has come - I've barely even had the desire to try. William Nickols though, my feckless and jovial gadfly of a student has been relentless these many months pestering me to write a new post and always I've swatted him away hoping to avoid his reproaches. Today though on the Facebook I decided I'd had enough; I decided that I'm tired of silence, tired...
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