Well, it's been a lively 2 years at edX. Since I haven't seen any of you in person for 6 months (in fact, I haven't even visited Cambridge since February), it's doubly strange to be virtually walking away, rather than dusting off the rocks on my desk and giving everyone a farewell handshake (which, in any case, would be taboo in these pandemic times). I'm resisting the social obligation to make tearful goodbyes or sweeping summations of the time – much rather slip away into silence, “herb picking somewhere on the mount, cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown”. Nevertheless, it feels like something must be said.

It’s quite mysterious how we cycle in and out of orbit with each other over time. Sometimes, chance encounters develop into profound relationships, like two asteroids locking into a cosmic dance. Sometimes, we speed past each other, only to come around to say hello, again, after some indeterminate aeon. In either case, each leg of our journeys carves us into “someone else”, some new energy to reconnect with (or hurry past). I don’t claim to understand the rhyme or reason, only that there seems to be a rhythm, and I want to be open to hearing and moving with it.

I’m thankful to have had the opportunity to help at edX and to meet you, however briefly, and I hope to be able to help from the other side of the hedgerow. My door is especially – and literally – open to wayfarers and seekers, looking for reconnection with the land, the water, the seasons, the more-than-human world.

This parable, by Ursula K. Le Guin, has stuck in my heart for a few years. I sincerely hope that we can meet again somewhere, on the road from Omelas.

Dave

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Sent upon resigning from edX in August, 2020