I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.
Not in a structured way. Not as a plan. Just something that keeps coming back.
Most of what has shaped me didn’t come from a syllabus. It didn’t come from a course outline or a clearly defined path. It came from things I returned to. Books I kept picking back up. Ideas that stayed with me longer than I expected.
And I started wondering if that’s actually the real curriculum.
Not the one assigned to you—but the one you build over time.
I don’t think I ever set out to create anything like this.
If anything, I’ve always leaned toward structure. Outlines. Systems. Clean ways of organizing ideas. It’s how I teach. It’s how I design courses.
But when I look at how I actually learn… it doesn’t look like that.
It looks like a notebook.
Half-finished thoughts.
Questions written in the margins.
Pages I come back to weeks later because something still isn’t settled.
It’s slower than I want it to be sometimes. Less clear. But it’s also more honest.
So this idea of a personal curriculum started to take shape.
Not as something formal. Not something I need to map out completely before I begin. Just a way of naming what’s already happening.
A way of being more intentional about it.
I think a personal curriculum is made up of small things.
A book you decide to stay with a little longer.
A question you don’t rush to answer.
A notebook you keep returning to, even when you’re not sure what you’re trying to figure out.
There’s no real endpoint to it. No moment where it’s finished.
It just builds.
Quietly.
That’s what this is.
Not a course. Not a system. Not something polished.
Just a place to work through ideas as they’re forming.
To read, to write, to reflect, and to see what begins to connect over time.
I’m starting with one book.
Not because it’s the perfect place to begin, but because it’s a place to begin.
And that feels like enough.
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