Teaching the Heart: The Missing Piece

Part 1 (Introduction): Rooted in the Concrete

“Whoever our students may be, whatever the subject we teach, ultimately we teach who we are.”

-          Parker J. Palmer.

Throwback to the time I went into closed therapy because of a drug problem. Ironically, what I thought was a curse turned out to be a blessing. It left me asking: what do we do with all the young people who suffer not from chemical addictions, but from behavioral addictions? Addictions that society does not stigmatize enough to treat them? The teens hooked on social media algorithms, video games, or endless dopamine hits from likes and scrolls. Why was not the therapy model I experienced available to them? Why do we reserve structured, disciplined, emotionally intelligent care only for those in visible crisis, while leaving the “quiet addicts” at the mercy of systems designed to hijack their brains?

We claim to value education as the bedrock of democracy. But is knowledge alone enough to produce wiser choices or critical thinking? Imagine offering critical thinking classes without humility, without self-awareness, without a culture that supports nuance. Is that not like giving weapons and training to a radical group without any deradicalization program? The analogy is disproportionate, but it points to a truth: skills without emotional grounding are dangerous. Education can empower, but it can also entrench dogma and amplify manipulation if it is not paired with emotional maturity.

Prisons illustrate the same paradox. They are often called the “school of crime.” Inmates can and do gain education behind bars, sometimes even university credits or business training. But does that education alone make them better citizens, or simply more efficient criminals? The evidence is mixed. Without rehabilitation, second chances, and the emotional scaffolding to reintegrate, knowledge alone does not reorient a life. Studies show that incarcerated people who access higher education or postsecondary programs have significantly lower rates of recidivism than those without those opportunities. Education can redirect, but only if the soil is fertile for their growth. Now, fertile grounds do not necessarily mean successful growth, but who tries growing a garden on concrete?

And here is the uncomfortable question: what happens to entire generations of children raised on tools, data, and platforms, but left without guidance on how to use them? We have traded the corner dealer for something far more powerful: the algorithmic pusher. Social media platforms do not just provide dopamine hits, they are engineered to hook us, fracture our communities, and then sell us the illusion of connection as a cure. Facebook promised closeness and gave us isolation. And now, doubling down, it imitates TikTok’s algorithm to keep us scrolling further apart.

This is why I argue we need a structural change in education. Not more tools and knowledge, but humbling experiences and challenges. We need to plough the field so that knowledge can take root and become growth. We need a model that teaches the next generation to know themselves, regulate themselves, and build lives on solid ground. Without that ground, all the knowledge in the world risks producing clever fools rather than wise citizens. I am proposing an education system that prepares future generations with both the tools to understand themselves and the soil to grow in. This soil is emotional, humble, disciplined, and loving.

Part 2: When Education Uproots Itself – 10 Inches Behind the Gun

“Guns don’t kill people, I kill people, with guns.”

-          Jon Lajoie.

The greatest danger is not the tool, but those who wield it, or as I heard countless times during my time in the military, the problem is ten inches behind the scope. Now, the analogy is not perfect, and access to firearms is a debate of its own, but it points to something real: the greater risk is not an armed and emotionally mature population, but a tribally fueled, emotionally immature one, armed or not. The problem lies in the mind that wields knowledge without humility, without grounding, without roots.

Education without emotional soil does not just fail; it breeds clever fools who can weaponize words, cars, guns, or entire institutions against themselves and others. History makes this clear. The Rwandan genocide of the Tutsi by the Hutu was not carried out with firearms. Should we ban machetes? Or should we ask why human beings would commit such acts, and find ways to protect future generations from falling down the same path? The answer does not rule out a debate on weapon access, but I believe it makes emotional education the higher priority.

My views are clear; I will leave the gun debate to others. The subject matter here is not the classic educational tools, but the lack of preparation for how to use them wisely. I think I have made my point, now we will look into why I think we are in an addiction crisis that needs urgent addressing and systemic changes.

Part 3: The Anti-Social Network, Our Robot Pimps

“These devices, and especially these apps, were designed to hook your child. They were designed with full knowledge of brain development, dopamine circuits, motivation, insecurity. These are predatory programs that prey on children.”

-          Jonathan Haidt.

Addiction was there before, and societies have thrived regardless. But what happened to us, the enlightened generations, who started off with great ideals about equality, human rights, proud to be part of a society that was going in the right direction? What happened that made us entrench ourselves so deeply in our sides that tensions have risen above our grasp? It seems like we have magnified some of the very things we deplored by trying so hard to fix them. The goal is virtuous, but does our militantism truly help the cause we purport to defend?

And why does it seem to me like narcissists dominate more of our lives than before? Why are ADHD diagnoses on the rise? Why does each decade seem to leave us less resilient to tyranny? So many questions emerge, but the time to answer them feels like it is running out.

The answer is not necessarily that narcissists have become more numerous, they might not be. Part of it is that social media is the perfect machine for a narcissist to thrive. In real life, if you spend time with neighbors, coworkers, or friends, you will encounter a mix of personalities, and most are not narcissistic. Online, though, algorithms amplify the loudest, most self-promoting voices and feed them back to us in endless loops. So we end up seeing far more narcissistic content than we would if our interactions were rooted primarily in face-to-face communities. The effect is subtle but corrosive: it skews our sense of what “regular people” are like, makes the world seem more selfish and hostile than it really is, and undermines the basic trust in strangers that societies rely on to resist tribalism.

But this amplification is not random. Narcissism is part of the human condition; it is developmentally normal. Pathological narcissism could be understood (in over-simplified terms) to be what happens when development stalls. That does not mean we are all “a little narcissistic”; it means we are all human, with the same raw drives for recognition and security. Social media exploits those drives. The entire system tilts toward insecurity and self-display because that is what keeps us hooked.

Jonathan Haidt calls them “predatory programs that prey on children.” I think “predatory” might actually be missing the mark. Predators strike and leave the body. Parasites attach, suck you slowly, and keep you alive just enough to keep feeding. Facebook, TikTok, Instagram, they are not predators. They are leeching onto us. The cost seems to be our mental health, and increasingly, our democracy. I’m not saying there could never be a symbiotic relationship between social media and us, but I think it is currently a parasitical relationship, and we are the hosts.

Part 4: Growing Up or Getting Old?

“One can choose to go back toward safety or forward toward growth. Growth must be chosen again and again; fear must be overcome again and again.”

-          Abraham Maslow.

Some people confuse maturity with conformism, but what does it truly mean to be mature? We will look at emotional maturity and how it shows up in our lives. We will also compare it to the way maturity is sometimes framed in ways that are abusive and that foster shame.

The dictionary might call maturity “the state of being fully developed,” but that definition feels too static. Human growth does not end at adulthood. Individuation and self-actualization may be among our greatest developmental achievements, but to be fully mature is more usefully understood as an attitude within an ongoing process of growth; an attitude of humility, accountability, and self-knowledge.

For those willing and able to empathize, it extends outward into compassion, not the performative kind, the one we do out of fear of being seen as a bad person, but the kind grounded first in self-compassion. Only then can compassion toward others be effective. And often, it shows up less in words than in actions: how we set and enforce boundaries, how we stand as our own stalwart, and how we model for others a way of being. In the end, we model the life we wish others could live by living it ourselves.

I remember a time when I must have been about 10 years old, still in elementary school. Me and my friend would steal cigarettes from his dad’s stash and go smoke them on construction sites, where we would burn materials, break windows, and build secret hideouts in the surrounding woods. The good old days.

One afternoon we came back to his house, laughing so hard we could barely breathe. His father tried to speak to us, but we were not paying attention. Suddenly he snapped, raising his voice, nearly yelling. We became serious and started listening immediately, a little frightened. He went on about how immature we were, how entitled, and how we still laughed at stupid things like “pipi, caca, poil” (piss, poo, body hair). That was it for me. I completely lost it. The combination of his anger and those three words sent me and my friend into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. There was no way we could recover from it in the same conversation. Eventually, his dad gave up, exasperated.

Even back then I knew something was off about that moment. Sure, we were kids, and yes, we were immature. But was it not also immature for a grown man to yell at children simply because they were laughing? (He did not know what kind of fun we had actually been having… hehe.) That day stuck with me, because it revealed something important: maturity is often confused with obedience. Adults sometimes use the word “immature” when what they really mean is “you are not making my life easier.”

What he called “immaturity” was not our lack of self-control, it was our refusal to take his authority seriously. To him, our laughter meant disrespect, and so he tried to shut it down by labeling it immature. In that sense, “grow up” was not an invitation to responsibility, it was a demand for conformity and showed a clear lack of empathy.

This is what I call false maturity. It dresses itself up as wisdom, but its real purpose is control. It is the kind of maturity that tells children to stop laughing, teenagers to stop questioning, or adults to stop making trouble. It confuses obedience with growth. It uses shame and guilt as tools to enforce compliance, as if embarrassment could speed up development. And the thing is, it is defensive, it highlights how fragile that person’s ego is. His insecurities exude through his certainties.

The problem is that false maturity does not actually produce mature people. It produces fragile adults who equate silence with respect, who fear conflict instead of navigating it, who mistake docility for wisdom. It stunts the very growth it claims to demand.

Real maturity is not about suppressing laughter or curiosity; it is about staying open to wisdom, to growth, and to the discomfort that makes us human.

We will look into other false models of wisdom in the next part.

Part 5: Breaking the Habit of Being Deceitful

“The first principle is that you must not fool yourself, and you are the easiest person to fool.”

-          Richard P. Feynman.

I recently purchased a book that helped me change my life for the better, but it took incredible effort not to wince through the entire ordeal. It was such a bad book scientifically speaking, and it was frustrating because it borrowed science’s authority to back up its claims. The irony is that it did not need the lab coat to work. The practices stood on their own. Still, I recommend the book to everyone. It is called Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself by Dr. Joe Dispenza. Doctor of chiropractic, mind you.

Now, let us start with the positives. The book encourages readers to focus attention, set clear intentions, and practice them daily. This is powerful. Habits, moods, and decisions really do shift when we train our attention and regulate our inner state. Call it the power of attitude, call it placebo, call it stress regulation, mechanisms that show significant results in studies. Change your thoughts, change your physiological responses, change your behavior. That is real. That is backed by science. And in fairness, Dispenza packages these practices in a way that motivates people to try them, and that is no small thing.

But it is predicated on something that makes me ick: the physics. The leap from “observation affects quantum particles” to “your thoughts collapse the wave function of your bank account.” In physics, “observation” means interaction with a measuring device or environment, nothing to do with conscious intent. A Geiger counter “observes.” A photon screen “observes.” To equate that with human willpower is equivocation: using the same word in two different senses as if they were identical. And once you start applying subatomic principles to human-scale life without any logical bridge, you have committed a category error.

The entanglement section is even more telling. Dispenza argues that because entangled particles remain correlated no matter how far apart they are, humans are “connected beyond space and time.” But entanglement is not empathy. It is not love. It is correlation. Ironically, it is evidence of constraint, not of infinite possibility. Once particles interact, their states are tied. That is more of an argument for determinism than against it. Yet he projects the concept back onto human relationships and calls it proof of cosmic unity. That is not just a false analogy, it is anthropomorphic projection. Like people who think their animals understand them the way other humans do, projecting their human qualities on non-human subjects.

At times the argument veers into outright misrepresentation. Dispenza cites a study on prayer for sepsis patients, noting that the results were “not statistically significant,” and then immediately reframes it as “a powerful demonstration of the benefits of prayer.” That is not pseudoscience; that is simply dishonest. If the data do not show significance, you cannot declare proof. That is the rule. To do otherwise is to exploit the language of science while discarding its standards.

And then he doubles down on the same study, highlighting its “retroactive prayer” twist: patients hospitalized in the 1990s were prayed for in 2000. From this, he claims that people got better years before the prayers were said. This is where the scaffolding collapses. Not only does it require causation to run backward in time, it introduces a paradox: if the past was changed, we would not know it had ever been different. Evidence of retrocausality is structurally impossible. Yet Dispenza presents it as “far beyond coincidence,” as if saying so were enough. At that point, we have left science entirely and entered hermetic belief, where disagreement only proves your ignorance.

And mind you, this is just from the beginning of his book. I am leaving a lot out. The point here is not to catalog every single fallacy, but to sketch the pattern. We will spend more time defining these tactics (equivocation, false analogy, controlling the options, and more) in future essays.

So what is left when you strip away the fallacies? A simple, useful truth: change your attitude and you increase the probability of better outcomes. That is it. Mindset matters. Optimism, self-discipline, and focus shape physiology, behavior, and social environments. But none of this requires quantum loopholes, entanglement metaphors, or retroactive miracles. It is psychology, not physics.

The irony is that Dispenza could have said all of this without the theatrics. He could have distinguished between evidence and speculation. He could have said: “Here is what we know, here is what inspires me, here is what might be true.” That would have been humble, and it would have built trust. Instead, he cloaks his message in borrowed authority, reinforcing ignorance.

And that brings us to the real problem. This is not just about one book or one author. It is about how easily mystery and authority masquerade as evidence. It is about how science’s aura can be misused for profits at the public’s expense.

To finish off, I will leave this part with a little anecdote. This one time I was driving from Ottawa to Quebec City and picking up some people along the way using a carpooling app. I struck a conversation with the man next to me, we talked for hours. It was interesting how spiritual he was, and I liked entertaining the thought that what he said might be true. Of course, when it came to the stories about him not eating and living off the sun for a prolonged period, among other people he knew, I couldn’t believe him, but I validated him and asked to know more, being curious. (People who go without eating for long periods die, this has yet to be disproven). He went on about the incredible power of the human being so far that he told me he could be in Quebec City just by thinking about it. The irony that he was saying this in my passenger seat, halfway to Quebec City in my car, was so laughable it was almost poetic. Then we bonded over disco music and carried on.

The blurry line between science, speculation, and belief raises the question: how do we tell real knowledge from falsities?

Part 6: Karl Popper – The Myth of the Framework

“The belief that there are such things as frameworks which are closed to criticism… is a myth.”

-          Karl Popper.

Popper’s line in the sand was simple: falsifiability (the ability for a claim to be proven wrong by a conceivable test) separates knowledge from belief. A theory that can explain anything explains nothing; it is unfalsifiable, and thus not science. What looks like certainty without risk is just dogma wearing a lab coat.

Apply that to school. If we never test our own assumptions, we do not raise thinkers; we raise believers, polished, articulate, high-functioning believers who can defend any position they already like. That is dangerous in a culture tuned to reward confidence over truth.

Emotional education is the missing half of Popper’s demand. Epistemic humility (owning the limits of your knowledge) is not an equation you memorize; it is a posture you practice. Letting go of an idea you cherish is not only cognitive, it is emotional. Shame tolerance matters. If people feel that their identity hinges on their ideas, to be refuted can throw them into feeling existential guilt (a.k.a. shame). A classroom where students can say “I was wrong” without social death is a classroom where Popper’s ideal can live.

So: teach kids to propose models, and invite “red teams” (revision committees) to poke holes in them. Pair the intellectual habit (conjecture and refutation) with the emotional habit (humility and repair). Popper taught us that closed frameworks are myths. But even open frameworks get tangled when our words slide between meanings.

Part 7: Language Games

“The meaning of a word is its use in the language.”

-          Ludwig Wittgenstein.

Words are tools we use inside language games, rule-bound forms of life where meaning depends on context. “Theory” in a physics lab does not mean “theory” on Twitter. “Observation” on a detector does not mean “observation” as mindful attention. Mix the games, and you get confusion, a state that manipulators love.

Maturity doesn’t include moving between language games intentionally, game recognition, or naming which game is being played. Rather, it is an attitude of humility. But it doesn’t mean that the ability to understand the meaning of what people say, or to spot flaws and double-entendres, cannot help one see more clearly. Someone who isn’t very good at verbal comprehension, reading body language, or understanding mores will require a lot of patience, openness and courage. They will need to ask more questions to gain clarity, especially if they want to protect themselves from manipulation.

Pseudoscience thrives by cross-wiring games: borrow words from physics, aim them at hopes from spirituality, and cash out in the marketplace of self-help.

Teach kids to ask, “In what sense did you mean it?” ”Can you explain it to me in a different way?”

When a claim drifts, scientific noun, political verb, spiritual conclusion, call the drift. And if something doesn’t add up, ask for more information. That is not cynicism, that is discernment.

We have critiqued the logic and the language. Now: what to build instead?

Part 8: The Portage Model – Emotional Education as a Rite of Passage

Let’s make a structured, closed-campus residency the capstone of high school. Six months of disciplined, emotionally challenging, and nurturing living away from the city, followed by three months of guided transition into study, work, craft, or business.

Guiding Principles

• Soil before seeds.

Before we layer in advanced knowledge, specialized training, or high expectations, we must first build a foundation where that knowledge can actually take root. Soil here means more than “a safe space.” It means the daily structures of dignity: consistent routines, clean environments, healthy food, accountability, and belonging. Without those basics, even the best-designed lessons can wash away like seeds scattered on pavement. This program starts with order in the simple things. Bed made, body cared for, meals prepared together, because those rhythms send the message that each person is worthy of respect and capable of responsibility. It’s not glamorous, but it is what allows deeper growth to happen. It also teaches standards of hygiene that some people do not learn about at home.

• Military rhythm, humane heart.

The power of a military model lies in its consistency. Wake times, meal times, and order in general. These things create predictability and stability that soothe the nervous system and remove ambiguity. But this is not a boot camp. Unlike traditional military training, where yelling and punishment are often used to enforce conformity, this model pairs structure with trauma-informed practices. Staff are trained to avoid re-traumatization, to intervene with calm authority rather than intimidation, and to frame correction as an opportunity for growth. The rhythm creates security; the humane approach creates trust. Both are essential.

• Real responsibility, not simulated chores.

Too often schools assign “jobs” that are actually make-work: moving papers, emptying bins, or “leading” in name only. In this model, responsibility is real. If the kitchen crew doesn’t show up, the community doesn’t eat. If the maintenance team ignores a leak, the dorm floods. The stakes are visible, the consequences natural, and the feedback immediate. This doesn’t mean setting students up for failure; it means giving them responsibility scaled to their readiness and then holding them accountable to the results. The process of being needed, and knowing others depend on you, creates pride and maturity in ways no lecture can.

• Friction as curriculum.

Conflict is not an interruption of learning; it is learning. Every community generates friction: two students clash, a rule gets bent, someone feels excluded. Instead of hiding or punishing those moments, we bring them into facilitated circles where the group can process them. Students practice honest speech, name their triggers, acknowledge harm, and try repair. This does not mean every conflict ends in harmony. Sometimes the repair is incomplete. But even then, students learn that conflict can be metabolized without violence, avoidance, or endless grudges. That skill is arguably as important as algebra or essay writing.

• Boundaries as compassion in action.

Many young people confuse compassion with indulgence or boundaries with rejection. In this model, boundaries are reframed as acts of love and respect. To say “no” to harmful behavior is to say “yes” to the dignity of everyone in the community. To enforce a standard is to communicate that someone is worth holding to it. And when a boundary is crossed, as it inevitably will be, the repair process is not about humiliation, but about re-establishing trust. This way, compassion is not sentimental; it is embodied in clear expectations, firm responses, and the willingness to repair.

• Mixed cohorts, fresh starts.

Too much of schooling is bound up in social scripts: the “class clown,” the “quiet one,” the “troublemaker.” Students drag these roles from year to year, reinforced by teachers and peers. By creating mixed cohorts, students from different towns, schools, and backgrounds, we give each participant a chance to reset their identity. Old cliques dissolve; tribal reflexes lose their grip. A rural, residential setting amplifies this effect: students live together in a place stripped of their usual distractions and labels. In that stripped-down environment, they can experiment with healthier roles, supported by the group.

• A life without devices and substances – felt, not preached.

Most young people today have never experienced life without a smartphone or social media. They don’t know what it feels like to live without the constant pull of notifications, without curating themselves for an invisible audience. The residency deliberately removes that background noise. Devices are not framed as evil, but as optional tools that can be set aside for long enough to feel life without them. This is not prohibition for its own sake. It is about giving students the chance to discover what undistracted time, face-to-face connection, and unmediated experience actually feel like.

The same principle applies to substances. No alcohol, no drugs. For nicotine, a harm-reduction approach applies: students who arrive as smokers or vapers are given limited times and designated areas. They are not shamed or forced into cold-turkey withdrawal, but they are also not free to smoke at will. This creates structure and accountability, and gives them the experience of living most of the day without nicotine.

Breaking these agreements is not treated as a “gotcha” moment, but as a chance to learn about consequences. Students who sneak devices or substances lose privileges, face scaled-down responsibilities, and are invited into conversations about why the boundaries exist. The rule itself becomes part of the curriculum: learning that freedom and responsibility always go hand in hand, and that violating trust carries natural consequences.

Ultimately, this principle is about experiential contrast. You can’t explain sobriety or life without screens to someone who has never lived it. Six months of clarity, sustained, supported, and communal, gives students a felt reference point they can carry with them, even if they later choose differently in adulthood.

Cohorts and Setting

The residency takes place in a rural or nature-based environment, away from the noise and distractions of the city. This separation is intentional: it creates a clear boundary between the old habits of daily life and the new rhythms students are asked to adopt. The campus is closed, with limited comings and goings, not as a prison but as a container, a place strong enough to hold students while they build new foundations.

Cohorts are carefully designed. Students are divided into groups based first and foremost on biological sex, with girls and boys housed, trained, and supervised separately. This reduces risks of exploitation, distraction, or blurred boundaries, and creates space for each group to work on maturity without the added complication of cross-sex dynamics. At the same time, this model acknowledges that gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender students will be part of the mix. Staff are trained to support those realities with respect and care. Separation by sex is not about denying identity, but about protecting the baseline safety of the environment and minimizing opportunities for harm.

Within those boundaries, diversity still matters. Students come from different regions, schools, and cultural backgrounds. The goal is not superficial variety, nor the replication of old cliques, but the creation of groups where everyone starts fresh, free to shed old labels and experiment with healthier ways of belonging.

The Six-Month Residency (Capstone I)

Evenings are communal: shared meals, cleanup, and light socializing that reinforce belonging. Once or twice a week, the group gathers for a film night. The titles aren’t imposed from above but chosen from a short list with input from the students. Not everyone will get their first pick every time; part of community life is learning to compromise. Those who don’t want to watch can read, write, or chat quietly elsewhere. The key is freedom within structure: you’re not forced to participate, but you are part of the atmosphere.

Movie nights are also when the “goodies” come out (candies, snacks, and treats that are otherwise kept away during the week). This rhythm matters. It teaches students that pleasure isn’t banned, it’s balanced. Indulgence becomes a shared celebration, not an everyday crutch. After the film, there’s no mandatory debrief or group analysis. It’s free time: hanging out, joking around, or heading to bed early. The point is to relax together, not to turn everything into a lesson.

Weekends carry the same spirit. The baseline structure remains, wake up, hygiene, meals, and basic chores, but the intensity softens, and the timings are pushed back to allow a little rhythm change. Academic blocks shorten, work shifts lighten, and more time is given to sports, outdoor activities, or creative projects. The goal is to remind students that discipline and relaxation are not enemies; they work together. Too much structure becomes suffocation. Too little becomes chaos. A healthy rhythm holds both.

Curricular Pillars

Five strands hold the program together.

• Self-regulation and self-knowledge.

Students practice breathwork, learn the basics of sleep and nutrition, and map their own values and habits. They clarify personal boundaries and learn how to enforce them.

• Relational maturity.

They practice listening without defense, giving and receiving feedback, repairing conflict, and recognizing unhealthy enmeshment. The goal is to learn how to be close without being consumed.

• Accountability and work.

Standards are made visible, with checklists and feedback loops. The culture is simple: own it, fix it, learn it.

• Critical reasoning and media hygiene.

Students are trained to spot fallacies, manipulative tactics, and statistical tricks. They rehearse the “game recognition” drills described earlier, so they can name the language game in play before being drawn into it.

• Embodied arts and athletics.

Through team sports, creative practice, and outdoor challenges, students discover humility, competence, and identity not just in thought, but in action.

Therapeutic Structure

Every student has scheduled one-on-one sessions with therapists to map personal history, clarify goals, and receive trauma-informed support. Circles happen frequently, functioning as both conflict debriefs and structured spaces to practice feedback. The staff ratio is kept high enough to ensure presence and care, but not so high that students can outsource all leadership to adults. Peer responsibility is expected.

Family Integration

Family involvement is carefully timed. An intake meeting early in the program maps family dynamics, hopes, and boundaries. A mid-program review calibrates progress and sets re-entry goals. A final transition session aligns expectations and prepares support for after the program.

The reason family is not present week to week is deliberate: time apart allows students to step out of enmeshed dynamics and try on new ways of being. When family returns, it is with clearer patterns and more intentional engagement.

If a particular student needs deeper family work, additional meetings can be arranged. The goal is not to alienate students from their families, nor to vilify their parents. Family values are important, and the program takes care not to undermine them in a moralistic way. Instead, the work is to help families support growth while preserving what is good and strengthening what can be made healthier.

Day Passes and Scaffolded Re-Entry

Students who demonstrate consistent standards earn the right to plan short day passes back into the world. To do so, they must write and submit a plan: where they are going, who they will be with, why it matters, and what risks they anticipate. The process itself is part of the learning, choosing deliberately, thinking ahead, and setting boundaries for themselves.

During these outings, students regain temporary access to their phones. This is intentional: it allows them to practice using devices in real-world conditions, rather than returning to them cold-turkey at the end of the program. The focus is on boundary enforcement and safe relationships, with explicit avoidance of abusive dynamics.

When students return, they meet in circle to debrief, not as punishment, but as reflection. They share what worked, what didn’t, and how they handled both the freedom and the temptations of the outside world. In this way, day passes are not “breaks” from the program but essential parts of it: structured rehearsals for adulthood, where freedom and responsibility are tested side by side.

The Three-Month Transition (Capstone II)

The second phase begins when students return to their hometowns. This stage is deliberately separate from the residency: it is about freedom. Having gone through the rite of passage, students have earned the right to live without constant oversight. The program’s role now is to support them as they figure out what comes next and to help them take concrete steps toward their future.

Each student chooses a direction (academic, trade or craft, service or startup, arts) and begins building it into reality. Coaches and social workers help them put the pieces in place: completing applications, securing apprenticeships, preparing portfolios, applying for scholarships or training programs, setting up bank accounts, or starting projects. The focus is pragmatic: less about rules, more about momentum.

Weekly video calls with an assigned social worker provide a steady touchpoint. These conversations aren’t about monitoring, but about guidance: troubleshooting challenges, helping with paperwork, keeping deadlines on track, and encouraging reflection on next steps. In addition, three monthly in-person meetups are organized for those who can attend. These gatherings give students the chance to reconnect with peers, swap experiences, and draw strength from the sense that they’re still part of something larger.

Phones, devices, and normal freedoms are fully restored at this stage. There is no logging, no micromanaging. The experience of life without devices has already been lived, and now the choice of how to use them belongs to the student. What matters is that they carry forward the awareness and discernment they earned in residency.

Progress is still marked, but lightly: at 30, 60, and 90 days, social workers and mentors check in on milestones, applications submitted, apprenticeships begun, interviews attended, or projects launched. These reviews are not exams but markers of trajectory, ensuring that no one drifts into paralysis or isolation.

This final stage is short but essential. It allows students to test their independence, while still having a handrail if they lose balance. The goal is simple: to ensure that when the program ends, each student is free to do what they want, but they have support to help them and regular follow ups to keep them in the mindset.

Assessment and Safety

Standards are clear and posted; feedback is mostly public but delivered with kindness. For specific cases feedback and resolution would happen apart from the group, sometimes with a mediator. The goal is to foster growth, not to humiliate anyone. Consent and privacy are protected, especially in sensitive group work. Safeguarding is strict: zero tolerance for abuse, with quick remediation protocols. No mythology of “perfect kids” is tolerated. Mistakes are expected. Repair is the pedagogy.

What This Is, And What It Isn’t

This is not a punishment camp. It is a rite of passage into maturity. It is not an escape from academics. It is the soil that makes academics stick. It is not therapy only for those in crisis. It is an education that assumes every young person needs training in emotional life.

Part 9: Conclusion – Ploughing the Field for the Future

“The soil is the great connector of lives… Without proper care for it we can have no community.”

-          Wendell Berry.

We keep trying to fix culture by adding more tools, but we are still trying to grow on the concrete, and we wonder why our roots are shaky. Cleverness without soil turns into deeper tribalism, biased institutions, and a decaying democracy. The problem is not knowledge; it is how it is being used.

The Portage Model is not a silver bullet. It is a shovel. It prepares the earth: humility, accountability, boundaries, compassion, discipline. Put knowledge into that, and you do not just get better grades, you get better judgment. You get citizens who can see the game they are in, admit when they are wrong, repair what they break, and resist the people who might gladly think for them.

And there is another dimension. We are entering the age of A.I., where machines increasingly do the cognitive tasks that once belonged to human workers. Whole industries are shifting, and many will not come back. This can sound like a story of scarcity, fewer jobs, less security. But it can also be a story of opportunity, if we recognize that the skills we do not want machines to replace are precisely the ones we have neglected: empathy, conflict resolution, mentorship, care. And even if they could be automated, I would like to take this little bit of space to advocate for humans and say, we prefer hiring our species when it comes to connection and relationships.

Investing in emotional education is not only about raising wiser citizens; it is also about creating dignified work. Programs like the Portage Model require counselors, mediators, therapists, teachers, artists, coaches. They open pathways in social work, education, and community development. Instead of producing one more cohort of students trained for jobs that may not exist in ten years, we can build a system that generates both resilient citizens and meaningful employment for those who guide them.

Knowledge on concrete almost only produces weeds.
Knowledge in fertile soil almost always produces growth.

If we want citizens who can resist manipulation,

who can lead without tyranny,

who can laugh without cruelty,

we need to start ploughing the field.