I have lots of gaps in my education, and so I'm often picking up

David Grann, the chronicler of mysteries and forgotten histories, confessed with humility: “I have lots of gaps in my education, and so I'm often picking up classic books that most people read years ago.” In this simple admission lies a profound truth: that learning is not the possession of the few, nor the privilege of the young, but the lifelong task of all who would live fully. For even the most learned among us are but wanderers in an endless library, with shelves upon shelves of wisdom yet unopened.

The ancients, too, spoke of such humility. Socrates, who shaped the very foundations of philosophy, declared that his wisdom lay only in knowing that he knew nothing. The Stoics taught that no man should ever say, “I am fully educated,” for the universe is vast and the human mind small. Grann’s words, though modest in form, echo these timeless voices: that to acknowledge gaps in one’s education is not a weakness, but the very mark of a wise and honest spirit.

History offers us examples of this eternal hunger for knowledge. Abraham Lincoln, who rose from a log cabin to the presidency, had but the briefest formal schooling. Yet he carried with him borrowed volumes of Shakespeare, Euclid, and the Bible, reading them by firelight long after others had gone to sleep. What some might call a “gap” in education became instead the seed of greatness, for Lincoln’s relentless curiosity made him both eloquent in speech and profound in judgment. His story shows that it is never too late to pick up the “classic books” others may have read before you.

There is also a hidden warning in Grann’s statement. For many people, the education of their youth hardens into a kind of pride. They say, “I have learned enough,” and so they stop seeking, stop questioning, stop reading. In doing so, they become stagnant—living but not growing. But Grann’s example shows a different way: the path of humility, where the seeker admits his gaps, and in admitting, transforms them into doorways to new knowledge.

The lesson here is luminous: do not be ashamed of what you do not yet know. Do not measure yourself against the timelines of others, for every soul has its own journey. What matters is not when you read the great works, but that you read them; not when you learn the lessons, but that you never cease to learn them. The hunger for knowledge is the true measure of an educated heart.

Practical actions follow. Pick up a book you once ignored, and begin. Ask questions where you feel uncertain, and listen with humility to those who answer. If your path has led you away from study for a season, do not despair; return to it with fresh eagerness. Keep a list of works—whether sacred texts, histories, or literature—that others speak of, and read them in your own time, with your own pace. For knowledge is not a race to the swift, but a feast open to all who hunger.

Thus, children of the future, remember David Grann’s confession. Gaps in education are not signs of failure, but invitations to grow. To be a lifelong learner is to keep the mind young, the spirit humble, and the heart open to wonder. Read the classics, return to forgotten truths, and never cease to build upon the foundation of your own learning. In this way, you will never be bored, never be stagnant, but will walk through life as one who is always becoming, always rising, always seeking the light.