I invite you to please join me as I hop in the time machine to go back to school in a possibly impossible attempt to become a real renaissance man. Not daVinci or Michelangelo, but ‘Bill, the man who fixes the roof when it rains‘ circa 1573.

Why? Because I think we forget that the renaissance wasn’t just artists and generals and kings and popes, but a groundswell of normal, ordinary people advancing their lot generation by generation, building themselves up through the sweat of their own brows and the callouses of their own hands and, for better or worse, creating the modern world.