Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-Emily Dickinson

This poem. It has spoken to me throughout my teaching career, beckoning me to hold on to hope. This crazy hopefulness goes against all my childhood teachings. My mother, a staunch realist, advised always, “Expect nothing and you’ll never be disappointed.” She wasn’t wrong, and it’s advice that saves the sensitive hearts, living inside us all, from being broken again and again. Despite this fact, and maybe because spring weather is upon us, I have so much hope right now. A dangerous amount, really. An unadvisable amount of hope.

Our middle school has a new leader. She greets me each morning with a friendly stop by my classroom. She smiles at the kids and talks excitedly about our school’s future. I dare to hope that the school I’ve loved for nearly thirty years may get the devotion and attention it rightly deserves. I’m starting to notice immediately the effect this crazy hope has on me. I feel lighter, physically lighter. I dance to the music as I clean the house, I imagine creating new displays for my classroom, and I pick out my clothes for school–days ahead of time. The dread and worry that lurked inside me has mostly left. In the euphora of this hopefulness, I’m struck by an idea. How do I pass this feeling on to my students? They need a deep breath of this comfort and the expectation of great things, too.

I think they do feel the hope hanging in the air and swirling through the hallways. Maybe I’m imagining it, but some students seem to notice the change. Maybe they’re sensitive like I am. I hear this sense of hopefulness in little ways all around the classroom. After the morning announcements, one young lady in my first hour says quietly, “I like the sound of the new principal’s voice.” I smile at her because I do, too. Another morning, a boy randomly offers this suggestion, “We should pick a word of the day everyday and take turns writing it on the whiteboard.” I respond immediately saying, “I like that idea!” and we pick a word right then and there. The word we chose was “plethora.” Plethora is defined as “a large or excessive amount.” All at once it feels like 1997– the students and I are taking charge of the learning. Nobody is afraid to go “off script.” I make a pledge to follow the hopefulness,hanging on to the feeling with both hands.

I know, I know…many would caution against this leap of faith and the expectation of great things, because I’ll feel foolish if I’m wrong. But, here’s the thing, I’m not too far from retirement and I know my time to “be teacher” is winding down. So I’m ready. I’m willing to play the fool because I rather love this feeling of hope.

This plethora of hope.