The Spaces In Between

For almost a decade, I have been choosing a word, or two, to carry with me into the new year. They act as guides or companions and have often helped me approach the world and my life more mindfully. My previous words have been: breathe and lead with love (2014), trust and focus (2015), listen and flow (2016), space (2017), magic and connection (2018), joyful curiosity (2019), tender belonging (2020), and fierce hope (2021).

Figuring out my 2021 words was difficult, 2020 had been a rough year, and I wanted words of comfort for the new year. As I wrote about here, I chose hope as one of my words after a conversation with Bucknell friends about our hope that 2021 would be better than 2020. Then I added fierce, because I didn’t want to be passive about what the year would bring. The phrase served me well for the first half of the year, but then Delta showed up, and Omicron, and hoping fiercely felt inadequate in the face of the on-going pandemic. I began to think about another set of words that had been on my list of possible 2021 words: soft resilience.

I ended up carrying these words, soft resilience with me for the last few months of 2021, and the first month of 2022, and thought that I would keep them as my 2022 words. The start of the year was a difficult one, and I often thought to myself, “I can’t do this.” and then had to give myself a pep talk: “yes, you can.” Resilience felt like a powerful word to carry with me, it reminded me of the bamboo at my parents’ house that bent completely over with the weight of a January storm, and then sprang back up again when I shook the snow off. And the word soft felt like an important modifier because it is easy to become bitter and hard when faced with tough things, and I don’t want to turn brittle. I want to be warm, and kind, joyful and loving.

At the end of January/beginning of February, I crafted a post about this phrase, soft resilience. And yet, something didn’t feel quite right about the words, and I waited to publish the post. I kept thinking about the word joy, and my 2018 and 2019 words: magic and connection, joyful curiosity. I longed for a set of words that captured the feeling of wonder that I felt in 2018, and 2019, even as I navigated huge life-changes in those years.

I thought about reusing the words magic and joy in some form, or even just re-using my 2018/2019 words. Then my friend (and awesome writing coach) Jena Schwartz posted a photo of herself as a toddler, and captioned it, “Hope you had some delight today” and I felt an immediate connection. Soon after that, as I mulled over different combinations of words connected to delight, my words for 2022 suddenly clicked into place: delightful possibility.

Possibility is a word that has shown up on my word lists before–in 2016, 2017 and 2018 in particular–as I tried to finish my dissertation and began to experience the tumultuous academic job market for the first time. In 2018 I wrote “[Possibility] seems hopeful, and captures the uncertainty of my future in regards to jobs, but in a positive way” but I also noted, “I am wary of this word too. I don’t want too many possibilities springing forth into my life. I would also like some security and stability.” Each time I considered the word I soon put it down again, but this year seems like the time to embrace it, especially when modified with the word delight.

One reason I need to embrace possibility right now: over Winter Break, DePauw let me know that they will be not be renewing my contract. I was already been on the job market, looking for a permanent position, as my work at DePauw is contract-based. However, there was a possibility that DePauw could renew my contract for another two years, and I was hopeful that I might be able to keep teaching here. Indigo and I have made close relationships with folks in Greencastle, and have a wonderful community, and we were both interested in staying here for a while longer. Alas, DePauw is no longer an option, so once again, I do not know where I will be in six months, and will need to move again. At least this time Indigo will be moving with Pippin and me.

In January, I kicked my job search into high-gear, and expanded it even more than I had in the Fall. I am applying to academic faculty jobs, diversity, equity, and inclusion jobs in higher-ed and K-12 schools, and high-school teaching jobs. We are considering a move to upstate NY, NH, or VT, as well as the possibility of moving back to Western Massachusetts, or Maryland. If possible, we would like to be closer to family (birth and chosen) in Maryland, although we are sad to leave friends/community in Indiana. I never knew I could love small-town Indiana so much!

It is hard to juggle so many different possibilities and unknown futures, and yet, in this moment in time, at the end of February, I am feeling okay about it. The job search has been exhausting and at times demoralizing, but it has also been exciting to explore different possibilities ahead of me. Applying to so many jobs, and going through the interview process for several of them, has also helped me narrow down what I love most about my work.

One thing is clear: I am an educator at heart. I love working with people, I love creating inclusive spaces of learning, and I love talking about diversity, and equity. I know that educational spaces in K-12 and higher-education are tough places to be right now. Many folks are struggling. I have been on the edge of burn-out myself this year, and yet, nothing brings me more delight and joy than being in the classroom, or running a diversity workshop. Over and over, I have been reminded that I love teaching–and I know that teaching can take many forms and I am open to what kind of teaching I might do in the future.

One of the highlights of my job search so far was teaching a poetry lesson to 7th graders at a Maryland middle school. We read Emily Dickinson’s poem “Hope, Is the Thing with Feathers” and compared it to “Robin, Singing in the Rain” by Luella Clark. I will always remember one kid’s exclamation about whether the “thing with feathers” could be a pterodactyl! (Talk about fierce hope!) One classmate pointed out that Dickinson calls it “a little bird” and another asked whether pterodactyls even have feathers. Still, I loved the image that was conjured: a pterodactyl of hope.

I don’t know where I will land this July–maybe I will be working at a boarding school in New England, maybe I will be the director of diversity and equity at a community college, maybe I will be teaching once again in a university classroom. There are so many possibilities in front of me, and I am determined to follow joy and delight. I am going to cherish all these delightful possibilities and hold onto the magic and excitement of the unknown, rather than fearing what may come.

Cover photo: children silhouetted against the sky by Rene Bernal