Hope and Joy

It's a gorgeous spring morning right now, with crocuses blooming and daffodil buds pushing higher above the leaf litter and the last of the snow finally melted. There's a predicted daytime temperature somewhere in the mid-60s, with low-70s forecast for tomorrow. With the worst of the winter behind us, and memories of snowdrifts and sub-zero windchills mercifully fading, it seems like a picture perfect morning to throw a couple of sets of really great words to live by out there.

One is part of a poem by Emily Dickenson, proving that beautiful and inspiring language is absolutely timeless. The other is more recent, by author and motivational speaker Tama Kieves, and rings just as true.

Now, I've never been a poetry fan, but I keep thinking and hoping that some day I could be. Several years ago I had the opportunity while on vacation to either attend a group discussion of Emily Dickenson poems or take my shotgun to a range and shoot at some clay pigeons. Let me tell you, I waffled on that for an entire day before taking the road less traveled and bravely showing up at the literary group, feeling like a Neanderthal crashing an Edwardian dinner party.

My reading of poetry has largely been confined to some reading assignments at a week-long writer's retreat a few years ago in the fragrant, glorious piney woods of Wisconsin's Door County. I often joke that when I was fourteen, I took the "Evelyn Woods Speed Reading" course and it ruined me for life. I can read at the speed of light, but I retain almost nothing. That ability to speed read allows me to push efficiently through newspapers and magazines and suspense novels and legal cases to get to the important stuff REALLY fast. For decades, I haven't thought of reading any other way, just as a racehorse champing on his snaffle bit in the starting gate at Churchill Downs wouldn't think of walking the course once the gate flies open and the starting bell rings. Forging my way through a suspense novel by one of my favorite authors (pick one, from Nevada Barr to Nelson DeMille to Lee Child) is a sensation akin to throwing my body into tall waves at the beach, instantaneous gratification that's immediately behind me.

The week at the retreat was eye opening. With no phones ringing, no kids clamoring, no dishes to wash and dry, I had nothing to do other than to bask in my tranquil, rustic surroundings and read at a leisurely pace, letting the joy of recognition at words well and beautifully assembled stir my heart.

Which may be why these two paragraphs ran through my vision at different times and just decided to stay.

This is from Emily Dickenson's "Hope is the Thing with Feathers"...

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all...

Now, a century and a half later, comes Tama Kieves. Tama and I have never met, though my gratitude to her is boundless because she gave me--on the spur of the moment and with about a minute's worth of introduction--a lovely, positive blurb a couple of years ago for my first collection of essays, "Running with Stilettos: Living a Balanced Life in Dangerous Shoes." Tama is famous for her own book "This Time I Dance: Creating the Work You Love" (subtitled "How One Harvard Lawyer Left it All to Have it All") which in turn led to her "Awakening Artistry" alternative career coaching business. Tama sends out a monthly e-newsletter, from which I always take away some positive nugget of optimism. But one set of words last December really caught my eye and stayed, and I'd like to share them too...

Joy has a way of reminding you of who you truly are. Joy has a way of upping the ante for what you will settle for in life. Joy floods your brain with oxygen and suddenly new ideas, insights, and next steps become possible. Joy is the flashlight in the dark, when things you thought were lost become visible and sparkling.

Well thank you Emily Dickenson, and thank you Tama Kieves. Now, with spring officially on the calendar and--in Wisconsin--actually just around the corner, I think I'll step outside into my flower garden, inventory how many plants survived the winter under our deep blanket of snow, imagine the return of the foxgloves and the coneflowers and the delphiniums and the peonies, and experience some hope and joy.