Waiting On Hope

I think it's finally safe to say winter is over. And honestly, this has been just about the longest winter ever. It has dragged, and lingered, and loitered for three months. There have been the good moments, sure, and of course, the bad, but for the most part, I feel like the past couple months have sort of just been. And maybe the year has been that way too. It’s been about a year since the pandemic changed just about everything, and well… I don’t need to go into all that. But for many of us (and myself included) things have just stalled for what seems like an eternity. Things have happened, sure, but mostly, we’re just surviving. Just waiting for something to happen.

That’s what the past few months have been for me. Waiting. Waiting for spring. Waiting for covid to be over. Waiting for school to be normal again and to see smiling faces. Even waiting for some inspiration for a blog post that’s long overdue (even now this is almost a month after I’d planning on publishing this, and for that, I apologize). I’m staring blankly at an indefinite sand timer pouring down, one grain at a time ‘til it finally empties. Waiting for something to happen. I’m a little tired of just surviving. I’m tired of watching wasted time just slip away. I never thought it’d be this long. Two weeks turned into six weeks. Six weeks turned into several months. Several months turned into a year. A year is turning into maybe even longer still, and even now the sand timer is still fucking dripping.

Cabin fever is a real thing. Pandemic fatigue is a real thing. Winter blues are a real thing. Boredom is a real thing. Being exhausted from the same lazy routine, being jealous of your sister at college, being extra lonely on Valentine’s Day and being uninspired to work on your book and being desperate to spend money on something fun… those are all real feelings. And you want more; deep down, you want more. But all you can do right now is hang on. Hang on and survive. Survive, and wait. Wait for something to change and something to happen.

The Two Big Happenings

But for as long and dull as the first two months of the year have been, somehow the pace has changed. After being trapped for God knows how long, I look up and see the gears finally start turning. Wheels once still start spinning. The steam engine starts blowing and the train leaves the tracks. You look out the windows and the sun shines ever so slightly brighter. After months of so much nothing finally you see something. Some change. Some purpose. Some responsibility. Something to look forward to. Perhaps even a small amount of hope. Things might actually be looking up.

For one, school is open five days a week again and our Speckled Frogs classroom is (mostly) whole once again. Eleven kids doesn’t seem like a lot, but after months of half that number and essentially having two very different smaller classes, going back to a larger number is quite the change up. Kids that haven’t seen each other in a year are reuniting, kids who’ve never met are making new friends, and of course now teachers have twice as many kids to keep an eye on. It’s nice— you get bored when you can count your kids on one hand. That said, there’s classroom layouts to readjust, lessons to reteach, behaviors to rethink, more to plan, more to clean, more to do… and when the moment comes you still aren’t one hundred percent ready. Eleven kids shouldn’t be a challenge. After all, last year’s class was seventeen. But with a new class dynamic (and covid still a thing), it really feels like the first day of school all over again.

If wasn’t enough to have a major change at work, there’s a second major change at home: we got a dog! We’ve been very on and off about wanting a dog ever since this whole mess began in March and we all were home, but actually committing to the idea was a difficult process. We all had somewhat different ideas of what the “perfect” dog for us should be: how big it was, what color, what breed, its temperament. And though my step-mom was the biggest proponent of getting a dog, I for one, was the most reserved. It’s not that I didn’t want a dog. But I’d never had one growing up, and frankly, it seemed like a lot of work. Even if I was last on board though, somehow everything seemed to fall into place with one particular dog: Tucker. He was a rescue in Texas who was very shy and skittish, learning to trust people, and in need of a forever home. Somehow, everything about him seemed perfect…

And then, it all started.

Living up to Expectations

Tucker came at the very end of February. While we didn’t know exactly what we were to get ourselves into, there were a lot of great expectations. There’d be walks around town, playing fetch in the yard, cuddles on the sofa… at least, that’s how I’d imagined it. But even though we knew Tucker was going to be shy and require some patience as he gets used to us, I didn’t quite expect things to go as they did. Which was, slow. Really slow (see how he fits in?). The first few days, Tucker stayed almost exclusively in his crate, and we could tell he was quite the scaredy-cat (dog?). Every time I’d go to greet him, he’d stare at me with a sad puppy face and run back to his crate. When I’d enter the room; he’d run and hides. When he’d start to come out, I would accidently move too quickly or loudly and he’d go right back.

We all knew the process of training a dog to be comfortable with us was going to take a while. We’d have to be patient. We’d have to be understanding. We’d have to adjust to his needs. But I hadn’t expected it to be this slow. I hadn’t expected it to be this difficult to get a dog to trust you. It’s a dog. Dogs are naturally supposed to love people. And yet, when you try and offer a treat he debates for ten minutes whether he actually wants to make the effort to get it from you. After a while of him shying away from you, it starts to feel like rejection. Without him knowing any better, it hurts. Sometimes, you want to give up.

Then there’s the other train-wreck: work. It was easy before, and too easy, I’ll admit. But now when the tide rolls in and you have five days a week with a dozen kids, you kinda forget how to swim once the waves hit. You have new problems you didn’t have before— lining up from playground, managing bathroom schedules, planning crafts in advance and knowing you have enough supplies. You’ve got to make time to communicate with parents, make time to lesson plan, time to clean the room, time to review what’s working and what isn’t, and importantly, time to step away. You’re supposed to be having fun with Dr. Seuss week and St. Patrick’s Day and Easter. Yet your guard is always up, your patience is always tested, you’re on your toes every moment of the day and there’s moments, again, where you want to give up.

Meanwhile you’re wondering how much longer this is all going to last. How long ‘til we can forget all the cleaning protocols and be a little less cognizant of how close we’re standing to each other? How long ‘til we can ditch the masks and see everyone’s smiling faces underneath? Or a better question, how long ‘til we can genuinely smile once the masks are even gone? All I want to do is rip mine and everyone else’s off and see what a genuine smile looks like again. I want to smash the plexiglass in our room with a sledgehammer and erase any memory that this damned virus ever existed. Even with vaccines, even with spring, even with hopes and prayers we’re still here.

Even when you thought things would be getting better, they’ve come with their own curveballs. Curveballs that hit you right in the crotch when you don’t expect it. Between a classroom that overwhelms you, a new dog that is terrified of you, and a virus that just won’t go away, I’m in desperate need of hope. And all I can do, is wait for things to get better. Right?

The Day Shall Come

Things don’t turn out exactly how you want or plan in life. If they did, there would be no pandemic, I’d have a high paying job far away from here, I’d certainly be engaged by now, and my mother would be alive. But I also wouldn’t have become a preschool teacher, met most of my friends, traveled to Australia, or started writing. I wouldn’t have started writing if I didn’t need to deal with my mother’s death. I wouldn’t have gone to Australia if there wasn’t something eating at me telling me there was something more. I wouldn’t have met my current friends if I didn’t have to go through loneliness and self-growth first. I wouldn’t have become a preschool teacher if I wasn’t worried about what to make of my life after college. In all those things, there were moments I was lost and exhausted and alone and angry. But out of that, something greater came.

Greatness can and will come, but... maybe I’m not waiting for greatness right now. Maybe I’m not waiting for the next big Australia-like adventure, or for man’s best friend to run up with his tail wagging when I come home, or for the day we have a perfect classroom with all our problems solved. Instead I’m waiting to stay afloat as the storm slowly starts to settle. And though it’s hard for me to think like that, that’s okay. What I really want— another grand adventure, a loyal dog who loves me, a day that feels normal at school where I’m genuinely thrilled to be there—, that may come, and it will, in it’s time. But here I am waiting on something simpler. Patience. Peace. Purpose. And above all, Hope.

Sure, there is pain. And frustration. And anger and fatigue and all the other things that are perfectly acceptable to feel in situations like this. And yet, even with a rocky start, you can be thankful for change that you know deep down will all be worth it. You can even see it start as the dog gets slowly more comfortable and managing the class gets easier and life begins to move past covid. The big stuff, yeah, someday it'll get there. I have to trust that it will all work out in God's timing. I have to be comfortable with waiting and with knowing I need patience and strength and hope. Someday I can have all that I've been awaiting and more. But not yet.

“We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and our shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name.” -Psalm 33:20-21

Now, I have this life to live. And not just to stay afloat and wait for things to get better, but to enjoy the now while it’s here. Petting your dog when he lets you. Slowly building up trust as Tucker reaches out on his terms. Watching as your kids embark on Leprechaun Hunts and Easter Egg Hunts. Smiling behind the mask when your kids come to you for hugs. Going on small travels with family to Pennsylvania or down the trail. Enjoying time to yourself in the woods with your camera. I can fly kites and ride bikes and hunt for leprechauns and try to enjoy life as it comes.

Am I holding onto hope for a better day? Yes. Am I trying to make the most of this day? Yes. Am I completely successful at either? No. Certainly no. But I can at least try and have hope. Regardless of how hard it may seem, I trust deep down that there can be hope. Somewhere, there's always hope.