I flew into Nashville, Tennessee from Dallas, TX almost a week ago. It seems like so much longer. Two weeks ago, I would have never guessed that I would have met such awe-inspiring people who are my own age. The people who get stuff done are no longer the older ones, telling us what to do. We are the ones that are getting things done. These people in this Nashville 2011 corps and the ones that are going places. We are the ones who determine what happens next.
Here, there are so many fireflies. They light up around eight o’clock in the early summer and there are so many of them–bright bursts of dandelion yellow in the cool dusk air. They swing through the neighborhood streets and around the chains of all the swings that hang from the porch eaves and tree branches. There are weeping willows and tall windows, plantation accents and pyrex dishes of chicken pot pie.
All I can think of, though, are those kids that don’t see the inherent beauty of words– not because they can’t or because they don’t want to or because they decide to not look for beauty– but because they haven’t been taught how to see it.
Tomorrow, I’m riding down to Cleveland, Mississippi to learn how to teach those kids. That’s all I’ve thought about for this entire week. It consumes me.
I am ready. I know this will be hard, incredibly hard, but I am ready. I want this and I believe this. Let’s go.