Tomorrow I meet with my first class of students. Twenty-two people who are absolute strangers to me at this moment. There’s so much possibility in the next 16 weeks. This–the night before my first class–is my favorite feeling of the semester.
It’s that hopeful sweet spot. I only know the imagined good of my students. I have a completed syllabus and an idea of all the learning we are going to do this semester. Right now, nothing has gone off the rails. Right now, the semester is a shining success. Right now, not a single student resents me for making them write yet another essay. In our bright future of possibilities, at the end of this class, my students will have grown in intellect as a result of my teaching plan. I have grown too. I can see it.
Right now, there are gems buried in the future of this class that my students and I will discover together. I know they are out there. I know I will be surprised and delighted by these imagined souls.
Right now, the possibility is so bright it almost hurts.