I read a poem once all that postulated poetry is forged only out of a mire of depression. Certainly, it seems for me that I’m inspired to write down my thoughts mostly when my thoughts . . . are disappointing. Which is pretty lame, I’m thinking. So, in honor of this, I now submit to you the opposite.

I have so much to glorify God for. Not the least of which is the fantastic grasp of the English language I just demonstrated by ending that sentence with a preposition. But I also thank God for this job that I’ve been at for three weeks, for this relationship that I’ve been soldering with Erik for lo these many months, for this down-the-hall life with Bridget who is consistently cheerful and kind, for this sister and brother and father that I love so much, for this responsibility and joy in needing to serve my grandmother, for these renewed friendships with James and others I’ve lost, for these new acquaintances with the people in my life at work, for this lovely warm weather that is wafting into the city like a breeze, for this new attitude of capability and hopefulness that is spurring me on and encouraging to make better choices, every day, and not to be something I’m not, but to finally come into what I want to be. Yes, my dears, these are blessed days.

And most days are blessed if I really look. I’m busy and tired and dragging at times but I have purpose enough to be busy and tired and dragging. There are very few things that one can’t be grateful for in some way. Getting to the good stuff often requires understanding the bad stuff, and where it comes from, and pruning if necessary. And God has brought me to a place where I don’t so much have to remind myself of these things, but rather share the natural recognition that’s been taking place. I’m making artwork. I’m feeling up to the task of getting off the transfat and nicotine and into taking care of my body. I’m trying to learn and complete and write and grow. It’s a wonderful, low down, peaceful kind of feeling.

So there it is. A poem in the form of an everyday life that has everything to do with small and unceremonious joys.

“Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

I always thought that was a stupid saying. I also thought it would be a nice crack to make at the end of the semester if you were a history teacher and you were trying to freak out, and entertain, students who were failing. Anyway, as I grew up, I found that even though I rolled my eyes at it for years, it’s probably pretty true. The whole idea of learning from mistakes strikes a chord with me. (Yes, yes, we’ve all been through this before!)

But deeper than that, does not learning from history also doom someone to mediocrity? I think it might.

I myself have lately begun a love affair with History. And there’s just something about it that never fails to get me hot and heavy (which, if you want to know, I am anyway.). The thing is this: History is now.

For most of my life, history was just this thing happening in fourth period while I counted down the minutes till lunchtime and/or recess. It was like this nice boy that hangs out with all your girlfriends and you think he’s pretty alright and might have a crush on you but he’s just not substantive enough for your taste. My teachers strived to get the photocopied pictures in our books to really hit home, wiping their sweat stained brows in front of a room of dull eyed children who refused to care. And all I could think was, “So, let me get this straight: this thing happened, and then this thing happened? Wow, that’s really . . . not fascinating at all.”

But then you go off to college, and you come home over break and you’re hanging out with your high school chums and you run into History coming out of the library. He’s grown his hair out and is reading Russeau and Satre. He’s traded his specs in for a motorcycle, and suddenly you realize that history is actually kind of hot. He’s out of the classroom and into the streets.

This may all be a little too obscure. What I really mean to say is that in recent times, I’ve begun to appreciate history for its introspection. That is, learning about the development of the world reminds me that things haven’t always been the way that they are, and so, carried out, things won’t always be as they are now either. And that lends a great deal of efficacy and agency.

Great historical junctures of the nation, like the Civil War, the American Revolution, the Civil Rights Movement . . . Its great to think to myself that they were not guarantees. Imagining an upstart group of farmers forming a makeshift militia and taking on one of the most powerful military powers on the globe at the time is completely insane, and even more so, the idea that such a thing would be successful? Seems improbable to the extent of laughable. But these outgunned people had an idea and a conviction, and upheld it without knowing the outcome. SUPER hot.

And it’s inspirational, right? Knowing the uncertainties faced, the fear that all could have been lost and come to nothing, the fact that brave souls made brave choices anyway is wonderful. So when people say to me when I come up with some hair-brained social change, “That’s just the way it is,” I get to be all, “Oh really? You know who never said that? Martin Luther King Jr.!!!”

Everything moves and progresses. Everyone has the opportunity to make something of time. And one day people will look back on this time like so much barbarianism, horsedrawn carriages, and livestock in the streets. Everything changes. And we will change it.