What's my promise?

It's 2010 and I'm a new student in the University of Iowa's English department. Having come from halfway across the state (for a second time in my life), I was amidst a great adventure to finally pursue my undergraduate degree at age 30. I'd begun to meet some great and lifelong friends, who, because of my position as an adult who'd returned to school by choice, were very fast and interested friends.

Sitting in the 2nd floor classroom in the English and Philosophy building, which was shaped like (and made of) cinder blocks, the desks and walls left much to the imagination. Which was good, because imagination and creative writing are great bedfellows. Our professor spent the first class session introducing us to an old, anonymous English poem "Western Wind."

"Western Wind, when wilt thou blow?

The small rain down can rain,

Christ, that my love were in my arms

And I in my bed again!"

For many reasons, I chose to use that poem as a jumping off point for my final, 12-page analysis and appreciation paper, set next to the myth of Cupid and Psyche. The connection is not literal (so to speak), but the moment of emotional longing is palpable in both.

Professor Hamilton spoke about this poem with ease (he was close to retirement, and had done so to classes like ours and probably other groups countless times in his career). He spent a portion of the time talking about the promise indicated by such longing. Longing is not a broken promise, exactly, but one in waiting. "Promise," he explained, has its etymological roots in Latin. The prefix "pro-" meaning "forward," and the root "mistere" meaning "to send or cast." He used the analogy of a large rock being thrown a distance over a flat field of grass.

"It will be there when you arrive at that place again."

Promises are a strange thing we do in society. In friendships, in family, in relationships - there is an all-to-often unspoken promise of "I am here," or "I will be there for you." We set appointments by promising to transport ourselves to a location at a given time of a calendar day. We sign contracts. We shake hands. We agree in churches and organizations to hold to certain shared values. In romantic relationships, we kiss, or share a passionate evening and wonder "did they mean that?" As in, "were they communicating a promise to me?"

Oftentimes, the things we don't do are more heartbreaking when we said we'd do them. Things that go undone are harder to notice, except by those who expect them, especially when that person is oneself.

Another aspect of the word promise is more like "potential." We say of students "they have such promise - think of what they might accomplish in the course of their life!" We wonder at what we are capable of, and sometimes surprise ourselves by proving our inner lies to be the falsehoods that they are, that often we've created in our fears. Rarely do we promise to perform poorly, do a bad job, or let a loved one go in life.

So I wonder what forgotten promises I hold. Further, I wonder what mass of forgotten promises are out there, in the lives of others, and in our collective unconscious. Will the things we long for in life ever come to us? Are they worth longing for? What can we do to make ourselves better - to enrich our lives and come into what we know we can be? As some say, "who we really are."

Others can't promise this kind of growth or realization, but a good and trusted mentor, with the right kind of life experiences and training, can guide us through the tougher and dimmer moments of our lives when our promises, even to ourselves, are hard to see, or difficult to remember or believe.

I believe that we all carry some form of promise, be it personal, social, generational, artistic, productive, therapeutic, or otherwise. We all carry the potential to exude wonder and fulfillment into the world.

I wonder, what promises have we yet to discover? What do we long for? What do we know we can do, but have perhaps laid aside in favor of what is comfortable and familiar?

I hope this writing finds you well. May your journey through life be filled with wonder. May you experience reminders that you, too, were once just a promise.