Large Enough For Me

I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.

Nor had I time to love, but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.
-Emily Dickinson

I can remember doing a unit in my high school American Literature class on Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson and viewing it as a colossal waste of time. I hated poetry because it wasn't straightforward; it required a creative effort on the part of the reader (i.e. me). Now I pour over these words, perhaps because I've experienced just a little more life and I'm beginning to understand some of Dickinson's sentiments that I couldn't a few years ago. Maybe I've just learned to appreciate poetry in general a little more.

I can also remember sitting in the back of the classroom day after day, ignoring my seventh grade social studies teacher's lectures about African history. Now I'm struggling to manipulate my schedule to fit in an African Studies class next fall.

I wonder what I'm learning about these days that I will look back and wish I had given more attention to (I should probably start by spending less time whining about my schoolwork). Today my "little toil of love" involves a lesson in empathy for my future clients with voice disorders, as I myself have lost my voice. It is definitely large enough for me.