A Habit of Delight

Patrick walks in, gives me a quick head nod — “Hey, Mrs. Sever” — and walks across the room, relaxed after lunch in the sun with his friends, and plops down in his seat.

Reese shortly follows, making eye contact with Patrick. “Hey, man,” then to me, “Hey, Mrs. Sever.”

Sofia walks in, exclaiming directly to the boys, “Guys! Did you hear what Mr. P said about Friday’s test?!”

Sarah and Justin enter, debriefing about their lunchtime theatre dress rehearsal and how they are feeling about their first show tonight.

Faye and Hayley scurry to my desk, where I am connecting the computer and PowerPoint for the lesson. “Mrs. Sever! Guess who found their homecoming dresses!”

The noise in the room rises to a bustle as more students pour in, taking their seats in my sophomore religion class. Backpacks dropping, books opening, pens being grabbed, chatter and excitement and connection happening throughout the room.

This is just one glimpse of what I experienced in my classroom four to six times a day, every day, as a high school teacher in my career. Remembering that moment, I was feeling a bit stressed, tired, and trying to rally for my post-lunch classes. Specifically, I was stressed because my PowerPoint wasn’t connecting fast enough, and I didn’t like how the last two slides didn’t have photos and looked rather boring. I wished I had time to add them. My breath was short, and my headspace was mostly tuned into those anxieties rather than the life happening in the room or the sweet girls inviting me into the joy of their dress finds.

Some of those transitions I was able to soak in and savor, making connections and talking with students about what was happening in their world or something silly they found humor in that day. Some I was distracted by my own fatigue, thoughts, or calculating if I could pour a warm drink fast enough before the period started.

I wish I had practiced more intentionally then than what I do now: a habit of delight.

A habit of delight is a modified form of mindfulness. Where mindfulness is an intentional tuning into the present moment — noticing it non-judgmentally — a habit of delight tunes into the present and chooses to take it in fully and joyfully. It means slowing down enough to notice… really notice… the people in front of us and the things happening, and deciding to soak them in rather than allowing the moment to be captured by our own cluttered minds.

In the life of teaching, there are so many possible stressors and things that can rob our joy in a day. But there are also so many things to delight in: a student’s excitement, a connection with a colleague, the light pouring into your classroom at the start of the day. This simple practice keeps us connected to why we do what we do.

Is there a way that you already do this?

Can I invite, encourage, urge you to choose to cultivate a habit of delight in your day?

What part of your day can you slow down for a few moments to take in and savor?

It could look like:

• Going out two minutes earlier to observe the play and life happening on campus before lunch ends and your students line up for class.
  
• Slowing down to notice the real effort of the student who is trying to grasp a new concept.
  
• Giving full attention to a student telling you a story and cherishing their desire to share with you and the unique qualities of their personality.
  
• Delighting in the ways a group of friends relates to each other and how they are including the new student.
  
• Pulling a student aside to encourage them and name an aspect of their character you see on display.

For me, in my teaching career, my habit of delight most certainly would have been slowing down more to soak in those moments right before class, when students entered bringing their full selves to the room. I would have greeted more students by name, checked in on them, and cherished in real time the ways they found belonging with each other.

Now, on the outside of my teaching career, these are the moments that flood my mind on a random Tuesday when I am reminded of my former school and students. I look back on these faces and moments with such delight and find myself longing to be back in Room 179 right after lunch.