The Hope Jar

All week, I have been trying to make it to my local bank to open a new account. It’s such a small thing—opening a separate checking account so I can manage the little money that comes in from readings and selling the occasional book. I was stuck in traffic for most of my commute, but made it to the bank 10 minutes before they closed. Fortunately, the manager on duty was nice enough to stay late and help me (gotta love small banks).

There’s barely enough in it to pay postage for poetry submissions and buy subscriptions, but it’s mine. I’ve given up so much this past year that tonight I did something for myself and my family. The account is another sign of hope—that I am managing this life the best I can. This small act meant so much to me, more than words can say.

At home, I have a jar filled with loose change. When Tim left, I renamed it The Hope Jar. Another small gesture that I am making plans for the future. Opening the account made me feel the same way. Again, I don’t expect to earn much this year from poetry, but you never know what the future might bring. You just never know.