Boston, Massachusetts, "The Walking City." When NCTE announced their conference location this year, my heart leaped. Walking has always been my meditation, my way of processing the world one step at a time. That was until October 17th, when a car struck me in a crosswalk while walking my dog. While he emerged unscathed , I found myself navigating an unexpected landscape of fear and, surprisingly, profound gratitude.
 
There's a particular kind of fear that settles into your bones after an accident – the kind that makes you flinch at passing headlights and hold your breath at every intersection or car honking. But there's also a particular kind of healing that happens when you're surrounded by a community of literature teachers, those who understand that every human story carries both shadow and light.
 
This isn't a story about toxic positivity or rushing past the hard parts. Instead, it's about the way words and people can hold us when we're broken, how literacy becomes a bridge back to ourselves and each other. It feels fitting that NCTE's theme this year is "Heart, Hope, and Humanity" – three things I've found in abundance in my academic family. And so, I’d like to use this word-count to express my thanks to those who have had a pivotal role in reigniting my excitement to attend the conference this year.
 
To Dr. Angela Wiseman: You've taught me that vulnerability isn't just about being seen – it's about creating spaces where others feel brave enough to be seen too. Your brilliance is matched only by your compassion, and you've shown me how to wear both with grace.
 
To Dr. Crystal Chen Lee: You embody what it means to create belonging. Your heart-centered approach to scholarship reminds me daily that academic work is, at its core, human work.
 
To Samantha Duke: In letting me step back, you've helped me step forward. You've shown me that control isn't always about holding on – sometimes it's about trusting enough to let go.
 
To Callie Hammond: In your understanding, I've found reflection. In your friendship, I've found refuge.
 
As I prepare to walk the streets of Boston (more cautiously now, but still determined), I'm reminded of why we teach literature in the first place. We teach it because stories help us make sense of our wounds and our wonders. We teach it because every student carries within them a universe of potential, waiting to be recognized and realized.

When we dream about change, we're really dreaming about connection – the kind I've found in this community of literacy teachers and readers of the world who rallied around me. They remind me that education at its best is an act of hope, a belief that through words and understanding, we can build something better than what we inherited.

So thank you to these women, these scholars, these keepers of stories and hope. Through you, I've learned that our strongest moments often come not in our independence, but in the gentle acceptance of our interconnectedness. I cannot wait to walk the streets of Boston with you!