On My Soapbox from Michael Wallis | April 2025

Michael Wallis is the Student Learning Consultant for The Washington Center. His collaborative services are available to faculty who wish to improve the equity and student learning focus of their curricula.

It was a fine day in the early Spring. The dewy earth breathed out a rasping breeze that chilled Will and wicked at the sweat uncomfortably condensing at the small of his back. The great tree before him, which often grew small with distance as Will sat cross-legged beside it, had become a familiar companion in the years since he’d dedicated himself to learning how the tree grew its roots.

Will liked his spot next to the great tree well enough. There were plenty of places he could explore without going anywhere. He’d seen some beautiful things reflected in raindrops and came to appreciate the portraits of not-quite-himself as one of the peculiar ways raindrops preferred to express creativity.

It did not look like it would rain today, though, which Will was thankful for. He was expecting the great tree to ask him a question, the next in a series of softly-spoken inquiries they’d traded since Will arrived. Will never liked trying to hear the great tree over the sound of the rain, though it seemed ironically fitting, the prospect of being damp while trying to answer the most important questions of his life.

Will thought fondly of the raindrops while he reflected on the questions he’d been asked by the tree in the past. He thought of the dog, and the snowstorm, and pondered the size of the creature which must have left those tracks beside the train’s. He considered his shadow, which he’d bumped into a few times now. Will sometimes worried that he liked the conflict his shadow brought to his world. It made him feel heroic whether win, loss, or draw.

“You are not a hero yet,” the great tree whispered gravely. “You have never been called to leave your normal world. You are eager for adventure. It is your privilege that you have never known your heart to refuse.”

It was traditional by now for Will to respond to the great tree by listening. The wisdom of the tree was not like its sap. It did not flow and was not sweet. It must be listened to honestly and its tannic bitterness was to be considered its own delight. It had required of Will a willingness to abandon the fear of disgust or pain. It was the rain which had shown him, eventually, how to will away the stinging cold from his fingertips in favor of savoring the droplets. It still took Will some time to find in his mind the safe haven of indefensiveness.

“How will I know when I become a hero?” Will asked his companion.

“Heroes do not know. They act. In spite of their hearts telling them to remain. In spite of their minds abandoning hope. In spite of their failing will, they act. The question is, Will:

will you?”