The Smart Women’s Summer, Part 2

I loved reading about Angela’s summer-so-far and her summer plans. My summer-so-far hasn’t been as exciting in some ways (yet crazy in others), but it’s about to get there. For me, summer is a time to stop teaching, reflect on the teaching year I just had, prep for the next one, read a ton of books, and ideally, travel. In the seven years I’ve been in my job, I’ve only taught summer courses two or three times, and I think I’ve traveled every year except the summer of 2013 when I was on maternity leave.

That summer was also the only time I did zero work. In the years since, I’ve found that summer is a great time to put my creative energies into planning for the fall: my ideal the past couple of years has been to work in June and relax in July. I planned the same for this year. This is what the Summer of 2018 was supposed to look like:

  1. Take Kiddo to summer camp every day
  2. Use the camp hours (in June) to…
    1. Do a brief side-gig
    2. finish prepping logistics (assessments, standards, etc) for a new unit in a new course
    3. Prep lessons for the fall
    4. Clean my house, read books, write, etc., etc.
  3. Travel to England for a one-week seminar and a few days of extra sight-seeing (namely at the Imperial War Museum, for teaching purposes).

But best-laid plans and all that. About two weeks ago, the plan began unraveling. It’s not bad – it’s just different.

Continue reading “The Smart Women’s Summer, Part 2”

Good Company

When the school year ends, I always feel a bit bereft. I love the academic cycle, the fresh starts each fall and again with each term (small commas, brief breaths in the sentence that is the year). I need summer, but summer and I need time to reconnect on new terms each year.

I feel that way now; classes ended Friday and we’ll wrap faculty meetings this Thursday before finishing with a conference early next week. It’s a slow segue to summer.

A few weeks ago, Raquelle wrote about leisure reading as self-care and shared some of the titles she’s reading. Her experience resonated with me: when I finished my dissertation seven years ago, I couldn’t wait to read again. In grad school, I read often, but I’d rarely had time to pick up a book for fun. (Example: I read the Hunger Games books while in grad school, but my head was so full of history books that by the time the last one came out, I couldn’t remember the others. I also read it so hurriedly that even now, I can’t tell you a thing about it.)

 

blur book girl hands
Photo by Leah Kelley on Pexels.com

I got much better at reading for fun again after grad school, but in the past couple of years, I’ve slipped again. In the school year, I’m generally less likely to pick up a book on the weekend or before I go to sleep, often too exhausted to try. There are exceptions, like trimester and holiday breaks, or spring break, but my Goodreads profile tends to be less active in general than it was a few years ago.

Still, books are where I find myself and calm myself. They’re perfect for making the transition from teacher-on-the-go to teacher-at-rest.

Continue reading “Good Company”

Teacher As Student: Resources

pexels-photo-953430.jpegFive weeks. Just five weeks from now, my students will pack up their bags, drop off their laptops at the Help Desk, and clear out from campus for other exciting adventures. A week later, I’ll have grades in and be sitting on the cusp of the promised land of summer.

If that sounds like I’m waiting for the next great thing, I promise I’m not. These next five weeks are full of many exciting new things, such as wrapping up my Atlantic World History course and Contemporary Global Issues research course (for the last time ever, as we’re changing curriculum next year). More than ever, my students are coming into their own as thinkers and writers, the culmination of a long year of hard work, and it’s exciting to see the pieces fall into place.

Sure, there are plenty of moments when I think everyone is ready to be done – our seniors walk out the door at the end of next week, and that always signals the beginning of the end, the feeling of “Oh, can’t WE have time for ourselves, too, please?”

Let’s not jump too far ahead, though. I look forward to summer because it gives me all that time for myself and for dreaming of the next course coming up, but also because summer gives me a chance to learn and be.

A lot of educators use the summer for professional development, but it’s also something many of us do year-round. Since the summer of 2011, my summer opportunities have included all sorts of fun things, like:

It’s been fabulous, but that’s just been the start. I learned pretty early on that there are also a lot of options for professional development during the school year, if you can manage to swing it along with everything else. I haven’t done it every year, but every couple of years I somehow find myself trying something new, just for kicks and to fill in some of my knowledge gaps.

There are so many options out there. I’ve gathered some ideas below based on my own experiences, in case these ideas help others get started. If you have additional resources to share, add them to the comments!

National Consortium for Teaching about Asia
This is my top resource, hands-down, for anything you ever wanted to learn about Asian history. Asian history has never been my strong suit, but when you teach 20th Century World and World History in general, it’s amazing to have an organization like this around to help you out. Since I discovered the NCTA a few years ago, I’ve taken three online courses: Mao’s China, Japan since 1945, and China’s Dynasties (currently wrapping that up now). The instructors are amazing, the resources phenomenal – you can’t go wrong with anything here.

Virginia Geographic Alliance
While I don’t think the course is currently running, two years ago a colleague got me connected with Virginia Geographic Alliance’s “Putting Social Studies in its Place,” a 5-week online course that got me back into GIS (geographic information systems) for the first time since grad school (and working with ArcGIS in a way that didn’t make me crazy for the first time EVER). Last fall, I got to get more training with their follow-up course for those of us who’d done the first one. I’m still so much of a newbie when it comes to integrating GIS like I’d like to, but I’ve come huge distances thanks to the team here. (Now they’ve even got me thinking about how to design my own Geoinquiries like the ones here.)

Facebook group: Scholarships, Grants and Summer Institutes for Teachers
Teachers in the know KNOW this group. Want to find any sort of program? You’ll find it here, along with feedback from people who have done it, and occasionally people who pick the participants in any given program. This group is a great way to stay on top of opportunities as they arise throughout the year, in addition to the larger slate of summer PD opportunities that are out there.

Other programs that offer PD throughout the year:

It’s just a start, but if you or someone you know is looking for future study opportunities like these (and they’re often free and/or funded) – check these out and share other ones you might know!

The Spaces In Between

There are life-changing moments, and there are life-changing moments.  There are the ways you hold those life-changing moments in your memory: that sense of who you were before, and who you’ve been since, and how pivotal that moment was in your life. Over time, you take it as a given: of course that was such a life-changing thing, and of course it’s changed who you were and where your life was headed. Only one day, you wake up and realize that it’s the thing you never talk about, at least not online.

It’s been ten years since my life-changing event. Ten years ago, nearly halfway through my first pregnancy, we lost our son.

This is the thing I don’t talk about, at least not to you or any of my friends or even really with my family. This has become the private grief that my husband and I share. It’s become the thing that shaped so much of who I’ve become, the thing that I think most people forget, especially as the years pass, and especially as I have a vibrant almost-five-year-old rocking my world today.

No, they don’t forget. We just don’t talk about it, and that’s okay. But ten years on, I still think about it every day. I still hit every March and try to pin down exactly when it happened, because ten years on, I can’t quite remember – and that’s okay, because ten years on, it’s not really something that you cry about any more. Not most of the time.

A wise friend told me, back then, that time passing would help. That getting through the milestones like when the baby would have been born, and when the baby would have walked and talked, and when the baby would have started kindergarten – all those things would hurt, but would also help make it better.

(Those were the easy parts, but not so much the parts where you watch your friends start growing families while you sit back and wait a little longer and screw your courage to the sticking place.)

I didn’t come here today to grieve, although maybe I did a little. Mostly, I wanted to write about what happened after, since I was in my third year of graduate school when I lost my son, and only two months away from my comprehensive exams and getting my dissertation prospectus approved.

If you’re not in grad school or academia, that may sound weird, but I don’t care. These are the things we never talk about, but the telling is worth it.

Sometimes people leave you
Halfway through the wood. – Sondheim

Continue reading “The Spaces In Between”

On trying not to lose sight of pursuits well-loved

I’m going through a dry spell right now: books sit next to my bed, unopened, and my ebook readers are chock full of titles I’ve planned to get to for weeks. I stop by the library at school daily, cast longing looks at the neatly-arranged displays, sneak peaks inside the covers of titles waiting to be processed, and move on my way.

As you can see, it’s not that I’m stuck without anything to read: something else has gotten in the way. This happens from time to time, mostly when work sneaks up on me so heavily that my brain is too full to step away for a bit, to get some respite amongst the pages where I know I really need to be. When I’m overwhelmed with life, it’s easy to forget that reading offers me beauty and relief from the stresses in the outer world.

I’m starting to find my way back in. Last week, Madeleine L’Engle taught me that “A book, too, can be a star, ‘explosive material, capable of stirring up fresh life endlessly,’ a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe” (Newberry Acceptance Speech, p. 245, Square Fish paperback edition).

Somehow, last week I managed to make time for Madeleine in a moment between things. I’ve read A Wrinkle in Time at least three times in my life now, and the first two times left me underwhelmed. I have a sense that I vehemently disliked it as a child; I tried it again in my twenties and still didn’t get it. I saw the previews for the new film and thought I should try again. I haven’t seen the movie yet (come on, spring break), but it seems to me that if someone loved this book so much that they envisioned something that looks so spectacular, then I must be missing something.

I tried again. This time, I get it. I can see it now more clearly and moved seamlessly through the tesseract with Meg and Charles Wallace and Calvin O’Keefe. I adored Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which.

And it helped. I expanded my universe and my imagination in a moment when I didn’t think I could, and things became better.

Last month, author George Saunders came to town as part of his book tour for the paperback release of Lincoln in the BardoWhen that book came out more than a year ago, I couldn’t put it down. It’s set over the course of one night in a cemetery, and I stayed up well past my bedtime – in the comfort of my own bed, of course – sobbing through the pages.

The author event wasn’t quite what I expected – these things usually being sessions in which the author talks for a bit, then reads from their work – but it was far better. Saunders didn’t read from the book at all, but talked about his creative process and the two-decade-journey to create the book. I’d forgotten so much of the story, but hearing him talk about it, it all came back and I found I wanted more. Happily, there’s an audiobook featuring more than 160 people’s voices (including a few famous people) – and it is sublime.

This weekend, while driving to and from a distant family event, I listened to most of it and felt better. And sad. (It’s a sad story, and yet…not.)

Slowly, very slowly, it feels like things are turning around. Perhaps it’s that Mock Trial season has ended and we’re reaching the final two months of school. Maybe my impending spring break – and the warmer spring weather – are putting my mind at ease. I like to think Madeleine and George have been more than a little helpful in inspiring me to think about the world anew again.

Sometimes, in these craziest times of the year, it’s easy to lose sight of the things I love most, and oh-so-nice to get a glimpse of where I love to be. Those are the moments that help propel me on to get around the next corner and to the place where I can dive into a new set of pages.

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The Long Twinge of Grief of the Left-Behind

In his novel Paper Towns, author-historian-vlogger-nerdfighter-extraordinaire John Green writes that “It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world.”

Well, it is. But it isn’t.

I “left academia” nearly seven years ago, and even though I’m incredibly happy with where I landed, I think there will always be that twinge that pops up every-so-often, that wistful longing of “if only I could have made it.”eastman_johnson_-_the_girl_i_left_behind_me_-_smithsonian

I’m not always very good with staying up on Twitter, but about two weeks ago I caught Erin Bartram’s post on leaving academia the day she tweeted about it. In “The Sublimated Grief of the Left Behind,” she writes eloquently and passionately about her decision to leave academia, to not pursue another round of the academic job market, and the grief, of course, that comes with that.

I nodded as I read it. I’ve been there. A bit differently, of course, but I’ve been there, and I have felt that.

Continue reading “The Long Twinge of Grief of the Left-Behind”