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The new semester has begun. For the first time in many years, I am not part of it.
After I taught my last class, more than three months ago, my brother asked me how I felt about it. “I don’t feel retired,” I said. “ I think it will hit me when next semester starts.” Well, here I am and I still don’t feel “retired.” Is something supposed to happen in one’s body, one’s mind or one’s life when one stops doing what they’ve done for most, or all, of their working life?
People have advised me to keep busy. I am doing that, and will probably become even busier if I do even a few of the things I’ve planned or contemplated. Of course I have been cycling, writing and helping Sam, Carrie and a couple of other people with everything from fixing bikes to filling out forms. But I am also, in whatever ways I can, be someone who is the kind of person I didn’t know when I was growing up or beginning my life as Justine. I got a glimpse of that person when, after my last class, two non-binary students told me they were glad to, not only have me as a professor, but also simply to meet me: It showed them, they explained, that the lives they want to live are possible.
And, as I mentioned in the post I wrote afterwards, it actually confirmed, for me, that I was making the best decision. The venue and context may change, but there is work and simply living to be done. Perhaps that is the reason I don’t feel retired, and possibly won’t.
