Merry Christmas!

 Merry Christmas!

Because I Want To

 Yesterday I mentioned that I am leaving a job because I felt “it was time.” There was no specific moment or incident that precipitated my decision. Nor had I checked all of the boxes on a list of things I wanted to accomplish. I can’t even say that I was bored or needed a new challenge. 

Have you done something simply because of a want or need that you have because, well, you have it? Some people will feel superior and be condescending to you if you can’t give them a rational explanation—or, at least, one that fits into the ways they frame their own narratives. I spent decades as the round peg trying to fit info a square hole, or the square peg in the round hole, because I couldn’t explain, at least in ways family members, colleagues, authority figures why I didn’t couldn’t make the career, lifestyle or other choices they proscribed for me.

The funny thing is that, as often as not, they didn’t or couldn’t make the same choices they were trying to make for me, or they were miserable with them (example:  marrying and having childfen). Or had ideas about how I should be doing what I did, even if it was something they didn’t do themselves.  I have had completely sedentary people wonder why I ride my bike as much as I do, why I don’t ride more or why I’m in the saddle when it’s “too” cold or wet or whatever.

I admit I have my limits:  We had combinations of rain, sleet and snow through much of today.  I didn’t ride.  There wasn’t anyplace I had to be, so I didn’t go anywhere, except to the store next door and the cafe across the street to pick up my dinner. (Taco Tuesday!) I curled up with. Marlee in the middle of the afternoon. It was time for all of those things, and perhaps it will be time to ride again tomorrow. Only I can decide.

If I Want To

 

Woke up late yesterday. To those who live their lives measured out in coffee spoons, as per T.S. Eliot’s Prufrock, the results could’ve been anything from inconvenient to catastrophic: embarrassment on arriving late for mass or service, a missed appointment or a lost job. But as it was Sunday, and I haven’t gone to church in years, there was no place I had to be.

Now that I think of it, I “had” to be at church, or any place else, only to the extent that someone or some people expected me.  I guess most people have a moment—usually (or at least hopefully) well before midlife.  You can sleep in, make an omelet and go for a bike ride on Sunday, as I did yesterday. Or you can go to a gallery or museum (as I’ve done on other Sundays) for your own interests rather than some pedagogical agenda or to uphold some reputation you thought you had to uphold to whomever.  But then you realize you’re the only one who cares whether you rose with the sun or lay before yourself before the moon. Or whether you made yourself breakfast, went out for brunch or ordered takeout.

If I sound melancholy, well, perhaps I am. I enjoyed the ride, the omelet (with curried onions and red sweet peppers) and dinner with Sam and his girlfriend. Perhaps I am more affected by seasonal depression than I realize: Yesterday was the first day of winter. I didn’t mind the cold or even the wind when I was pedaling into it. I knew the sun would set—around 16:20–and night would fall earlier than on any other day of the year. But somehow the day seemed to end earlier still. 

Perhaps my feelings have to do with the other climate: the one ushered in part by the Fake Tan Führer’s return to (and defacement of) the White House.  When I told my friend Jay in France that I felt so calm in Japan, he suggested that I may simply have been happy to be out of the United States. He was right about that, but I also realized during that trip that I didn’t have to fulfill anyone else’s idea of what it “should” be: If I wanted to spend the day riding around and simply enjoying the sights; what whether I felt like spending my time in a temple or a thermal spring, it was my, and no one else’s time.  And I didn’t have to report to anyone.

Oh, and during the past week, on Thursday to be exact, I wrapped up my semester.  I submitted grades—for the last time, at least at where I’d been teaching since the Fall of 2021. (I lost my old job during the pandemic.) Another university is taking it over (but calling it a “merger), so my future there would’ve been uncertain. That isn’t  a reason I’m leaving, though.  Nor is my relationship with colleagues, which has been very good. The commute, longer than I expected after moving last year, has something to do with it. 

Really, I just felt it was time. I mentioned in an earlier post that I felt my trip to Japan is motivating me to make some life changes.  This is one but, I expect, a prelude. I worked to the best of my abilities. My department chair and a coordinator, whom I enjoyed working with, thanked me for my contributions.  And a student wrote to tell me how much she enjoyed her class. And I wrote back to tell her how much I liked working with her.

She will have other professors in other courses.  A colleague or, maybe, a new hire will teach the courses I’d been teaching. Or the university that’s taking over might cancel them. Whatever happens, will happen, whether or not I am there. Perhaps the only person, place or thing—animal, mineral or vegetable—that absolutely depended on me was:

He scampered up and let me stroke him as I was leaving.  I left him a can of Friskies Mariner’s catch and shed tears, for him as I mounted La-Vande, my King of Mercia, and pedaled away.

Perhaps I will return—for him, perhaps for some colleagues, but mainly if I want to.