no, not broken

I guess the fact that I can still take a very particular sort of joy in teaching means I'm not too broken in all of the stuff that's gone on. This joy is the joy of pacing yourself carefully, of not going too fast for the class, of trying to "read" the class for either looks of recognition ("Oh yeah I remember this topic from before" or "oh yeah, I had this in another class") or confusion (which means I need to stop, back up, and try again. And of sharing the same topics - talking about the various interesting allopatric-speciation examples for the Hawaiian Islands, or sharing my tips for how to remember the different functional groups, or whatever.

Three classes in a row is tiring but it does take you out of your own headspace and keep you on your toes.

And a thought: years and years ago, I remember reading in some old novel - it might even have been something like "Wind in the Willows" - of the concept of a character "being taken out of themselves" and as a child, that made no sense to me. Why would someone want to do that?

As an adult, especially an adult who has been through some very extremely not-fun-adult type things lately, I get it now: "being taken out of oneself" means getting away from one's own headspace, not brooding over things. It doesn't matter if it's a trip to Margate (which is kind of what I think it was in the book I reference - or one of the British seaside resorts) or being sent to the country or just doing some hard work....the idea of getting out of the "one inch picture frame" of the stuff that's bugging you or giving you sadness, and going doing something else for a while.

And yes, it's important. Last week my grief counselor reminded me that what I was doing with the fabric shopping or the trip to Shreveport or even the dumb hot bath with a bath fizzie was not "distracting," it was taking a break - and maybe that's part of what being taken out of one's self is - so that you don't get bogged down and overwhelmed. Perhaps I am luckier than many people in that I have an extremely absorbing career, and one that, at its best, brings me joy and makes me feel like what I'm doing makes a difference.

And it's funny - last spring and for the last couple years I was wondering if maybe I wasn't starting to burn out a little bit, if I wasn't getting jaded, and at the worst, if I should consider changing careers. And now, strangely - some of the happiness of teaching has come back. I don't know if it's that teaching right now has that New Semester Smell, before I've figured out which of my students are the ones who are going to give me fits (and therefore, am able to hope it's none of them)  or if maybe by contrast with some of the darker stuff that's gone on in my head this past month, the concern over "can I get the freshman class to grok enantiomers?" is a relatively minor worry.

(And I will say by and large my students have been lovely in all of this; it was probably wise of my to announce my bereavement to my classes, I think they have been more patient with me when I've stopped dead for lack of a word or when once or twice I had to step back and take a deep breath before continuing)

But yeah. Onward and upward. This week was just kind of a lot and I am glad to see the very end of it, here's hoping next week is better. At a minimum I should get my next sampling period in Monday (I have no classes that day: Labor Day - so I can go out first thing in the morning).

And maybe I get a little time this weekend to watch "The Goonies" and knit...