I am, in fact, really lousy at transitions. I’m late for nearly everything because that liminal space in between being here and being there somehow paralyses me. Sometimes I sit on the edge of my bed, fully dressed, for 20 minutes because while I want to be in my pajamas and in my bed reading, I just can’t handle the whole routine of getting undressed and changed, and taking out my contacts and removing my makeup and brushing my teeth, and finding the dog, etc. See also: me in the driveway half in and half out of my car, and me in my office wearing a coat and holding my keys in my hand, but idly browsing Facebook.
I’m no better at big transitions. My dear love has packed up our shared domicile for big moves three times while I either left town (twice!), or cowered in corners, crying (memorably, once). Never mind we were always moving somewhere better, happily. Moving in always involves moving out, and that’s sad.
As the song has it (and I’m embarrassed this is my reference here, but it’s what popped into my head), “every new beginning feels like some other beginning’s end.” Well, because it is.
This week, I’m the Associate Chair for Graduate Studies in my department. Next week, I am … not Associate Chair for Graduate Studies.
It turns out my feelings about this are pretty complicated. I volunteered for this role, took it on with passion and purpose. I worked very hard and achieved some of the goals I had, important goals, big goals. I am proud of my work: I made money appear out of nowhere, solved some structural problems, recruited and supported some great students, learned a lot. I also have regrets: I’m still no good with paperwork and barely competent at email and my calendaring skills result in me occasionally missing meetings, to my deep shame. Sometimes I procrastinate on overwhelmingly nitpicky tasks. I’m going out with a bang: we’ve had to produce an enormous program review document summarizing the past seven years of work, and it’s been a gargantuan task that I’m barely going to get finished, and certainly procrastinated on. I don’t feel super great about that. It’s not a secret that the last year has been hard for me: I’ve been overworked and burnt out. I thought I would be glad to be done.
I am, but, it turns out, I’m somehow really sad, too.
It just hit me Monday night. I’m in transition. Sitting in my driveway with the engine off, not going anywhere but not really arrived, either. Resentfully still doing grad chair work, but not particularly energetically. Writing hard-ish toward a deadline, but exhaustedly. Took a vacation day, but didn’t really unplug, without really staying plugged in, either. Neither here nor there.
Perhaps you are in transition, too. Here in Canada, July 1 is an important academic date–it’s when many positions officially start, when administrative roles change hands, when milestones are marked. I started here as an Assistant Professor on July 1, 2004; I got tenure and promotion to Associate on July 1, 2011; I started as Associate Chair, Grad Studies on July 1, 2014. Some of you are starting new jobs and new roles and new ranks on July 1.
But some of you, like me, are not so much starting something new on Saturday, but rather endingsomething. Returning to regular ranks, leaving a position, retiring. Or maybe you are watching others begin new roles while you … do not. These endings and non-startings are important, too.
I needed, for myself, some kind of ritual, that I haven’t really allowed myself yet, to end this period of my work. I’ve decided to just use this week to transition, emotionally and mentally. I’ve asked for an extension on the writing deadline so I can let that work go for the week so I can just really work on ending my time as grad chair this week. I met with our incoming grad chair, and handed over my master key: we had cocktails, we traded wisdom, I sincerely wished him well and offered him my help. It’s his master key now, the email becomes his on Monday, the sign moves from my office door to his. I’m trying to tie off loose ends with my coordinator. I’m also, honestly, just kind of wallowing and feeling my feelings. My feelings of relief and regret, of pride and frustration, of sadness and hope.
I’m on vacation next week. My email autoresponders have been set. I teach in the fall and then will begin a 12 month sabbatical. All things to happily plan for, to look forward to, to dream about. And I have been, and I will.
But for now, this: something is ending, and it’s okay to spend a few days just sitting in the discomfort of the transition. Really taking the time to let go before finding joy in picking something else up. Whatever you are transitioning into and out of this summer, I hope you, too, will find a moment to feel that pivot, between then and now, here and there, what you have been, and what you will become next.