Tomorrow marks the start of a new semester. I’m not quite prepared for it. I’ve made the turn, started the process of creating this classes—some from the ground up again. It is part of my own iterative process to consider what works and revise. Unfortunately each new class feels like a first draft at times—especially in the era of chatGPT where the students are no longer even faking the effort to get work done or attempting to learn.
This being the start of something new makes me feel like something else must be ending. Summer is ending. A type of freedoms and fee time is winding down. The work of school and long hours are returning and that means a change of lifestyle I’m not quite sure I want to make anymore. Yet, here we are.
I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I want lately. I’ve been watching a few of my kids move through life with ease and no real hurry, braced by the certainty they can stay home and live rent free for a while longer. This generational way of life is not how I came up but to them it is normal. At least we’ve allowed it to be. My hard work is mirrored in their lack thereof and I am constantly reminded that part of why I do so is to ensure that don’t need to. I’m not quite good with that anymore. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing, especially when I realize that none of them will be taking care of us when we get old. That too feels generational.