Senioritis

I've yet to see it manifest in my students, but I've been forewarned by many an educator that the motivation, will, and general interest my twelfth-grade students brought to the classroom in August will soon evaporate in the warm, spring sun. And while this should bother me (since what I do with them is supposed to matter), I've got a very real concern about another big problem--my own developing case of senioritis.

Is that what you call it, even if you're not a senior?

My typical educator mindset this time of year--a gradual loosening of ties that occurs post-spring break, pre-summer vacation, and by way of standardized testing--is this season overshadowed by the excited relief I feel by the potential end of this three-year pursuit for a graduate degree.

The students are excited. I sense their piqued curiosities as we read Frankenstein and talk about the pursuit of knowledge, many of them realizing this is perhaps the last time they'll be in a school-based learning environment. And while I can still recall the joy and trepidation I felt as I graduated from high school just ten years ago, I can't fully permit myself to celebrate with them without secretly and momentarily celebrating for myself.

Because when it's all said and done, I'm not certain my jubilation will be about what I've done more so than what I've acquired--and by that, I mean time. One skill I seem to have gained through this process is the ability to account for family, friends, work, school, and running without a prolonged sacrificing of any one of these elements. The skill means I'm functioning almost mechanically at times, which is good for productivity. But it's a cold, and robotic way to live.

The prospect of sleeping on a Saturday without an internal compulsion to get up at 6:00 and start work will be nice. Eliminating the need to drink coffee after dinner twice a week will certainly be good for my heart rate. Actually participating at book club--hell, even reading for pleasure or without a deadline, will be extraordinary. I think I'm most looking forward to the ability to lumber around, rather than zip or storm about; this alone should do wonders for my outlook on the world.

For now, I'm tasting these possibilities. I'm all caught up in two classes, and my drafted thesis sits on a couple imaginary shelves in cyberspace awaiting feedback from an adviser and a secondary reader. Pending some breakdown in the formula by which these projects typically come to an end, I should find myself with a completed degree late next month.

I'm not sure what the completion of this MA means, where it will take me, or how soon I'll go there, but I know things will be different. That said, I will definitely miss it. Academia is good for me. Very, very good. I'm lucky so many people have put up with me while I've dabbled and indulged.

One random thought recurs these days. I imagine on some nondescript Thursday evening somewhere in the future, I'll be at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables. I'll glance at the clock, see that it's 5:34 pm, and think, "When I was 28, I would most likely be standing here after work and a 10-mile run and a shower. I'd glance at the clock while simultaneously making lunch and cooking dinner, and hope for no traffic on the freeway toward Sac State." In the thought, I smile. I finish casually chopping my vegetables, then kiss my wife, open a bottle of wine, talk to the cat, and let the memory drift away.

My seniors are likely no strangers to these kinds of thoughts. They know what I need because they need it, too. The cure for senioritis is graduation.