![\"A](\"https:\/\/catherinedenial.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/pexels-tara-winstead-8386114-scaled.jpg\")
<\/a>I feel uneasy on campus, acutely aware of the heightened risk I bear of complications from Covid should I catch it.\u00a0 I don\u2019t use my office; I\u2019m teaching in buildings some distance away, in classrooms that are accessible, so my office comes with me\u2014as it does for so many people\u2014in the shape of giant totes. One holds my laptop and lesson plans, books and phone and wallet. Another is full of snacks for students to take home at the end of class, and another with markers and fidget toys. I keep giant post-it notepads in the back of my car and hope it doesn\u2019t rain when I need to walk one to class. \u00a0I miss the simple ability to drink water when my throat becomes raw. I Zoom with students who need help with their assignments and I\u2019m forcibly struck by the impact of seeing their faces without a mask. \u00a0Their smiles are not what I would have predicted\u2014they\u2019re better, different, and it\u2019s strange to know I\u2019m only seeing half an expression most of the time, and that they see only half an expression from me.<\/p>\n
The pandemic sits behind us all the time, peering over our shoulders. Everything takes longer; everything costs more energy, involves more planning. My students are struggling to find themselves around so many people all the time after eighteen months of anything but. We\u2019re all socially awkward in new, unexpected ways, trying to smooth our rough edges after time apart. Schoolwork still takes up more bandwidth than my students have, and we all spend time trying to find breathing room around the edges of what \u201cshould\u201d be done. There are questions that we\u2019re puzzling out together, about reading loads and deadlines and new ways to think, and questions that no one will answer, like why does it have to be like this?<\/p>\n
Loss is everywhere. I\u2019ve lost members of my family and grad school acquaintances to Covid, have friends who still wrestle with the virus\u2019s long-term effects. We\u2019ve lost routines, habits, celebrations. I often feel like I\u2019ve lost my way and need a map that can tell me how to navigate the places that look familiar but feel sharp and new. I\u2019ve lost the lion\u2019s share of my naivet\u00e9, see things differently than I once did.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s hard to pin down, hard to sum up, and so I struggle. I\u2019m used to using my words to give expression to my feelings, of writing my way to understanding, but there\u2019s so much that ducks beneath and away from the words I have.\u00a0 I chip away at my to-do list, which grows longer every day, and I roll the concept of \u2018cognitive load\u2019 around in my mind like a marble, like it\u2019s physical, exerting pressure that explains each daily headache. I wear my mask, until\u2014today\u2014I forget it and wander into a campus building without that protection, not even cognizant that my face is bare.<\/p>\n
It rains, and I wonder where my motivation is hiding, where my sense of purpose has gone. It rains, and at least I can take pleasure in stomping through puddles in a good pair of boots, splashing toward teaching, for a second like a child.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I\u2019ve been pondering for days now how to sum up the experience of teaching his trimester. While messages speed toward us from all over higher ed about things being \u201cback to normal\u201d they\u2019re anything but. Yet how do we quantify the shifting physical, emotional and mental landscape of our teaching life? What are the things we point to when we try to give definition to the shape our fatigue and unease? As best I can describe it, I feel displaced,…<\/p>\n