I tried to restart my blogging this Fall, just as the doors blew off the year and just as the great majority of things in my various worlds began to look ominous indeed:
- The Triathlete and I are in marriage counseling. Yes, it is my fault.
- Number One Son has brought home numerous bad grades recently, as in the D to F category.
- Little Red is showing signs of some significant anxiety trouble.
- We have completely outgrown our house but are absolutely not ready to move or even begin the process of moving.
- This is the first holiday season since Honey passed away.
- The entire world of academia has apparently lost its collective shit.
- We are facing institutional failure at every conceivable level.
- My department is shrinking and the disarray from previous and current campus administrators remains intractable.
- My students are, on average, declining in both ability and motivation, and I’m not sure what I can do to help.
- I fell so deep into a well of passivity that climbing out of it is painful for my entire family.
I have seldom been this discouraged when not outright afflicted by the Black Dog, so there’s a lot of gut-check going on. I am having to make some hard choices about what I’m changing in my life, and I am preparing for hard roads ahead.
(*regarding the post title: check out its source in Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale, a play about coming to terms with the weight of experience and choice)
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