I have always loved a college campus.
Last fall Chris and I attended a concert in an auditorium on the campus of the University of Minnesota, and I couldn't wipe the silly grin off my face. In my memory, it's perpetually fall on a campus. The leaves always have the perfect under-foot crunch, and the crisp air whispers secrets of cozy sweatshirts and too-full backpacks and stolen glances at the cute boy in my writing class. Now I'm a grown-up, and my new teaching chapter has me on a campus again. I'm teaching two sections of Composition I and helping a student in a writing lab. I'm just two days in, but so far the change of pace feels just right. Chris and I intentionally made the not-so-easy financial decision for me to step away from the full-time classroom this year so I'm more available as our boys transition to a new school. I will be there when they leave for school and come home from school, and in the ideal world, I'll get my work done while they're gone so that I can be more present with them at home. (Those who are familiar with the world of teaching composition realize how laughable that dream is, but it's nice to have hope still.) I'm parking in faculty-only spaces and trying not to giggle when students all me "Professor." (I'm just waiting for someone to ask me how to get to Potions class.) I'm wearing a ridiculous grin when I walk through the beautiful brick buildings and looking out my row of classroom windows. I'm teaching again, and that feels just right.
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