a friend emailed the other day to ask me how it felt with september approaching to know that I wouldn’t be going “back” — not this year, anyway. “back” of course refers to the sense of returning and beginning again that those of us who are forever in and a part of “school” — whose lives run not on fiscal years but perpetually on an academic calendar (and even as september approaches, I am moved to call out “happy new year!”), and where “semester” is the measure of time. “back” brings with it associations of reconnections, new possibilities, unchartered directions…
as august nears its end and we sit on the cusp of september, I think also of another feeling that often grips me at this time, and which this year nags at me like a faintly familiar sensibility, my ghost limb of memory of what this week-before-classes-begin(again) is usually filled with: a calling out in not-at-all-mock, utterly-earnest cries for just another month. a fortnight. a week. we call out for augtember.
ever more time to read, one more swim, another meeting free day, a week free from being on call, having to deliver written feedback, more time to indulge in the same 2 tee shirts that signify summer wardrobe attitude.
so until augtember gains momentum, we hold onto the promise of winter break.
happy new year, friends!!