There’s a different vibe to wrapping up this year, isn’t there?
The usual climax of celebratory chaos has been altered and, as I pack up another academic year, I miss the post-marathon endorphins that annually carry me out of the door. Instead of unclaimed lost property, I find myself emptying my desk drawer of discarded face masks. The choral sheet music that usually overflows from every crevice of my workspace is completely absent in the presence of lingering Covid regulations.
In place of these minuscule fragments of academic years past, there sits an internal weighty void. I struggle even to muster the self-righteous, eco-warrior strut as I deposit the year’s paperwork in the appropriate recycling station. I notice the receptacle is largely empty and, rather than igniting a judgey smugness for those less recycle-y than I, I am instead suddenly aware that the building is completely silent.
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Looking around, the walls still boast their colourful displays and slogans of academic encouragement, yet the tones seem to pale against the hazard tape arrows garishly mapping the one-way system. The corridors around me are brightly lit and glisteningly clean. This is not a space decompressing from the powerful production of a summer term. It strikes me that the entire building seems to feel as I do; a little muted.
I return to an empty office and shut down the PC before disinfecting the keyboard. I feel a deep nostalgia for a year that didn’t happen. It’s an aching longing for a year that I feel we have lost. I am not referring to lost learning but moments.
Everyday instances will pull together milestones
Moments spent laughing away disastrous lessons with colleagues over a brew. Moments of guilt-trimmed joy discovering boxes of chocolates in the staffroom during a free period, followed closely by moments of mischievous glee as you squirrel away a handful of your work bestie’s favourites to stash. Moments when the rising pressure inevitably boils over into hysteria and the entire staff team is reduced to a quivering fit of giggles. Moments singing along to your favourite songs on sunny commutes and momentary acts of gratitude. Fleeting conversations that linger a lifetime and chance encounters, as if by fate.
These everyday instances are the threads that pull together the larger milestones we’ve all missed. The end-of year proms, the graduation ceremonies, the students’ award shows and the staff nights out. The celebratory tears and the “we’ll get it next year” tears. The first class and the final class. The thank-yous and the goodbyes.
Perhaps you’re feeling as I am. Perhaps you’re also feeling the weight of anticipatory anxiety moving forwards. The uncertainty amid rising cases may be resting heavy on your shoulders, personally and professionally. The pandemic fatigue may now feel fraught with conflict as people desperately try to carve the escape routes they best see fit. Perhaps you feel worn down by the media’s obsession with summer catch-up provisions, or apprehensive about losing the rigidity of distraction provided by our timetabled responsibilities.
If this is the case for you, I hope the reflections above might help to normalise a potentially unexpected response to the end of this year. Because, my goodness, what a year it has been. To the teaching community who unified in adversity. To those who ploughed through unprecedented levels of upskilling within the profession that will accelerate the evolution of our practice exponentially. To those who built Pinterest-worthy home-offices with their bare hands and those who seriously contemplated setting fire to their routers. To every teacher who mustered the bravery to redesign their entire provision under the weight of sheer pandemic panic, not to silence the media’s faux-outrage but to best support the very students we entered this profession to inspire: I really don’t think you can be too gentle with yourself this summer.
As we collectively find the time to process the year, it feels natural that a very real fatigue should settle with the dust. So rest. Take the time to consider what kind of summer you need. Acknowledge requests from the body and mind, and feel no guilt in crafting whatever space you crave.
Be well.
