One hour, twelve years ago

Yesterday I walked over to the College of Business to work a shift at the Welcome Tent. The university sets up several of these around campus, food service stocks them with cookies and hot apple cider, and faculty volunteers staff them for the first couple of days of class, making returning and new students feel welcome and answering any questions they might have.

There were three faculty chatting at the table when I walked up. I greeted them, and the one I knew by name introduced me around to the others. "When I first started here," he said, "Donna bought me coffee and spent an hour talking with me. I've never forgotten it."

His reminiscence startled me. I had certainly forgotten it. But it came back to me. I had seen him at church, and gone over to say hello and introduce myself during the peace. He mentioned that he was new at UCA, and I emailed later to invite him to grab a cup of coffee and chat. Make him feel welcome, just like we were trying to do with the students that day. Answer his questions. And here he was, twelve and a half years later, telling these other faculty how much it meant to him.

I remember that impulse, to take some extra time to make sure someone sees a friendly face, has someone to listen to them. It's something that I was never consistent in doing, back in those early days, but occasionally the opportunity would arise and I would seize it. The busier I got, the higher-stakes every hour of my day seemed to be, the less I did that. I've been uncomfortably aware of how little time I've been willing to devote to such things in the past few years. One of my 2015 resolutions is to commit to them again -- to spend time with students and colleagues, to take advantage of those chances that come along to be the friendly face, the listening ear.

Thanks, Mark, for reminding me how much even a little time, a long time ago, can matter.

It'll be just like starting over

Checking tweets, Facebook posts, and blog entries from many of the people I follow, I see that many people had a rough year in 2010.  For some it was the economy, for others health issues, for others relationship problems or loss.  They are all ready to say goodbye to a year that beat them up in some way, and hope for better with the turn of the calendar.

In academia we have the singular opportunity to start over at least twice a year.  New semester, new students, new courses, a new chance to do it right.  I'm very happy with the progress I made as a teacher this past year (a subject for another blog post), and want to keep the ball rolling in 2011.  There's a lot of pressure on firsts: the first few class meetings, the first minutes of each class, the first graded assignment, the first test, the first individual meeting with the student.  Setting the right tone can feel not only important, but critical -- like you'll never get another chance, or like a misstep dooms the relationship for ever.

Maybe some people feel that way about the first day of the year, too.  The superstition is that the person you kiss at midnight on New Year's Eve is the person you'll kiss the rest of the year.  And some people try to start new habits or break old ones starting with January 1.

If it's an all-or-nothing shift, then disappointment can come just as quick as change.  The first time you backslide, everything's ruined.  I was happy to see that some of my online friends have more nuanced resolutions -- less of this, more of that, better consistency, smarter judgment, fewer exceptions to your rules.  Those are the kinds of changes we can make.  Instant transformation is unlikely; a gradual turn toward our ideals is always within our reach.

2011 isn't a clean slate.  We carry into it all the baggage we've accumulated so far.  Every day we have to decide what it's going to be.  And if we fail to make the decision we want on day one, or day ten, or day one hundred, when it comes to being the person we envision, we will have another chance tomorrow.