Here we are, three weeks deep into the new academic year. Of course, several weeks' of meetings, class planning, and other such business came before the actual start of the semester. I'm sorry, blog. I would've called. I've just been so busy.
Here's the thing about being busy: If you're an academic, you're busy. The job of the academic is divided in such ways that when you turn your attention to one part of it, you're neglecting another part that will then need your attention, all the while neglecting another part that will soon collapse and trap you as you dig your way out and
oh God the horrors and the suffering. Well, it's not really that bad. But psychologically, that's typically how it feels.
This morning, I remarked to my wife that I don't know how people find the time to read newspapers. She replied that I used to read the
New York Times routinely. And I retorted, "Well, yeah, but then I was just writing a dissertation and working on articles and applying to jobs and teaching and...Oh, yeah. I see your point."
These days, I am a WPA (writing program administrator for those very few readers who have no idea what that means), which brings with it a fair number of obligations on my time. I teach two classes per semester. I'm doing an independent study with a student because I'm a sucker, but also because she's a good student who wants to go to grad school for rhetoric and composition and how could I say no? Again, sucker. I'm chairing a search committee for a new tenure-track hire; that hasn't been too much work yet, but oh it will be. I recently became a book review editor for a scholarly journal. I'm part of a writing group of fairly active scholars. I'm working on a few scholarly projects, some collaborative and some solo. I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff. The point is: I'm a busy guy. But so what?
When I think about it, I feel like I can't be all that much busier than I was during my job market year, when I spent hours each day drafting my dissertation, preparing and submitting job application materials, and teaching a class my university had never offered before. My current daily tasks are oriented more toward maintaining and running a writing program, but I still spend time each day working on my own scholarship (never enough, it feels like) and thinking about my teaching. And if I
am busier now than I was as a grad student, it's worth remembering that I am actually getting paid a decent salary for my work. There's something to be said for that.
With some exceptions, memory tends to scrub away the rougher edges of past experiences. My first year on the tenure track offered vast stretches of unstructured hours. My second year, maybe not quite as often, but I still control most of my own schedule--I still have time to reflect and write and just chat with colleagues. I am busy, but I'm supposed to be.
So why am I writing about this?
I don't want to glorify being busy. I don't want to make my lot in life sound worse than others, especially since I'm mindful of the fact that for a junior faculty member, my workload isn't all that much above average.
The notion of being busy allows me to let things slip through the cracks. Like reading recent scholarship, or working on a draft-in-progress, or maintaining this blog. Saying I'm busy justifies delays. I'm writing this to remind myself that having lots of tasks to occupy my time is not something that will change with time.
I'm reminding myself to prioritize those tasks and not to fret if one waits a little longer than I would prefer. I'm reminding myself to get away from my desk and take a walk around campus in the middle of the day. It's a pretty campus after all, and the days are beginning to cool: Perfect weather for midday walks. So I'm busy. I'm not planning to let it overwhelm me.
