An Open Letter to my Former Colleagues and Students

Dear Friends,

So I got to spend the entirety of my morning with you yesterday. I was there for a spring soccer meeting, but really I just used that as an excuse to come visit. Since “alma mater” means “soul mother,” I think it was really my soul that needed the visit. And the visit worked in spades.

I’ve walked into that building thousands of times, but my heart was racing yesterday. Excitement and nerves co-mingled as my feet trod upon familiar paths. Stepping on the first step to the “my floor,” I knew it was four steps if I went two at a time. All of my senses were home again.

And then there you were. Students, teachers. Loads of new faces who had no idea who I was. (A certain brand of sorrow exists in that.) Of course there is the awkwardness at first, like bumping into an ex- girlfriend. Small talk. But soon rhythms as old as the tide settled in. And I was no longer pushed or pulled. I just was.

And then I left. Just a four hour vacation for my spirit. Admittedly, I left with no papers to grade, no faculty meetings to attend. I didn’t have to counsel one student through the death of dog while trying to plan my next lesson. No such weights burdened my buoyed self. I’m just smart enough to realize all of this.

But when I got in my car, I cried the same way I did when I left last spring. I had to call my wife. “When I left, I need to leave, right? I was ready, wasn’t I? It was time, wasn’t it?” She assured me that I had indeed been drawn to my next adventure. I knew that. But being around you was joy beyond joy.

Ultimately, I hope that’s what you’re able to see in your days together. Underneath the stress, tension, frustration, and daily challenges of teaching and learning, you’re being fed and are feeding each other in ways that are ineffable. If you don’t know that, if you don’t feel that in your core, then you’ll have to take my word for it. There is a privilege to your life that you might miss, but it’s there. And I thank you for letting me share in that privilege. Even briefly.

Yours,
Nathan