… to bring you pieces from my past.

This past summer I traveled to Chicago to hang out with librarians who were attending ALA Annual, but I took one day to ride the train out to the suburb I’d lived and danced in while living my previous life as teacher at the Academy of Movement and Music and a dancer and occasional choreographer for Momenta.

I’ve spent years trying desperately not to think about what life would have been like if I’d decided to pursue dance as a career, missing it so much that I didn’t even attend live dance performances for years. But I was finally ready to go back and immerse myself in the familiar sounds and smells of the old building, dig through the archived performance videos for hours and hours, and trace my favorite barre with my fingers (it was wobbly, and therefore forced me not to rely on it for balance).

Digging through archived performance videos is kind of a hit-or-miss affair. They’re labeled, helpfully, “summer dance festival 1999″ and “Evening 7/21/2001″ and the like, with no cataloging. (The librarian in me wanted to apply for a leave of absence to spend a few months making finding aids for them!) But in the end I was able to find three pieces that I’d choreographed. Over the last couple of days I’ve spent some time making them sharable online. And here’s one of them, choreographed in 2000 for some of the group of teachers and alumni who gather every summer to put on their own show. Some were and are professional dancers. Others (like me at the time) hadn’t danced in a long while, but still made yearly pilgrimages back to the Momenta studios to participate in this show.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled program. Thank you for indulging me.

Yesterday, I had reason to point someone toward a couple of old blog posts I’d written. Popping over here to collect the links brought me up against a sobering realization, though: I posted once last month. Once. And that was a post I’d outlined weeks ahead of time. I’ve had dry spells before, but never like this.

It crossed my mind that maybe I should just put this thing out of its misery, but I don’t think I’m ready to follow in CavLec’s footsteps yet. So here I am again, and here’s a bit of what I’ve been up to since last I thought much about blogging.

We had an unusually busy Spring term at Carleton. Budgetary adventures, a new initiative to archive digital versions of all senior capstone projects, revising our strategic plan, and some internal restructuring took up a lot of time and brain space.

My sister got married, my cousin got married, and my youngest brother graduated from college (with honors!), all in the space of a month.

Then I took two weeks off of work to do as much of Nothing At All as I could. In case you missed it, that was TWO WHOLE WEEKS off. In a row. Bliss. During that time, I became a big fan of sitting on the porch with a book, a laptop, and some iced tea. (In fact, I’m reprising my role as a porch-sitter right now, thanks to early observance of Independence Day.) Coming back to work was kind of a shock to the system after that, let me tell you.

It’s been a weird few months in which many individual good things happened but the whole felt kind of awful. I was tired. I am tired. But I think things are starting to turn around. And while I’m not sure how frequently I’ll post or what I’ll write about, it’s nice to see this space sitting here and waiting for me.

Since the age of 14, I’ve been measuring my life in four-year increments. Each increment had its own challenge, and each one culminated in its own major life transition. But now, for the first time in my life, I’m not going through a major life transition after 4 years, and I’m not reaching toward some tantalizing, terrifying, and fascinating goal four years distant

First there was high school. I’d decided to continue being home schooled, which terrified me. How could I be sure that I’d learn enough to get into college if I stayed home? I couldn’t. So I learned absolutely as much as I could, fueled by a deep smoldering panic that I’d be horribly under-prepared for college. As it turns out, I wasn’t under-prepared. So I graduated from high school and went to college.

Then there was college. That terrified me. How could I possibly both figure out what I wanted to do with The Rest Of My Life (in my head that phrase was always in capital letters) and also learn enough to do whatever-that-was in only four years? As it turns out, I didn’t. And as it turns out, this is normal. So I graduated from college and, since I still didn’t quite know what I wanted to do for The Rest Of My Life, I went to grad school.

Grad school terrified me. All these smart people, all this work, all this pressure. I had no idea how I’d make it through the reading assignments, let alone the term papers that were twice as long as any I’d written before (with the exception of my college senior thesis). After two years of that, I’d learned enough to decide that English Professor was not going to be my title for The Rest Of My Life, so I skipped out with a masters and moved over to the School of Library and Information Science… which terrified me for a whole different set of reasons. The classes didn’t inspire me, and I’d never worked in a library, so I wondered what people did beyond sit at a desk and answer questions all day, which seemed like it could be unendingly dull. But just as I was going to quit and go back to the English Professor idea (the program had said I could come back any time), I got a job in a library and decided that this might suit me after all. As it turns out, it does suit me. So, after 2 years in English and 2 years in library school, I left graduate school and started my first job.

This Carleton job terrified me, so when I took it I promised myself that it need only be for four years. (After that, I planned to find a job closer to my family.) It was a job full of all kinds of opportunity, but also all kinds of responsibility. The people here were wonderful, but I worried that I’d be the weak link in their exhilarating, intense, and creative chain. As it turns out, our individual strengths and weaknesses seem to complement each other pretty well, so the job quickly grew to become my dream job. And so, as it turns out, I’m not looking for a job after my allotted four years.

And now, on this, the anniversary of the day I started here, I feel nearly qualified to hold the position I have. I’ve done a lot (started this blog, taught dozens of classes, met with hundreds of students, given conference talks, written articles and a book chapter). I’ve learned to negotiate tricky situations with at least outward confidence. And I’ve made fast friends for whom I’m continually grateful. These friends have talked me into confidence I’d never have found on my own, and they’ve talked me down when things seemed to be too much to handle. If it takes a village to raise a child, it apparently takes a sizable chunk of the internet and fair few face-to-face friends to raise a librarian, or at least this librarian.

I wonder what the next four years hold.

P.S. If 4 years seems about long enough to train up a librarian, I wonder how people like presidents feel.