Times of transition are strenuous but I love them. They are an opportunity to purge, rethink priorities, and be intentional about new habits. We can make our new normal any way we want
Kristin Armstrong, three-time Olympic gold medalist
As a seminary professor in the US, my life is organized around at least four different calendars. There’s the Gregorian calendar, which divides our year into the twelve months it takes the earth to journey around the sun. And while the Gregorian calendar was named after a pope, it is distinct from the liturgical calendar, the cycle of Christian liturgical seasons beginning with Advent in late November. There’s the fiscal year, which is used for financial reporting. In many academic institutions, that starts on July 1, which is when most new faculty positions technically begin. The fiscal year is distinct still from the academic year, the way that academic institutions divide their calendars into semesters or quarters.
The benefit of all these different calendars is that I have multiple opportunities each year to reevaluate and reset the practices and rhythms that I follow to enhance my well-being. Whereas many people do this at New Year’s, I also do it at the beginning of each semester and summer, as well as during Advent and Lent.
This month, I am beginning a new academic year at a new institution. It’s a major transition. I’ve learned that even good transitions – and this is a really good, long desired change – bring about stress. There are the big changes: packing and moving and unpacking and rearranging office spaces; developing new courses and revising existing courses to fit the needs of students in the new context; and launching new programs and initiatives. But there are also tons of seemingly small adjustments that have to be made on a daily basis. Like this syllabus that needs to be copied: where and how exactly do I do that? Does it have to be sent somewhere? Can I just show up at the copy machine on the morning of class and make the copies myself? Where is the copy machine anyway? Do I need a code? Will there be a line of professors all trying to do the same thing at the same time? I didn’t even have to think about these things last year; it was an automated decision. Now, though, simple tasks require a few more steps, and that uses energy.
This is my fifth time starting a faculty position. It is the first time that I’ve recognized beforehand that I need to allow space and time for transition. This means not filling up my calendar and to-do lists in the ways that I normally would. Earlier this year, I began turning down requests that came my way to participate in conference panels, contribute to edited volumes, and serve on boards. “I’ll be transitioning next academic year so I need to minimize my external commitments.” I’ve said no to a lot of good things. I’ve had to ask myself some hard questions about what my priorities are.
When you move into a new position, you move into other people’s hopes and expectations of who you will be. If you are a people-pleaser, you will be tempted to conform yourself into those hopes and expectations. You figure out who they want you to be and then you try to be that. I have done that with every new faculty position. The result has been that transitions have had a deleterious impact upon my health.
Fortunately, I’m not that woman anymore. This time, I face a new beginning not by asking who my new colleagues and students want me to be, but asking how this new space can empower me to be more authentically me. This time, I’m facing transition mindfully, with a clearer sense of my own needs, desires, and power to choose. Along the way, I’ll be writing about it. I invite you to join along with me.
View from the office door 
More shelves for books! 
Had to bring some of my women of color Funko Pop collection.
Dr. Chanequa's Musings 