Up the down staircase

The staircase runs both ways, I said to the student looming in my path. He had his eyes glued to his phone so he may not have been aware that he was getting ready to steamroll me right off the steps. I had to go back up those stairs a few minutes later when I realized that I'd left my office keys in the classroom, but if that's the worst thing that happens in the first week of classes, I'll survive.

After all, I survived the semester when the staircase didn't run both ways. In Fall of 2020, we came back from Covid lockdown to find one-way staircases and directional arrows all over the building, necessitating roundabout routes to wherever I needed to be. I survived teaching in masks, teaching hybrid classes with some students face-to-face and some on Zoom, teaching without any fall break or even a long weekend, teaching in a building where everyone seemed to be teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown every single day.

And even longer ago I survived a semester of teaching while undergoing cancer treatment, guiding online discussions while chemo drugs dripped into my veins, teaching sitting down when I couldn't stand up, teaching entirely from home when my immune system went on hiatus, and relying on my students to figure things out when I wasn't available to respond.

And even earlier in my career, I survived teaching during a departmental search in which I was the only inside candidate, hiding in my office on days when outside candidates were being wined and dined and squired around campus, trying not to read anything menacing into my colleagues' casual comments, trying to focus on my teaching after I was told that they were expanding the search to invite yet another candidate to a campus interview. 

I could go on, but I'd rather not. I prefer to forget my most challenging teaching experiences unless I can use them as inspiration on a day like today: If I can survive all those other things, then today's challenges should be a piece of cake.