I get offered my first English Major class since quitting a professorship in Albany. This is a big deal, folks, because of a strangely classist system called "tenure-track," which I walked away from and was assured I would pay for, indefinitely. A deep love for Auburn, alongside a deep love for two grown children who will never move, prompted me to make the deeply painful choice of happiness over career. And then? I get the gift of you, English majors, one more time for the road. Most probably for the last time. You were a gift from Dr. Frank Walters and a quick response on an email to our Composition Director. You were worth every bumpy, nutty, confusing, emotional, victorious, academic, life-changing moment of the last four months.
Sometimes, we have to make the hard, very costly, decisions that feel more like jumping off a cliff than flying. When I think about my career, I always identify with Forest Gump: game legs, good intentions, strange road. This is what I hear most in my head when I look back at the last four months: "And I was running . . ."
A long time ago, an English teacher (about 24 years old) saved my life. Certainly, I do not see myself as the savior of my students, but here's what: you all save me, every day. This is why I heart Wilson. We are the same. In trying to teach, I learn. In trying to play a role, I become real. In reaching for that perfectly crafted warrant, thinking I am full of it, I find truth. Writing saves my life, every day. I hope we never forget this semester. I hope we always jump, risk, and somehow fly (even if it's by the seat of our pants) because anything else isn't living.
So . . . "Advanced Composition?" I think we made it. In these blogs, sweated out over fifteen weeks, we composed. We advanced. They are the story of us. (And I heart Wilson.)
With much gratitude,
Dr. Kat
