This past week I realized that I've been viewing the start of the semester as an end to so many good things. Since summer has ended, I've figured that that my idyllic and carefree life has ended as well. I'm mourning the death of freedom.
Of course, this logic is terribly flawed for two reasons. One, the start of the semester means the start of many good things. It signifies fall, and changing leaves, and pumpkin-scented candles. It signifies opportunities to wear cute jeans and cozy sweaters, and watch football, and have more structure in my life. (And you know how much I love structure, my friends.)
Two, the day-to-day workings of summer, while wonderful, aren't as idyllic and carefree that I've already made them out to be during my three weeks of being back to work.
Even so, I've struggled to find my groove with the whole work-life balance. We might be on the verge into falling into some back-to-school rhythm as a family, but we're clearly not there yet. I've also been psyching myself out because the grading (All. The. Grading!) is about to begin. Over the next twelve weeks, hundreds of papers and speeches and emails will pass through my hands, and here I stand, poised, wondering, How will I ever get it all done? How do I do this?
Yesterday the answer struck me: Do it one task at a time. Do it hour at a time. Do it one day at a time. Miles are covered even when you move inch by inch.
There's enough grace for today, I remind myself. When I get there, there will be enough for tomorrow, too.