The good: no alarm clock, no dressing up, no commute or traffic (such that we have in the MKY), no daily battle for a parking spot close to Wilson. OK, so that’s not as bad as it used to be but we faculty love to complain about parking even one centimeter farther away than we want.
The bad: no smiling faces in Wilson 213, no hollering across the hall to co-workers or wandering down the hall to visit people, no treks from Wilson to the TV studio with my class, no debates over words or layouts when I popped into the newsroom to visit, no Chick-fil-A or Burrito Shack treats on days I conveniently “left” my lunch at home.
The new normal, for now.
Our lives as faculty members and the lives of our students were put on pause for the spring 2020 semester. We started our semester with so much hope and promise as all semesters start, but by spring break, we all needed a break. My family had booked a condo overlooking the waves at Panama City Beach, Florida, where we spent part of our Christmas break, and we could not wait for a week of sun, sand and no responsibilities beyond determining when to haul ourselves to our beach chairs.
What we didn’t count on was the announcement on March 11 that we would return from spring break to have online classes for two weeks because of a global pandemic and then we would be back to normal. Many students hooted and hollered that this would be an extended spring break. For a few moments after the announcement, I even thought about booking an extra week at the condo. A few days later, we learned that we wouldn’t even return from spring break. Classes would be online for the rest of the semester.
Then, student gatherings canceled. Traditions like All-Campus Sing canceled. Graduation postponed and then canceled. One college semester, effectively, canceled.
My mind began to race with how to transition four in-person classes and my teaching style to the online platform. It wasn’t that I haven’t taught online before, it’s that I genuinely enjoy the classroom and seeing my students every day and seeing their progress with their reporting, writing and production skills. My first teaching job at West Kentucky Community & Technical College in Paducah required me to teach ENG 101 online for three terms, and I had transformed the journalism capstone at Murray State from a lecture class to an online class one semester when I was finishing my graduate degree about 10 years ago. Of course, now that I know about online course design, my first online classes could only be described as terrible.
Online classes require a different design than face-to-face classes. Throughout the pandemic, I’ve seen so many social media posts from educators bemoaning the transition or asking people to call this transition “remote instruction” rather than online. No matter the term, it’s not what we signed up for in January.
After the initial freakout and training (and a coping lunch with a dear co-worker and friend over chips, queso, salsa), online/remote classes didn’t seem as impersonal or as daunting. Hello, Zoom calling.
Once a week, I met with my four classes via Zoom to check in, answer questions, provide mini-lectures or discussion and chit-chat about the best shows to binge on Netflix, Hulu or Amazon Prime (hey, I’m not completely a nerd). I planned lessons as asynchronous, meaning that the students could watch or listen to my lectures and complete assignments on their own, but I wanted to keep that connection. That community. Zoom allowed us to chat, even if we all may have felt as if we were trapped in the opening of “The Brady Bunch” or were contestants on “The Hollywood Squares.”
Zoom became the go-to way to be social during an age of social distancing. Sunday School through Zoom. Bible study through Zoom. Tap dance lessons through Zoom (yes, that was an adventure with six of us tapping away and the Zoom mic going crazy to hit all our beats). Happy hours by Zoom. Even a knitting lesson via Zoom. Don’t forget the meetings with Zoom. Actually, scratch that. Meetings are still meetings, and we will still complain no matter how we have to meet.
The lack of true social interaction, at times, has been the toughest adjustment to this new normal for now. Many of us who teach really love being in a classroom, where we can make genuine connections with our students. Although we have the technology, it just isn’t the same to Zoom connect as it is in real life. Someone usually gets frozen or cuts out in mid-sentence. Or they cannot figure out how to unmute themselves or they have dogs barking in the background (oh wait, that’s my house).
Although this new normal isn’t normal, it’s what we have to do for now. Six months ago, we didn’t know words like “social distancing” or “PPE” (personal protective equipment), and we didn’t quote the Kentucky governor’s favorite phrase “You can’t be doing that” when we saw neighbors gathering in their driveways on sunny afternoons. We didn’t wear fabric masks into stores or worry about disinfecting the groceries after we got home.
We don’t know how much longer this quarantine will last. Our lives, whether as students or as educators, hit the pause button as the life we knew was canceled.
As we are beginning to think about returning to this new normal, I have to wonder what exactly do we want to return to? Do we want to continue to be so busy that it’s impossible to squeeze in a family dinner unless it’s scheduled? Do we want to keep running kids from one activity to the next? Do we want to have our planners filled with dozens of meetings and activities, or do we want to take the time to walk in our neighborhoods like we have during the quarantine.
When I wasn’t teaching or attending what seemed like the “Brady Bunch” educator Zoom edition, I enjoyed the little moments I had missed.
Stopping to smell flowers with my beagle, Annie, on her twice daily walks through the neighborhood. Stopping to actually appreciate the blooming shrubs in my yard. I found out that I actually had shrubs that I had never seen before because I was too busy to notice or care. Listening to the songs of birds as I worked in my yard. Actually talking with my college-age son instead of texting. Sitting down as a family to eat dinner together instead of in shifts as we have done for 10 or more years. Playing hours and hours of Aggravation and Cards Against Humanity. Watching movies together like we had not done in years because we usually weren’t home long enough or all three of us had other things to do, like homework, lesson plans and news stories to write.
As we think about the New Normal, let’s think about what this Great Pause of 2020 has allowed us to do and how we’ve been able to reconnect with nature, with our families and with our spirit. Let’s try to use this Great Pause as a Great Reset.