By Tim Chartier @timchartier

The 2020-21 academic year was demanding. In the fall, the family scheduled a day in which we’d all be free—no school, no email, just togetherness. We drove into the mountains, hiked, and simply enjoyed being unplugged and connected to the natural world. It was a wondrous day. Then came Monday with its relentless demands. Even with my planning, I simply didn’t absorb the myriad of “to do” items that were required with remote teaching. Monday became filled with many “Oh my, I forgot to do that” statements, leading to hurried tasks usually put off until Sunday. To my surprise, the same was true on Tuesday but only about half as many. Wednesday? It felt like I had about half as many as Tuesday, which led me to wonder if I’d entered an infinite sequence that might approach but never reach being caught up. To be honest, I was deeply discouraged that simply one day off took such a toll. The entire year was full of new demands, many without easy answers or resolutions.

This spring, after the relentless push of the entire academic year, I submitted final grades in a stunned silence. Could this possibly be over? What was going to happen that next day? Or the next? What seemingly infinite series of unending tasks would come with the click of the button that I wanted to believe completed the academic year? I clicked “submit” and with it ended the semester—with no additional tasks arising. Even so, it took two weeks for my psyche to realize the term had ended. To my amazement, I began working on tasks that lay dormant for so very long. My “to do” list grew as I remembered undone tasks and shortened as I completed items.

About a month into summer, my entire schedule went topsy-turvy. I didn’t think much of it. Summer schedules, at least for me, are often unpredictable. That week, I had deadlines appear with little flexibility and pressing importance. But, I became frustrated and edgy—in fact, very frustrated. I can’t imagine what it was like to live in the house with me as I didn’t even enjoy being with myself. Noticing this, I stopped and reflected. What was happening and why? It’s summer, by gracious! In my reflection, I noticed that I had a strong aversion to stress. Stress was stressful!

I completed the tasks of that week and moved into a more normal summer rhythm. Even so, I continued to reflect on my change of attitude during that topsy-turvy week. In time, I realized that my aversion was more about entering a period of uncertainty than stress. I didn’t anticipate the stressors of that week. They simply popped up. Given the number that arose, I began to feel unsure about my schedule, my week, and even my overall summer. The ambiguity discouraged me and led to stress. I will continue to reflect on that reaction. However, an important piece in moving on was having empathy for myself and my response.

The 2020-21 academic year was filled with unknowns, like simply wondering last fall if I could take another day off after that family Sunday. In the end, I didn’t take another full day’s break. Even so, the family found many ways to share time within our remote schedules. There were the uncertainties of health. For me, there were concerns about how my students were doing in their remote learning and if I could do more or things differently to better aid my students. We each had long lists of questions without answers.

We are yet to move into a post-pandemic world. The vaccines brought a sense of hope and promise. Even so, the news is filled with stories around the world that remind us that we are not beyond Covid-19. Will I be teaching in-person in the fall? If I am, will I need to move online later? How will my students differ due to their online learning? Will I be different? What changes should I make to my classes given my remote teaching experiences? Will summer serve to rejuvenate me? And, most fundamentally, how will I react to these unknowns? When met with uncertainty, will I respond in an edgy, frustrated manner? It can concern me.

Fundamentally, though, I simply don’t know. I can’t ever entirely know. What I can do is reflect on where I am and work to be centered, rested, and prepared. I can build a broader network of support for the unknowns. And then, I step forward. I may step onto a wobbly surface on which I can only move in unbalanced ways. As I do, I will move ahead, as best I can, leaning on my community of friends and colleagues. And through it all, I will need empathy for others and for myself. We won’t always move with grace. There are many unknowns and that simply can be frustrating. I can also grow, learn, and connect with my world—in-person or virtually. And so, I move forward with empathy for myself and others as we progress through our uncertain times.

Tim Chartier is the Joseph R. Morton Professor of Mathematics and Computer Science at Davidson College. He’s grateful to walk through the uncertainties of life with his family and for their unwavering support and love.