September... this year, you win...

Dear September,

You've been the most important month in my life for many years now. I love you and hate you; anticipate your arrival and dread it, all at once. Like an unpredictable lover, you bring the impassioned rush of a new beginning. At the same time, you often arrive with heavy baggage - echoes of last year's teaching experiences, successes which I hope to live up to, mistakes that I'm still trying to forget. Always, September, I know our "special relationship" is not monogamous. I share you with teachers everywhere and while you may not be mine alone, it certainly feels sometimes as if I am your one and only.

Growing up as the child of a dedicated educator, I recognized early on in life that you, September, are more important than any other month. (Your only rival, Late June, is defeated easily by Sheer Exhaustion who tends to tag along then, a hopeless third wheel.) You, September, are the month of hoping for the best, of preparation and foundation, of first impressions and of student-teacher meet and greet. You are the month that matters - the month when the school year begins. The entire teaching year to come will likely depend on how well things go during our 30 day rendezvous. That's right, though eight other months of teaching will follow, you outweigh them all in terms of your influence on how the year will progress. You sweep me off my feet, September.

You have followed me through 13 years of teaching. In some ways, I suppose, you are more loyal and predictable than I give you credit for. Whether I was teaching English in Germany, tutoring at a literacy agency, instructing college writing courses or teaching therapeutic horseback riding lessons, you have always managed to track me down, show up, demand my full attention. You are just that way, September. (I bet you think this blog post is about you, don't you?)

It has always seemed unfair that you, and you alone, possess my favorite weather of the year: You are golden. You are crisp. You bring seductive relief from summer heat, with no hint yet of that inevitably lonely chill of late fall. You own "perfect horseback riding weather" - sunny, cool, dry, slight breeze - but you are almost always the month when I have the least time for riding (or walking the dog, or visiting friends, or cleaning my house, or blogging, or sleeping...). Likewise, you effortlessly ripen my favorite fruits to perfection - distracting me with seasonal gifts of tart apples and warm peaches that endear you to me, even as you kick the ass of teachers everywhere with concerns of scheduling, new student challenges, transitions and early-school-year confusion.

This year, I must say, you have come upon me with exceptional ardor. And you leave me, truly, breathless, bewildered. You brought with you not only many fantastic and fascinating new and returning students who I am excited to get to know better, but also a family celebration and publishing projects. Darling Month, you have outdone yourself. Now you leave me with the mixed feelings of this whirlwind romance ending, yet again. Along comes October, and things will surely be steady, judicious, established. September, thankfully a brief affair. October, the marrying kind.

While I am happy to be back into the swing of things at work, hopeful about inspiring teaching to come over the next eight months, I must say, September, this year, you win. I recognize your dazzling charisma; I accept that I must yield to your all-consuming power over me and plan nothing during this month except to devote myself to you and give the new teaching year my full attention. After thirteen years of working a teacher's schedule, I get it: you consume me, I should not even try to resist. I may tell myself I can escape you (a quick weekend get-away during the middle of the month may sound lovely and restful) but you and yours will haunt my inbox, sneak somehow into my away bag, and even - at your finest - invade my mind, keeping me from sleep and controlling my psyche. Yes, you do that to me September - I know, you can't help yourself.

Good-bye for this year and I cannot say I'm sorry to see you go. There may come a day in July when it's way too hot and I'm a little bored that I will even yearn for you, forgetting the turmoil that always accompanies your stay. Of course, we will meet again then, towards the end of next summer, when the fruit ripens, the days shorten and the breeze turns cool.

Love,
KB