My brother, otherwise normal, runs ultramarathons.

The thing about ultramarathons is that they are so darn long that you better really enjoy running if you run one. It’s the quintessential experience of learning to enjoy the journey—or at least, to stay focused on the process instead of the outcome.

Even though ultra runners push themselves to finish, they'll never make it if they’re focused on the end of the race. They have to be focused on each step, each breath. Take enough steps and enough breaths, and you'll get to the finish line.

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Around March of each year, there's a crop of eighth graders who think that they aren't learning anything.

They are bored and frustrated with their teachers, classmates, and schoolwork. In our tiny homeschool program, they have the luxury of believing that they would feel differently if they went to a traditional public school.

They say that they're ready for high school and just want to be there already. They don't know that they're exactly where they should be.

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I deeply miss teaching school.

For years, I showed up every morning to The Little Middle School, just like a real job with a boss. In effect, I had hired myself to work directly with the students, instructing them in math and science and writing and history and laughing at their hijinks. It was challenging, rewarding, frustrating, interesting, and fun.

I didn’t quit because I didn’t love it. I quit because I had other things I wanted to do. Now, I’m a thousand miles away while school goes on without me. I have had to let go, and that’s been challenging and rewarding, too.

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I’m in transition.

Maybe it’s the call of the new season as the weather cools and routines change around me. The tourists and summer people are leaving, and the kids are going back to school.

Maybe it’s a consequence of yet another surge in coronavirus cases, upending my travel and life plans.

Maybe it’s something internal, like the hormones I cycle through every few weeks, or perhaps even caused by those very hormones.

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I tend to have trouble sticking to a routine.

I thought this was a personality trait. Ironically, though, it’s a habit: a habit of not having consistent habits. I supposed it stems from personality traits, like my desire for novelty and my optimistic take on life. But the pandemic has shown that, when the variables are reduced, I can stick to a routine just fine. And in fact, I’ve really benefited from doing so.

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