The new normal (not the TV show).

So I thought I'd practice a little procrastination, and add a post to offer you a glimpse into my evenings and weekends, from now until let's say, not quite eternity but close to it. 

So yes, I've become a student. Again. Likely, for the last time. (Let's hope for the last time, but don't count me out. It's kind of my thing.)

Those of you I see frequently know that I've embarked upon a doctoral program, an Ed.D to be specific (but don't ask me what that means and why it's different from a PhD, because I really couldn't tell you). I've thought about doing this for a long time. You could say it's bucket-list-worthy. 

You can probably tell (if not from brief views of my Facebook page) how much joy and satisfaction I get out of my job and the students I've been fortunate to know. In fact, I've always considered myself lucky to have landed (purely accidentally) in a field and career that has really changed my life. I can think of few other careers where I would have had the same opportunities to meet people from all walks of life, from all over the world, and with all kinds of life experiences. You wouldn't believe the life stories of some of the students I've met. Seriously - you couldn't imagine them.

And while I've loved my career, and loved even more the people I work with and for, I've felt a need to do something different. But, the thought of revving myself up for a job search was too frightening to think about. 

So, why not do something even more scary?

Since then, I took the GRE (sadly, my scores from my Master's program had expired, and it'll be a cold day in you know where before I EVER do that again), found what I think is the right program for me, and dove in head first. This past Saturday was my first class.

So here I am... avoiding the long list of chapters I'm to read, journals I'm to write, and presentation I'm to prepare... writing to you. It's easy to fall into the mode of procrastination and much more difficult to buckle down at 36.

But I'm sure I'm going to be fine. I think. 

And so I'll close this post of preoccupation by offering a few public thanks to those who've helped to guide and support me to (and through!) my life's newest challenge (and who I'll always look to for reasons NOT to read).

• To Owen & Debbie (and my other CPCC student peers) for convincing me that it was worth giving up my Saturdays to spend time with you
• To all my Student Life/Service-Learning pals for your cheers from the sidelines
• To Erin, for the future meltdown I'm likely to have, and for the play-list you'll make me when it comes time for finals.
• To my fabulous sister-in-law, Sabrina, for the Starbucks love. You know me well. And to my extended Capobianchi family who love me and will always offer me pasta.
• To my parents and brother who never forget to tell me how proud they are of me, and who would still be proud if I quit tomorrow.
• And to my loving husband who is has an endless supply of "attagirl" and pride for me, and belief that I can accomplish anything I set out to do, and who is the only one to talk some sense into a crazy woman when she's trying a little too hard. XOXO. 

Go get 'em, Charlotte.

Before I begin my next post, I wanted to take a minute to say thanks for all the accolades so many of you offered after my first real post. This whole putting my own commentary out for the world to read is a little intimidating, but it's nice to know I'm not writing in a vacuum. Thanks so much for your encouragement.

I read a great article in this weekend's Charlotte Observer about Charlotte as the "little city who could." The writer's point of view is Charlotte as a small town with big hopes and sometimes unrealistic dreams. We are a town that's one part native, one part from nearby, and a heaping serving of people from somewhere else. Name a state, country, or culture, and we have 'em here. And yet, we seem to have struck this unique identity that binds us all together. Most of us live here because we'd rather not live anywhere else.

We have NASCAR, the NFL, the NBA (even though we groan at the sound of the name), a fantastic newspaper that rivals any other in the south, bank headquarters, films and movies shot in Charlotte (with local crew), excellent cuisine, a talented symphony, top notch entertainment, parks, greenways, shopping. I could go on, and on.

But, our traffic stinks. 

And yes, I wish our public school system were better. 

But, to a fault, I'm the optimist that thinks about the potential for our mass transit development, even if I'll be retired before light rail comes to my neck of the woods. I'm also ever hopeful about Dr. Heath Morrison, who has just taken his first steps in the insurmountable position as Superintendent of Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools, working to bridge the educational gaps in our schools and in our very diverse and evolving community.

If you live anywhere in Charlotte, the state of North Carolina, or lately anywhere other than under a rock, you've probably seen that the Democratic National Convention is being hosted by my favorite city in the south. My hometown, Charlotte. And, yes, for those of you who know where I live, I realize my home is actually in a suburb. But, just go with me, 'mkay?

And so, this town that I call my own, has been chosen to host among the most notable events a city could get. Regardless of your politics (or mine), and besides the politically charged reasons that may have tipped the nod in our favor, you have to admit that this is a big deal. Bigger than big.

And as the convention-goers begin to arrive in town, I feel somewhat like the parent who has sat for the last year watching your child rehearse her lines for the big school stage production. You've seen her study other performers, get a hair cut, iron her clothes, repair her costume, and imagine what she would do if the worst things happened. Other school functions have been moved as to not conflict with the big show, tickets have been sold, and the lunch ladies have been busy preparing for the big party at the end.

And here I sit, a proud patron, watching the lights dim, and the curtain go up. People who have never met her, could really love her.

But it could be an epic failure if things don't go well.

And, it could be so amazing if things go right.

So, here's to you Charlotte. Make us proud to call you home. I'm sure you'll do fine.

Break a leg.

Tar Heel Blues

Those of you who know me know that I am among the most loyal (and vocal) fans of my alma mater. My beloved Carolina. I adored my time there, met my husband and some of my closest friends (even to this day) there, was challenged with GREAT academic rigor there, sat under some of the most beautiful oak trees, and yes - yelled until I was hoarse for anyone in a Carolina blue uniform with an interlocking “NC” on their chest.

But I can’t help but feel shame and embarrassment over what’s going on in the latest academic scandal over the alleged posting of Julius Peppers’ transcript on a UNC portal. Because, see, I also work in higher education, and I’m an advocate for integrity in my profession. I spend my days working through lunch and spontaneous schedule changes for my academic institution - and more importantly for my students. I hold myself and my staff to high standards so that we might provide one piece in the integrity of the degrees we confer. But it’s more than that - my institution requires that I hold these high standards. The government requires that I use this same integrity in my work (as I wouldn’t be employed if it weren’t for state tax dollars), and - though I’m not a betting woman - I’d put $20 on the line to say that there are few part-timers (or work study students) who don’t know the basic rules about providing student information to anyone, much less on a website.

(Side note: I also have been editing and contributing to my department’s webpage since the days of Frontpage, and I can assure you, no document is ever posted online to a website “by accident.”)

Mike (my husband) and I were talking about the scandal last night as we were making dinner, and I told him of my clear memories of the poor academic advising I got as a student. (And remember, I LOVE this place). But fortunate for me, I had parents who had gone to college, and I had friends who suffered together with me. We compared notes and guidelines, and somehow it all worked out. And it’s not that I never went to see an academic advisor, but I was never formally encouraged to go. It almost felt like I was given a box with puzzle pieces and it was up to me to find the corners and straight edges. The rest just seemed to fall in place.

What I’ve learned since that time in my professional experience, is that an institution has to be an active player in a student’s success. Even if they graduated 2nd in their senior class. Or, even if they’re a #1 football recruit. The difference is that this kind of commitment to students - and to their success on the field and off - takes time, work, money, staff, constant evaluation, and trust that the students can be successful ON THEIR OWN, but with support of the institution. And it HAS to be done above board. 

Now, I’m not naive enough to think that athletes like Julius wouldn’t feel (as his agent and former academic “counselor” says) “overwhelmed by being in a classroom with high SAT scorers.” I did a pretty good job in high school and, yes, I felt overwhelmed. That’s what college is about. It’s supposed to challenge you to think in ways you’ve never felt before. It’s supposed to make you think you might not be able to cut it. It’s supposed to face you with a challenge that you work hard to overcome. I did that. Football players do that. Musicians do that. It’s part of the gig. 

But what the university should have been there to do is to create unique environments where all learners could succeed. Learning communities with athletes (from the football team and across sports), college preparation courses that could help support a student’s understanding of how they learn best, training for faculty about what life is like for a student athlete, especially an underprepared student athlete. The tactics are only limited by an institution’s willingness to commit to student success, and willingness to commit to unique ways of serving students. Unfortunately, I fear too much that the University of the People found it easier to look the other way and focus on the shinier pot of gold that a good football program brings. 

It’s too bad Carolina. I’m still in love with you, and I’ll still continue to be a fan. But I feel a little like your silver coating is tarnished. 

I challenge you to do better. I know you can, and I hope you will. 

And so it begins...

I've always said that I wanted to write. I'm not sure why I've hesitated for so long, but very probably it's that putting words on paper can be a little intimidating sometimes. There's a lot to pay attention to: grammar, spelling, wanting to use just the right word to perfectly describe a moment, feeling, color, etc.

But putting words out "there," in the ever permanent web is hugely scary. What makes me think anyone cares what I might have to say? What makes me think that this will be something I actually maintain? What if I run out of things that are interesting (to readers, but more importantly to me)?

I guess I'll find out. And, I guess that, no matter the answers, it probably doesn't really matter.

I figure, I won't know until I try.

Maybe it's just one post.