Wow... I guess that we're really moving... After one year on the "garden level" (think basement), twenty-one years ago, I won the office lottery and moved up to the second floor of Lasher Hall and into "Dan Canary's office." In a big office, complete with windows, I felt as though I had arrived.
Twenty-one years... When I moved into this office, Britti was only 7, and I was pregnant with Chelsea Meagan. Emmy and Ellie-Kate weren't even in our imagination yet.
Twenty-one years... When I moved into this office, my professional journey had just begun. I hadn't advised a dissertation, written a book, edited a journal, or gotten involved at the association-level yet.
We heard about this new building thing a few years ago. I didn't think much about it. I didn't have time. Over the past 21 years, my academic hamster wheel has kept me spinning from one thing to the next to the next. Blessed by opportunities, being a book review editor ran right into being editor of CY and then an officer in CSCA and now NCA, not to mention classes to teach and students to advise and research to finish... No time to really stop and reflect... pause or purge my office as I move on from one project to another...
Twenty-one years... I haven't spent as much time in one place, and I likely never will again. These walls have witnessed joy as I received good news and, yes, some times of tears as I have juggled (sometimes well, sometimes not so much) all of my "hats" and balanced "work" and "life" and four kids and pets and this multifaceted role of "professor."
It's hard to leave this place. Communication scholars write about the importance of space and place, yet I feel a little silly about being sentimental. It's "just" an office. It's "just" a place of work. Yet, it's been "my" space to do the work that has defined my professional life for over two decades, and it's more than a little tough to leave.
I think that I went through the phases of grief this week... I had been in some pretty serious denial. (Seriously, how often does something actually happens that an OU administrator *says* is going to happen? Okay, I guess there's that whole quarters-to-semesters thing, but, otherwise...) I got jarred out of the denial this past Monday when I realized that everyone else was ready to move and that a last minute reprieve wouldn't be likely.
I went through the anger phase after I visited my new office and realized that I can touch my office ceiling (seriously-- if I can touch it and I'm 5'2", it has to be violating code) and that parts of my carpet were wet (hmmmmm... where did that come from?). How is it progress for our department to go from our own building to part of a floor? For most of us to transition into smaller offices? Lots of details that make me want to say "grrrrrrr."
Yet, I couldn't stay there. About mid-week, I landed in "acceptance." We're going to move in less than a week, and I needed to pack. And so I did...
What a journey... Twenty-one years of files and papers-- stacked high because I never had time to clean before moving on to the next thing-- filled with memories of moments from what will likely be two-thirds of my career.
It's tough to say good-bye to Lasher Hall...
