Day Thirty Nine. Morning, all. Usually, at this time of year, the battery is running pretty low. The end is in sight. The majority of the race has been run. And, as always, I discover I didn’t pace myself as well as I should have. I become fatigued. I am ready to cross the line. We all are. But something always keeps me going. The kids.

Usually, another thing happens this time of year. Our yearlong journey begins to crystallize our community, and we get to a place many of the students probably imagined not possible when we started out back in September. We are tight. We are close. We are family. A year’s worth of cultivating community begins to pay off, and that keeps us going. For, on some level, we are sustained by our shared desire to make the most of what we don’t want to end: our time together.

That’s most years. But this is not most years. This is a year where the race fizzled out 2/3 of the way through. And though we have tried to limp along and get to the finish line together, it won’t be the same. In part, we never really got to the sweet spot in our relationship building. In a larger part, there are other more-pressing things occupying our time and minds. And the whole is less. A lot less. And that sparse reality has done little to sustain me here near the end of the race. Oh, I will cross the finish line. I have to. But, selfishly–and self-pityingly–the reward will not seem worth the effort. This year, I will have to settle for a participant ribbon. For, ever more, I feel like I am merely participating in a race no one signed up for.

Sorry for the pity party this morning. I’ll bounce back and find my stride again. But I am just limping along right now. And I know I am not alone. Strength to those limping along with me. We’ll find our race and pace again.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.