The Sound of Cicada Season

One of my favorite walking trials in my hometown.

The cicadas started singing today during one of my workouts.

For most people, it's the sound of late summer. But for me, it used to be the warning that another academic year was almost here.

The knot in my stomach would begin to form because I knew what was coming: long hours, unpaid work, endless meetings, grant writing, and administrative responsibilities. Hours would be spent discussing students who wanted support ponies, disciplining others who wore crop tops on clinical rotations, or discussing with parents why their precious child got a "C" on a test.

Not surprisingly, in early 2016 - 4 years before I resigned at the advent of COVID - I had told others that I didn't think that I was using my gifts in the best way.

It's remarkable how our minds and bodies remember those seasons. Even today when I heard the cicadas, that feeling of dread surfaced for a moment. Then I literally smiled (which must have looked unusual as I was alone on our walking trail) because that season has passed.

Over the last year, I've been offered administrative and faculty positions. Earlier in my career, I probably would have accepted without hesitation. This time, I turned them all down.

Today, I spend more time with family. When I travel, it's because someone values my expertise enough to pay for my time and the travel; not because it's "good for my department" for me to sit there and listen to people talk about nothing of relevance to my patients. I'm not particularly interested in titles or promotions simply because they seem like "the next logical step."

I've learned that real success comes, in part, from building a professional life that reflects what matters most to you. It's also accepting the season in life in which you find yourself.

For years, the beginning of "cicada season" kicked off a season of anxiety and annoyances. Today, it simply conferred gratitude.