As the semester swiftly moves toward a close, I feel a sense of relief that the end is near, but a sort of sadness begins to seep in as well. Endings tend to make me feel more nostalgic as I get older. My body starts to get quiet and I find myself sitting with the quiet power of that stillness, feeling more thoughtful and reflective in a peaceful sort of way. Not reliving the semester and thinking of things I could or should have done differently, but thinking about individual students and moments.

At the end of my thirtieth year as an educator, I think about my life’s work and all of the students I have met and supported. Sitting in classes with future teachers, I want them to know that the hard moments will fade and blur. The methods of instruction I taught them will likely change or evolve because their students will change from generation to generation. What remains constant and in focus are the relationships and shared moments with those we give our time, attention, and dedication.

As a woman in midlife, I tend to spend a good amount of time thinking back over the personal and professional life I have lived; wondering what impact I had, and whether those years truly had purpose and meaning. It feels silly to need validation at my age. But little surprises have a way of showing up when I least expect them. A student’s gratitude, a moment when someone recognizes themselves in something I shared, a message from a former student saying something I taught them actually mattered once they got into the classroom. In those moments, a light gone dim inside me sparks and brightens with renewed energy. I can feel it radiate from inside me outward and my sense of worth expands.

What I didn’t expect, even after thirty years, was to be known back. When I worked with elementary students, they did not always filter their love, joy, or unhappiness. In a way, you knew how they felt or what they thought about you nearly every minute of the day. University students are much more reserved and often you never know what they think or feel about you. Then, there are those moments when a student notices something true about you, reflects it back, or shares an insight about you that you hadn’t fully articulated even to yourself. Not because they were trying to give something back, but because that is simply the flow of attention when the relationship is real and grounded in trust and respect.

Erik Erikson (1950) spent much of his career researching adult development and found that in midlife we tend to feel the tension between stagnation (feeling unproductive and disconnected from what matters) and generativity (the drive to guide the next generation or contribute something meaningful to the world beyond ourselves). By the time we reach middle age, most of us need to feel that our years have meant something. Not just to us, but beyond us.

Even if you work in a profession without the natural rhythm and punctuation that the academic calendar gives teaching, I hope you find time to pause and reflect at this time of year. Notice the small moments with clients, patients, coworkers, children, a spouse, or a parent. Are there relationships in your life grounded in trust and respect that feel genuinely reciprocal? In what ways do you give, and in what ways do you receive?