by Jeffrey Bell-Hanson

September 8, 2017

This morning I found myself in an early department meeting, despite my sabbatical leave officially beginning a week ago. Let’s not dwell on the reason for me to be there, other than to say it was not a pathetic attempt to feel needed. My presence had been requested. Nevertheless, just after adjourning one of my favorite colleagues suggested that I should come home and take a nap. While I knew this was a well-intended rib, it still sent a bit of a chill down my spine.

The first of the three sabbaticals I have enjoyed in my career (counting the one just begun) was short—a ten-week term—and came a little before mid-career, not long after I had finally finished my doctoral degree and achieved tenure for the first time. I had a research project and scores to learn for a concert in Europe. It was easy to fall back into the familiar rhythm of my days as a graduate student. It was a fairly rigid regime, but it was self-directed and pointed at tangible results, like an article to be written and rehearsals to be conducted.

This time, those graduate school days are far in the rear-view mirror. They don’t seem like such a relevant paradigm for organizing my time during this sabbatical. On the other hand, what looms much closer on the horizon is a time when I will be responsible for filling all the rest of my days (at least until the skilled-care nurses take over). Retirement is not imminent, but there are far fewer years ahead in my career than there are behind. So it is tempting to think of this year as an early rehearsal for that long sunset walk.

A sabbatical leave on the front range of a career is, like everything else one takes on as one climbs the professional mountain, about building your career—about becoming relevant. Why has the thought only coalesced in my mind today that this sabbatical leave is going to be about finding a way to stay relevant? I still have a research project. I still have scores to learn and some rehearsals to conduct. These activities engender no less enthusiasm in me today than they did twenty years ago. But will the passing of those two decades make what I produce this year more interesting to others, or even less?

Perhaps my relevance has to be defined differently now than it did early in my career. Or perhaps I just need to more clearly understand and accept the idea of the silent and ephemeral gesture from which this blog gets its name.

In the New York Times this morning I read a story about Melvin Redick of Harrisburg, PA, who, along with “a legion” of other fictitious Americans, posted links to emails, false stories and innuendo that apparently proved influential to our electoral politics. After all, if even a fake person can find a way to be relevant, then surely I can. Stay tuned, dear reader, for more about how I hope to do just that.