Moving on

Moved office yesterday, down the hall into the marginally smaller but windowed office recently vacated by a colleague who prefers a few interior square feet to natural light and an open vista. Now I look up from my desk and screen to trees and sky, and feel as though my workspace and headspace has expanded exponentially. I'm happily transplanted.

I'm also worn out. So many trips up and down the hall, schlepping my two-wheeler's overload of bookcases, books, and the detritus of more than a decade's ratpacking. I'd pretty well covered all four walls, too, with pictures and posters and cartoons and post-its and all. Seems like one of our student workers might have thought to ask if I could use a hand.

This would not be a good time for my wife to raise again the question of moving house.

But I can't wait, now, to arrive at my desk in the morning. That's worth a few aches and pains.

When I get to my desk I'll dig in to Alastair Campbell's last chapter, on Bioethics and Justice, and to Owen Flanagan's penultimate chapter (my Honors lecture audience on Monday was apparently challenged to grasp the meaning of that word, btw) on"Neuroscience, Happiness, and Positive Illusions."

Here's a positive belief that may well prove harmlessly illusory: my new space will make me a better teacher and a happier human.

And here's a firm prediction: I won't voluntarily move office again, ever. Not without "Three Guys and a Truck." Or at least one diligent student worker.