Once a student and teacher, always one, I guess. Or at least always attached to that kind and gentle calendar, the one that offers summer after a long year of toil.
I know that I live in a fortunate time, one in which I don't have to work every waking minute, one in which I can expect to have some years off at the end of a long working life.
But to get there requires much shouldering to the grindstone now. Most of the time, the grindstone is cleverly disguised as a mission, a life's work, But sometimes, it isn't.
And when it isn't ... it's usually summer.