My mother is 101. And a half. Her mental and physical health remain (relatively) good. When
she was 92, she briefly moved into a retirement community. It was very nice, she said, but she
preferred to live out her life on her own in the Seattle home where she has lived for more than
seventy years. Family members who live locally have honored, and facilitated, her choice, often
at considerable personal sacrifice. Yet she is entirely alone for days, sometimes weeks, and
frequently complains of boredom.

My mother’s solitary life serves as a cautionary tale, a reminder of how important it is for me to
maintain a vibrant and varied community. That awareness is especially acute as my sense of
belonging is being dramatically reshaped this summer. This coming academic year is my last
before I fully retire. Moreover, both of my children just married within three weeks of each
other. (Why such terrible scheduling? Because that’s how those two roll, thank you for asking).
Our children are both in their thirties, so my husband and I are hardly facing an empty nest for
the first time. Our son and our daughter have been in stable relationships with their new spouses for years, and both couples live locally and generously include us in their lives. Yet this
immediate post-wedding period feels different—a formalization of the fact that they’re building
their futures just as my husband and I find ourselves increasingly nostalgic for the days of our
young family.

Had our children married when I was still teaching full-time, I would be returning to campus in
the fall, confident of a renewed sense of that wonderful feeling that comes with helping young
people become their best selves. However, phased retirement has forced me to be less fully
immersed in teaching and has given me a taste of what life will be like as a form of perpetual
summer—no teaching, no coming to my office on our beautiful campus where for decades my
students and colleagues have provided me with a sense of belonging, community, and purpose.

So where am I going to find that connectedness that has constituted so much of the joy of my
life? One of the things I have loved best about the summer is that I’ve enjoyed the luxury of not
teaching (which means not grading!), and of delighting instead in having large blocks of
uninterrupted time for research and writing. Yes, I’m less connected to other people, but more
connected to the creative and scholarly aspects of my life that I enjoy just as much as teaching.
I’ve completed the research for what I assume will be my last book, and am looking forward to
becoming immersed in the writing. But all writing and too little human contact takes a toll.
What I’m looking forward to is not being so jealously protective of those large blocks of time; to
welcome interruptions that involve family and friends rather than always leaving my desk
reluctantly, determined to squeeze the life out of every moment of scholarly time.

I know I will miss the intellectual interactions of campus life, so I’m also looking forward to
continuing to be an active member in the national professional organization that I’ve served in a
number of capacities, including president. That service, and my passion for working as a public
intellectual, especially writing historically-based opinion pieces, continue to bring invitations to
speak and write in a variety of venues. Being part of this larger intellectual community also
allows me to mentor younger scholars through both formal and informal channels.

My husband has been waiting for more than a dozen years for me to join him in retirement. He
is looking forward to us doing more together: more travel, more Giants games, more relaxing in
our place at the beach. In addition to reconnecting with him, I’m also looking forward to more
time with friends and family, and more college basketball (I graduated from Gonzaga University
in 1978 and am still waiting for them to come out of March Madness on top).

I am grateful that I will belong to the Santa Clara University community even in retirement, and
look forward to having the time to enjoy the campus sporting events, speakers, and theater
presentations I’ve been too busy to attend. As I enter the perpetual summer of my life, I am
acutely aware of the ongoing importance of maintaining a variety of communities.