Month: January 2025

Embracing Late Career: Finding Purpose at 60

I began my career in higher education later in life. It was my second career after 14 years teaching in secondary schools. Transitioning from being a mid-career teacher to starting over as a university professor was both exciting and daunting. This kind of shift isn’t unusual, but for me, one important factor stood out: I entered it older. I became a brand-new assistant professor at age 40. Young by some measures, sure, but it meant that becoming established and reaching mid-career milestones happened in my 40s and 50s—not my 20s and 30s when ambition and energy seem limitless.

Career Stages and Life Stages

Sites like Indeed often categorize career stages neatly, like in the graphic below. Up until recently, I considered myself mid-career. But my academic career has never aligned well with life stages. This September, I’ll turn 62—an age when I can start drawing Social Security (though I’m not planning to just yet). The reality of this milestone makes it clear: I’m approaching retirement.

This period is commonly called the “Decline Stage” (a less-than-uplifting name, to say the least), which typically spans ages 55–65. By contrast, the “Late Career Stage” is defined as ages 45–55. For convenience, I’ve included descriptions of these stages from a cited resource below. Their cheery tone—especially the idea that late-career professionals don’t need to learn new things—makes me suspect the author might still be in the “Exploration Stage.”

When it fully sank in that:

I’m in my 60s, and
I’m officially in late career,
…my emotions ranged from shock to disbelief to sadness to resignation. I cycled through the stages of grief daily for awhile, but I usually landed at acceptance. When it comes to my career, though, I’ve found something better than acceptance. Let me explain.

A Shift in Perspective

Becoming an academic is thrilling, but being a good one takes work. Since entering the profession in 2005, I’ve poured myself into getting established: publishing, building networks, traveling to conferences, reviewing conference proposals, writing a book, editing another, editing a section in an academic journal, coordinating programs, organizing events, and even hosting visiting scholars. My mid-career years were spent in administration, serving as a department chair and, most recently, as a college dean.

Image of English Bulldog and stuffed bear
Bruno contemplates a change of perspective

Looking back, I realize my career trajectory and life stage were out of sync. I was a late-stage-aged professional in a mid-stage career role, and it took stepping away from administration to fully understand that. While this epiphany is deeply personal, perhaps others in similar positions can relate.

For the first time in decades, I don’t have a clear next rung on the career ladder. I don’t have a career path.

How odd this feels. And yet…

Kevin McAllister Energy

Remember in Home Alone when Kevin realizes he “made his family disappear”? That’s how I feel about transitioning from a career ladder to what I call “career presence.” I don’t have a career path, and surprisingly, I don’t mind.

Now, don’t misunderstand me: I’m not suggesting I can coast until retirement. That’s not what I’m feeling at all, and I would not want to coast if I could. What I feel is empowerment, self-determination, and—dare I say it—freedom. For the first time, I’m genuinely content with my job. I want to realize the gratifying–and hard–work that comes with being a professor, and I have no doubt this is within my grasp. This must be how people who are passionate about their work feel: happy, hopeful, mindful, and present.

Charting a New Path

Instead of focusing on what’s next on the ladder, I’m charting a meaningful professional presence. It feels a bit like starting over, like I did when I became an assistant professor 20 years ago. Only this time, I’m not climbing—I’m walking.

I originally planned to end this post with “Five Goals for My Late-Career Path,” but I realized they all boil down to one: Be fully present—with students, colleagues, family, friends, neighbors, pets, hobbies, prayer, study, or entertainment–with myself. Shouldn’t this be the goal at every stage of life and career? Probably. But for me, this epiphany comes with the clarity of late-stage-ness.

The truth is, I’m running out of stages. I want to revel in my work, to wake up before the alarm, excited about the day ahead. My new trajectory is joy, and I am in the exact stage I’m supposed to be. That feels mighty good.

Excerpt from From Exploration to Retirement: 5 Stages of Your Career Journey:

Late-career-Typical age range: 45-55 years old

After reaching the middle of your career, the late-career phase offers a chance for a less stressful job setting. In this stage, people can teach, guide others, and find and train someone to take their place. They no longer need to learn new things.

Older employees can find fulfillment in mentoring younger colleagues, even if there are fewer opportunities for career advancement. Job changes are less likely during this stage, with one’s reputation and standing serving as security for their position.

Retirement is a time to think about life and have more free time for fun activities instead of work.This is what contentment feels like. This is what people feel who are passionate about their work.

Decline-Typical age range: 55-65 years old

Upon completing a fulfilling career and dedicating several decades to the workforce, many individuals reach the point of retirement.

After you retire, you can take a break from your job. During this time, you can spend quality time with your loved ones and go on trips. Redirecting your skills and knowledge, you can rekindle past hobbies, cultivate new interests, or engage in volunteer work (Olde Raleigh Financial Group, https://www.olderaleighfinancial.com/orfg-resources/from-exploration-to-retirement-5-stages-of-your-career-journey).

Exploring Nostalgia, Place and Southern Identity in Writing

Nostalgia, Place, and Feeling Southern

In a recent essay, Evolving From Just Keep Swimming to The Front Porch Professor, I explored the journey of reimagining this blog to reflect my evolving focus on narrative storytelling. At its heart lies the front porch, a symbol that anchors my Southern identity and shapes the lens through which I write. This post builds on that foundation, unpacking the concepts of nostalgia, place, and Southern identity—terms that are complex and intertwined. Sitting on the front porch is an appropriate place from which to give them the careful exploration they deserve.

You may be asking, “Well, when are you going to start writing instead of just writing about your writing?” Good question. The process is a throwback to academic writing, where you have to describe your framework and method for presenting your ideas. In other words, I need to tell you how and why I’m going to tell you what I tell you. Then I can tell you. But you’ll be glad to know I’m about ready to start front porching.

Why The Front Porch Professor?

Claiming the title of professor in my blog name is about more than qualifications; it reflects a blend of storytelling, introspection, and intellectual curiosity. It signals that the reflections here are informed by years of observing and searching for meaning. The image of a professor on a front porch bridges the formality of academia and the warmth of casual conversation. I invite you into a space where lived experience meets thoughtful analysis, encouraging connections and deeper understanding.

Image of Dr. Ugena Whitlock at USC Upstate
Professor Whitlock

For me, the title is also a tribute. As a small-town girl from rural Alabama, raised by working-class parents, becoming a professor is a point of pride. It’s a testament to their sacrifices and the support of friends and loved ones. They are ever present in my writing, shaping the stories I tell and the perspectives I share. I am both proud of the accomplishment and humbled by the debt and responsibility I owe them.

Place and the Southern Perspective

When I write about place, I’m speaking to more than just geography. Place encompasses the physical environments where life unfolds. Place is the landscape on which contexts of culture, history, and society are painted. It’s where relationships, joys, disappointments, and lessons unfold. All this happens individually and collectively. Place is both a backdrop and a character in our stories, influencing who we are and how we navigate the world.

Image of small downtown Russellville, Alabama, with snow, church, and Roxy theater
Downtown Russellville, Alabama

Being Southern, then, adds layers to this concept. The South is more than a region; it’s a complex web of traditions, histories, and cultural markers. To call oneself Southern is to grapple with the beauty and contradictions of the place. With the South’s ugliness. Can one be proud to be a Southerner, as I am? What does this mean? What am I proud of? And what about the parts of Southern “heritage” that I am not proud of? What is my relationship to those people who claim and celebrate the ignoble parts?

Writing From a Southern Perspective

“Being Southern” is as much a state of mind as it is a physical state. My Southern identity isn’t about celebrating a romanticized version of the South–you know, moonlight and magnolias. Instead, it’s a lens through which I explore themes of home, culture, and identity. The South, for me, is a place of deep connections, shaped by family, history, and the rhythms of everyday life. Southern identity is not monolithic—I don’t assume my identity is exactly like yours, just as your experiences may differ from mine. While we may share certain aspects, identity is deeply individual and uniquely shaped by personal experiences.

Image of dinner with deviled eggs and mashed potatoes
Southern food–note the Thanksgiving Chicken and Dressing

Family and home are central to this perspective, grounding my stories in the relationships and traditions that define Southern life for me. The culture of the place is a tapestry woven through the land, neighbors, communities, histories, food, churches, schools, music, and football. These often appear in my writing, not only offering insights into shared experiences but also helping us understand the world around us and highlighting the relevance of our observations. Yes, there are lessons to be got from SEC football. Roll Tide, y’all.

Image of a handmade quilt with a crimson and white Alabama football theme. The quilt features appliqué designs of football helmets, footballs, the letter 'A,' and elephants in alternating squares. Each design is outlined with visible stitching, and the quilt is bordered with a crimson edge, showcasing school spirit and craftsmanship.
Lovingly made Alabama Quilt from my Mother

But writing from a Southern perspective also means wrestling with the region’s complexities. The South is as much about its tensions and contradictions as its traditions. It’s a place where politics, identity, and history converge, challenging us to confront difficult truths while celebrating what makes it unique. Without acknowledging the turmoil and inequalities of its past, any discussion of Southern life, identity, and culture feels inauthentic and incomplete—it’s a Southern writer’s malpractice. As someone who often says, “I love the South,” I can be trusted to both celebrate and critique it. Critique from someone who hasn’t lived it or can’t celebrate it is equally incomplete–and there are plenty of these critics around. This is my not so humble Southern opinion.

Nostalgia: A Lens for Understanding

Nostalgia, as I see it, is not about longing for a bygone era but about connecting the past with the present to find meaning that may inform the future. The word itself comes from the Greek words nostos, meaning “homecoming,” and algos, meaning “pain” or “longing.” It speaks to a deep yearning for the familiarity and comfort of home, even if that home is more an idea than a place. Some homes are not the kind we can long for; rather, we might long to be released from their memory. This etymology captures the duality of nostalgia: it brings remembrances of warmth and connection, yet it also reminds us of what is distant or lost. The dual nature of nostalgia vies for our attention, wrestles for focus, and fights for dominance—keeping many of us in therapy for years.

Image of small stone church, Littleville Church of Christ, Littleville, Alabama
My home church, Littleville Church of Christ, Littleville, Alabama

It’s a complex emotion, often blending warm memories with a bittersweet awareness of time’s passage. Far from being purely personal, nostalgia is often collective, rooted in shared experiences and cultural touchstones like family recipes, cherished traditions, or the familiar strains of an old song. In my writing, nostalgia becomes a guide for exploration. Stories about homeplace and family lead me to reflections of broader themes, such as the importance of community, civility, and the pace of modern life. Nostalgia isn’t a destination where we can remain lost in the preferred past; for me, it’s like wrapping myself in an old quilt, offering warmth as I navigate the here and now. You can’t linger too long, though, because living means stepping into the day with clarity and intention.

The Front Porch as a Space for Reflection and Stories

The front porch, in this context, is both a literal and metaphorical space—a place where complex ideas meet honest, accessible conversation. It’s where intellectual rigor mingles with the warmth of shared stories, and where connections are formed through curiosity and reflection. This is the balance I strive for: nostalgia not as an escape but as a framework for growing and learning.

The front porch is open to anyone willing to join the conversation, to explore what place, the South, and our shared histories mean in today’s world. And if you aren’t Southern, you might still have a good time and make connections, too. Together, we can find clarity, joy, and meaning in the stories we tell. I believe we have a responsibility to one another to make the world a better place–a place where we indeed have the liberty to pursue the happiness of a gratifying life. Taking care of our neighbors has never been as important as it is now. It feels like not only have we forgotten how, but we have forgotten that we ought to in the first place. That’s another reason front porches are important. I hope you will join me.

Being Human When AI Works Almost As Well, Sort Of

Image of a handmade double wedding band quilt featuring interlocking circular patterns in vibrant colors on a light background. The intricate stitching and carefully pieced fabric showcase the craftsmanship and artistry of traditional quilting.
Image of brown and white English Bulldog showing side profile sitting on gray furniture
Bruno displaying AI (Actual Intelligence)

I added a page to my Homepage to explain my thoughts and personal policy regarding Artificial Intelligence. Here it is as a post.

Within 20 years (perhaps 10, probably 5), this message will no longer be necessary. Within a generation, content producers and consumers will have figured out the ethics of using Artificial Intelligence to generate all kinds of content–from graphic designs, to music, to work documents for all professions, to classroom coursework, to, yes, blogs. We will have found the balance between using AI as a tool to enhance our work and relying on it to do the work for us. We will have figured out the survival–celebration, value–of artists, academics, and writers (human anythings) so that we will not have been replaced, which is a current concern. With a nod to Faulkner, I believe when it comes to AI, we will do more than survive. We will prevail, but we are not there yet.

My institution has three options regarding AI usage in the classroom that we faculty can incorporate into our syllabi–“Generative Artificial Intelligence Use Prohibited,” “Generative Artificial Intelligence Use Allowed with Attribution,” and “Generative Artificial Intelligence Use Encouraged with Attribution.” That pretty well captures the options for use in most settings. We can prohibit the use of AI, allow its use with care, and/or encourage its use. I would argue that the first option is not only unrealistic, but it would also put users at a disadvantage. Option 3 sounds to me like it could turn into a party–a free for all for beginners and professionals alike without boundaries and guardrails. Option 2 is a reasonable place to start, as it insists upon using the creative brain first and primarily, allowing us to form a relationship with AI–which we will do, one way or another, but that is another story–where it is the tool, not us. We humans must stay in the game, after all. (To the people reading this in 20 years–I know you are laughing and shaking your heads. Enjoy!)

I think of AI like quilts. You can purchase pre-printed quilting material at Walmart or any fabric store. To make your quilt, you only have to put stuffing (called batting or wading) between the printed side and the backing, and outline the printed design with thread, and viola, a quilt. I have one or two of these that my sweet mother and aunt have given me. They are treasures, but they are nothing like the quilts they used to make before their hands got tired and bent from arthritis. Designs were intricate and colorful, made from generations old patterns. Some patterns were made with hundreds of small pieces of cloth, which were stitched painstakingly, creating a “double wedding band,” for example, on the colorful front and plain-cloth backing. These quilts are heirlooms, works of art that are lovingly protected and stored to preserve their beauty. The difference between AI generated content and human generated content is like the difference between the printed quilt and the pieced quilt.

Image of a quilt ladder displayed in a cozy room. The ladder holds a collection of colorful handmade quilts, including a double wedding band quilt, a basket design, and others with intricate patterns. A crocheted striped blanket hangs alongside them. At the top of the ladder is a plush white owl. A framed Cape Cod map hangs on the wall, with a wooden chair and a tote bag visible in the foreground.
A collection of family heirlooms! Quilt ladder displaying several hand pieced quilts.

But, you may ask, how is that a valid comparison, since AI content is sometimes indistinguishable, often superior to human generated content? The attributes of beauty, of quality—even, maybe especially, messiness and flaws—are the human elements. Our challenge is not to attempt to catch up to what AI can do–we can’t. Our challenge is what the poets have always sought to evoke in humanity. It reminds me of what Ashley Wilkes tried in vain to express to Scarlett O’Hara: “I do mind, very much, the loss of the beauty of the old life I loved. Scarlett, before the war, life was beautiful. There was a glamour to it, a perfection and a completeness and a symmetry to it like Grecian art.” Ashley, though, mourned for the lost grace and perfection (that never existed), and in so doing, sadly missed the point…and the opportunity. Human completeness and symmetry are not going anywhere; we just have to be intentional about keeping them—us—alive. Aliveness is the pearl that makes Artificial Intelligence artificial.

At the beginning of my classes, my students and I talk about the ethics of using AI for course assignments. We look at the University’s options, above, and I talk to them about Google’s standards for evaluating web content (Google will not publish just anything), the E-E-A-T Guidelines. E-E-A-T stands for expertise, experience, authoritativeness, and trust. Google holds content to this standard in part to screen content that is generated to “manipulate search rankings.” Google uses its automated ranking system to focus on “high-quality, reliable, people-first content” https://developers.google.com/search/docs/fundamentals/creating-helpful-content. I’m sure that me and my little blog and my academic writing were not what Google had in mind when it developed its regulatory content standards. My blog has 4 readers, one of whom is my sweet Mother, and the academic writing has even fewer. But just as AI reaches broadly toward various fields and modalities, so too must the ethics that guide its use.

I try to persuade my students that I would rather read work full of their own emotions, originality, and creativity than a perfectly crafted AI-generated response paper. I’m not naive—AI is too easy to use—so we talk a lot about treating it more as an editor than a creator. I encourage them to maintain and strengthen their sense of creator-ness while learning to use AI responsibly as a tool to enhance their ideas, not replace them. I want them to see themselves as authors of their own thoughts, capable of crafting their work like a beautiful, hand-pieced quilt, rather than relying on AI to assemble their ideas for them.

Image of a handmade quilt with a crimson and white Alabama football theme. The quilt features appliqué designs of football helmets, footballs, the letter 'A,' and elephants in alternating squares. Each design is outlined with visible stitching, and the quilt is bordered with a crimson edge, showcasing school spirit and craftsmanship.
Lovingly made Alabama Quilt from my Mother

Some academics will prohibit the use of AI in their courses, focusing on catching students who use it. These are likely the same individuals who hold their peers to a higher standard when it comes to leveraging AI. Over time, these attitudes will adapt. For instance, I was encouraged to find that a Google search for ‘Scholars and academics who use AI’ yielded results emphasizing the responsible and ethical use of AI in research and writing. Just today, Tom’s Guide published an article, ’12 Days of OpenAI,’ reporting on OpenAI’s release of the new Pro More subscription, designed for advanced scientific research and complex mathematical problem-solving, at a cost of $200 per month. I’m old enough to remember when personal calculators were banned in math classrooms out of fear that students wouldn’t learn to calculate on their own. Eventually, we realized that without understanding the underlying concepts, a calculator wouldn’t help a student much. Similarly, while AI has historically struggled with math, it’s improving—and for $200 a month, you can see its progress. Advances like Pro More will inevitably become irresistible and indispensable for researchers. I suspect that as AI continues to evolve, the ethics of its use in academia will become increasingly situational.

For my blog and academic writing, I drafted a disclosure to include with my work. The following is the only AI-generated content in the post. ChatGPT spit this first one out in less than 10 seconds. It’s well-organized and pretty comprehensive, and with my found time I folded a load of laundry. Scroll to the bottom to see the human-created, much simpler finished product:

Personal Ethical Policy for AI Use in Writing

As a writer, I recognize the value of artificial intelligence as a tool to enhance creativity, efficiency, and quality in my work. To maintain integrity and uphold ethical standards, I commit to the following principles:

  1. Transparency:
  • I will disclose the use of AI tools in the creation of any content where its contribution significantly impacts the final product, especially in professional, academic, or published works.
  1. Originality:
  • I will ensure that the core ideas, voice, and creative expression in my writing remain my own. AI will serve as an aid, not a replacement, for my unique perspective and narrative.
  1. Accuracy and Verification:
  • I will verify any AI-generated information, ideas, or suggestions to ensure factual accuracy, avoid misinformation, and maintain credibility in my writing.
  1. Plagiarism Prevention:
  • I will not use AI to produce content that could be considered plagiarized or misrepresented as entirely original. Proper attribution will be given where AI outputs are directly used.
  1. Mindful Usage:
  • I will use AI tools for appropriate tasks such as brainstorming, editing, and administrative writing assistance, while refraining from over-reliance that could diminish my skill development or creative input.
  1. Respect for Context:
  • In collaborative projects, I will adhere to agreed-upon policies regarding AI use and respect any ethical or legal guidelines specific to the context of my work.
  1. Commitment to Growth:
  • I will continuously evaluate the role of AI in my writing practice, striving to balance innovation with authenticity, and learning how to responsibly adapt to emerging technologies.

That’s way too much information, and notice how Chat GPT numbered each item in its own list #1, a fitting reminder that although AI organizes information with precision at light speed, creativity and meaning-making is and will continue to be a human enterprise.

AI went on to ask me: “Would you like adjustments to tailor this for a specific audience, such as professional peers, readers, or students?” I declined the offer, and here is my human version:

The work presented here is original to me. I have used AI tools such as ChatGPT sparingly and ethically for tasks such as identifying trending topics, proofreading, suggesting key words for search engine optimization. I have carefully reviewed AI-generated suggestions to ensure they align with my authentic voice and unique style, thereby preserving the creativity and integrity of the work and myself.

Image of a handmade double wedding band quilt featuring interlocking circular patterns in vibrant colors on a light background. The intricate stitching and carefully pieced fabric showcase the craftsmanship and artistry of traditional quilting.
Hand pieced Double Wedding Band Quilt

A Letter To My Students, From Their “New” Professor

Image of Dr. Ugena Whitlock at USC Upstate
Dr. Ugena Whitlock

Dear Students,

Welcome to the new semester and to our class! As your professor, I want you to know how excited I am to be back in the classroom after several years in administration. It’s been a while since I last taught a full course load—2007, to be exact. Since then, I taught an occasional class until stepping fully into administration in 2016. Now, here I am, rejoining the classroom and rediscovering the rewards of working with students like you.

Image of a brown and white English Bulldog with his tongue out. He is playing with 6 hippopotamus squeak toys lined up on a dog bed.
Bruno is ready for school

A lot has changed since I last taught full-time. We’ve experienced a global pandemic, witnessed national and global unrest, navigated four presidential elections, endured economic turbulence, and just generally undergone shifts in our society. Schools and classrooms have changed over the years, too. Teachers have left the field in significant numbers and fewer people are entering the profession. Those who stay report that their students have changed. Actually, we’ve all changed.

But amid all this change, some things remain constant—our innate human capacity for love and acceptance, and our nature as social creatures who need each other. We are curious about the world and about one another. We can laugh at ourselves. These are foundations that inspire me as a teacher, ones I hope will inspire you, too. Our humanness fills me with faith. I have faith in you and in the value of this class. We are going to explore some very interesting topics together, which I hope you will carry into your own classrooms. I hope you will also pass on to your students the faith, hope, and inspiration that I hold for you.

Close up image of brown and white English Bulldog with his tongue out.
Bruno contemplating beginning of semester

I’ll be honest with you: I feel a mix of anticipation and vulnerability as I return to the classroom. I want to create a dynamic, engaging space that feels welcoming and worthwhile for each of you. Even though it’s been a while since I’ve facilitated learning experiences for students–either online or in person–I see it as a challenge worth embracing. Why? I still believe in the power of education to make a difference—not just for your students but for you, too. I believe that we can change the world one student at a time.

Our time together will be about more than standards, objectives, and theory (though we’ll cover plenty of that stuff). It will be about understanding ourselves as educators, examining the world through a critical yet hopeful lens, and preparing for the deeply human work of teaching. I have great hope that you will find this class meaningful and empowering as you move closer to realizing your dreams—both personally and professionally.

Let’s begin our journey with curiosity, openness, and mutual respect. I’m here to support you every step of the way.

Warm regards,
Dr. Ugena Whitlock
Your “New” Professor

Image of a brown and white English Bulldog with his tongue out lying on a rug
Bruno after a long day at school

Evolving from Just Keep Swimming to The Front Porch Professor

Image of Logo for Blog The Front Porch Professor with rocking chair, typewriter, and Mazda Miata..

Time for a Change

After fourteen years maintaining my blog Just Keep Swimming, I decided it was time for a change. When I started blogging those years ago, blogs, shorthand for “weblogs,” (remember that?) were fairly new, and I was deep into building a career by writing articles for academic journals. I knew that autobiographical narrative Curriculum Theory (my professional writing) would not be a lucrative venture. It wouldn’t earn money or attract thousands of readers. I determined that I would use the blog as a journal. I wrote personal essays in memoir style that might later be crafted into journal articles–a sort of pre-writing holding station. I also told myself that my blog was really only for me. I thought this would lessen my disappointment at having no readers. That part was sad because I really wanted somebody to read what I was writing.

Image of blog logo justkeepswimming.com
Logo for Just Keep Swimming Blog

So, the blog was a patchwork of ideas and topics with loose themes and frameworks pulling them together. Not surprisingly, then, I had difficulty giving it a name. Sarah helped. The more I obsessed over finding just the right name for a blog nobody would read, the more I secretly hoped someone would. The more I obsessed, the more she tried to help me get centered. She tried to help me find some resilience somewhere. “Just keep swimming,” she said, as much a suggestion for my state of mind as for the blog title. It fit. For almost a decade, I have worked on justkeepswimming.life–mostly sporadically. During those same ten years, my career evolved from faculty member to department chair to college dean. As a small-town girl from Littleville, Alabama, I wanted to see just how far I could go. I told myself I didn’t have the time to write regularly. I did well to just keep swimming.

This Spring I will once again be a faculty member in the college, without an administrative role of any kind. I’ve been thinking about this change a lot, and I reckon it will be a good move. I am looking forward to teaching again. I am also eager to have some autonomy over my time. Faculty generally work more than 40 hours per week, but oftentimes, when and where we work is up to us. This kind of flexibility will take away an important excuse for not posting regularly—that’s the goal. Updating the blog’s purpose and branding reflects the updates going on in my life. What is my new identity–who am I now that my decades-long professional identity has changed? What kind writing do I want to do, and what will I write about? What do I, as one white Southern professor with blue collar roots, have to say?

Heading Out To the Front Porch

I reflected on what I wanted the blog to be. I asked myself why I started blogging. It isn’t to have a journal to springboard into professional papers. Nor do I write to make money or achieve celebrity status as a blogger. I write blog posts because it brings me joyful engagement. This engagement gives me purpose. It also provides an immediate connection to you, and you to me. And somewhere among the joy, purpose, and connection, there is also the urgency of needing to tell.

In her book, Why I Write, Joan Didion wrote, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear” (“Why I Write.” The White Album, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1979, pp. 192–194.). Her quote has been shortened over the years to “I never know what I think until I read what I write,” which is unfortunate since it leaves out the part about what one wants and fears. When I write I am participating in the world around me and putting meaning on what I see and experience. And yes, desire and fear are part of it, just like they are ever-present in one’s consciousness. What anything means to me won’t be what it means to you, for you are participating from your consciousness, your home place. And that’s what I’d like to evoke with my stories–for both me and you.

Image of Logo for Blog The Front Porch Professor with rocking chair, typewriter, and Mazda Miata..
New Logo for The Front Porch Professor that includes a rocking chair, antique typewriter, and Mazda Miata.

In essence, then, I am re-claiming my identity as a writer. Who am I? I value education, so I got a PhD and became a professor. I am a Southerner to my soul, and my perspectives for writing are shaped–and shape–that identity. I write about the South, my particular anchor of homeplace. Homeplace is a treasured concept for me, one that encompasses family, food, religion, politics, music, sexuality, culture–it is the landscape on which my life has been written. I view the landscape through a lens–a veil, as I like to think of it–of nostalgia. As I write, I hold the present up, looking backwards to the past—my recollection and understanding of it—with a questioning eye toward the future. To symbolize the space from which I can observe and cast a critical eye on Southern place, I chose the front porch.

A front porch is more than just a place—it’s a state of mind. It’s where stories are told, where folks sit and hang around together. It’s a place where the world slows down just enough to reflect on what truly matters to me. With The Front Porch Professor, my goal is to bring the warmth and depth of this space into the stories I share. I work through the tensions between issues that matter to readers today. I also offer honest, insider critiques of the South. Sound idyllic? It can be, but just like the South, the front porch can also be a troubled and complicated place where anguish, heartbreak, disappointment, and violence take place. Every few days, I have to sweep the porch to clear dust and cobwebs to make sure it is an inviting place for myself and others.

Who Should Read It?

The intended audience for The Front Porch Professor are folks who appreciate stories that resonate on both a personal and universal level, blending the warmth of lived experience with the relevance of today’s challenges. My readers might be older adults, reflecting on their own life journeys and drawn to narratives that echo their experiences. They might be educators or seekers who appreciate the intersection of storytelling with deeper ideas about culture, family, and identity.

This blog also speaks to those who find meaning in the everyday—the simple joys of a shared meal, the comfort of homeplace, or the peace found while sitting in the shade in a back yard. I believe there is also value for people who can’t recollect joy from their homes. There may be appeal here for them as well. Home for some–if it means anything at all–are places of atrocities, hurt, and darkness. Home may be a place of utter ambivalence. If this is you, then I invite you, too. In this blog, I look for the mysteries to be found in simplifying the complex and complicating the simple.

Why Does It Matter?

Our world is a noisy place, and it feels to me like we are distracted by it–not just distracted but affected in other ways. Noisy politics, for example, has polarized some of us to the point of violence. It has also created animosity with friends and family. We seem to have lost focus on the things that matter, which is always others. I hope my stories can balance out some of the clutter. I hope that together we can pause and look for grounding–the kind that I find from recollecting and observing what happens around me and to me.

Image of logo for the Front Porch Professor with ukelele, typewriter, rocking chair.
Alternate Logo for The Front Porch Professor that includes ukelele and typewriter with no Miata.

Maybe you, like me, want to have a deeper engagement with life around us and with others in it. Maybe you, like me, want to nourish a homeplace of the heart, our own personal touchstone where inward reflection points us out-ward toward purpose. A safe and joyful place of our making–whatever that might look like for you–where we contemplate how our own sense of belonging connects us to others. I hope The Front Porch Professor is engaging and entertaining; still, I do not consider life merely to entertain. As you read, I invite you to actively participate with me as we pause, surmise, and make meaning. Don’t just read. Come along with me on our shared journey.

Image of Dr. Ugena Whitlock, author of The Front Porch Professor.
Introducing Dr. Ugena Whitlock, The Front Porch Professor!