on the way to work when I saw a fellow professor walking down Main with his little daughter in a stroller. The scene was so simple and beautiful. It evoked a longing in me that I'd like to be able to dispassionately and nonchalantly set aside. Yesterday morning, a deep violet streak brought tears to my eyes.
A voice said that it would be a long while before I'd be able to enjoy a moment like that. It said that it was far off. Unattainable, even. What makes you think you can have that? It's not yours and it's not for you.
It's not necessarily having a child that I feel is unattainable. It's the idea of the ability to create a life where I will be able to unstressfully enjoy having a child that seems unattainable. A life where I will be able to take a walk with my child on a crisp autumn morning and not worry about how it's all going to come together. A life that includes a home of our own, permanent jobs, financial security, affordable child care, a welcoming place with people who speak our language.
There are bright spots, for sure. They include my bright-eyed students who are excited that I'm teaching Humanities next semester. They include the morning moment my husband hits snooze and wraps his arm around me because we're both awake but want to enjoy those few precious moments before we have to get out of bed. They include the fact that my husband was offered a teaching position at a nearby university. I should be content.
But my days still feel like contingencies. I have barely begun to apply for jobs. And the ones I've seen so far weigh me down with my woeful unqualification and unsuitability for them. I'm paralyzed by the very idea of applying for them. What makes you think you can have that? It's not yours and it's not for you. Do I care about research and publication plans and book proposals and my future scholarly trajectory and profile? I do not. How can an academic not care about those things? Maybe I'm not an academic. I'm an overeducated, undermotivated person who gets by, ending up in places I didn't plan to be. It's not altogether a bad thing to end up in places you didn't plan to be. In many ways, I'm quite happy that I've ended up in places I didn't plan to be. But I've never had it all together and I don't know why I can't rid myself of the need to.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Friday, October 14, 2016
Never Make Assumptions...Ever
God is a funny being. He has a sense of humor, He really does.
As much as I despise when other people make assumptions about me and try to categorize me, I realize that time and time again, I do the same to other people. Case in point:
This afternoon, P and I pulled up into the Save-a-lot parking lot. Right next to a 40ish, cigarette-smoking redhead in a black pickup truck. Wearing a wife beater. I glanced at P knowingly before I dashed out to pick up a few items while P waited for me in the car.
When I got back, pickup truck guy was still there, and as I got in the car, noticed that he was sort of staring at us. Once the door was safely shut, I put on my best hicktown accent and pretended I was the guy to amuse my husband: "Ah cain't believe the world we're livin in...whah don't folks just stick wit their own kahnd?" P laughed, nodding in agreement. "I know, that's what I thought he was probably thinking, too...like, why is he looking at us like that?" I looked over at the guy again and he was still looking at us, this time with sort of a half smile on his face. I smirked and gave him a head nod before we drove off...but not before we saw a black woman with a few bags of groceries emerge from the Save-a-lot, approach the pickup and get in on the passenger's side.
As much as I despise when other people make assumptions about me and try to categorize me, I realize that time and time again, I do the same to other people. Case in point:
This afternoon, P and I pulled up into the Save-a-lot parking lot. Right next to a 40ish, cigarette-smoking redhead in a black pickup truck. Wearing a wife beater. I glanced at P knowingly before I dashed out to pick up a few items while P waited for me in the car.
When I got back, pickup truck guy was still there, and as I got in the car, noticed that he was sort of staring at us. Once the door was safely shut, I put on my best hicktown accent and pretended I was the guy to amuse my husband: "Ah cain't believe the world we're livin in...whah don't folks just stick wit their own kahnd?" P laughed, nodding in agreement. "I know, that's what I thought he was probably thinking, too...like, why is he looking at us like that?" I looked over at the guy again and he was still looking at us, this time with sort of a half smile on his face. I smirked and gave him a head nod before we drove off...but not before we saw a black woman with a few bags of groceries emerge from the Save-a-lot, approach the pickup and get in on the passenger's side.
Wednesday, October 05, 2016
The Ways I Know
In the car together, on our way to church, drinking in the scenery passing by. He turns to me and says, "You bring so much laughter into my life."
Not having a great start to the day. Anxious and down. When he texts a simple "I love you," I respond with a torrent of honesty. Later, he asks I would like to have lunch together and meets me on campus. A small thing, but so welcome, so needed.
I go to work without an umbrella and not long after, there's a torrential downpour. As soon as I think to myself, "Ugh, why didn't I bring an umbrella?" I get a text from him asking if I'd like him to bring one to my office.
He holds me, caressing my belly although we aren't pregnant yet. His desire to be a father bleeds through and his tenderness reassures me he will be present, aware, involved, nurturing, devoted.
Grocery shopping is a team sport. Armed with our list, we march in, divide and conquer.
Reminders when we're apart during the day: "I miss you." A selfie of him with a thumbs up at the local coffee shop. Links to a worship song on YouTube and hilarious interviews with bemused foreign journalists covering the alternate universe known as the Republican National Convention. A dozen roses awaiting me at home at the end of my first day of class.
My self-consciousness always rears its head. Should I be thankful that I still look young enough that people feel it acceptable to ask my age? The inevitable questions in addition to the unstated obvious: The 5-year age gap between us. Our racial difference. Our fledgling marriage. I'm working while he's finishing his doctoral program. (If it were the other way around, no one would bat an eye.) How did this happen? How does this work? Imagining the gears turning in people's heads trying to figure me out, trying to figure us out. But when we're alone, the Otherness melts away. We have our world, and we're a team. I see and know the work that he's doing for us.
Not having a great start to the day. Anxious and down. When he texts a simple "I love you," I respond with a torrent of honesty. Later, he asks I would like to have lunch together and meets me on campus. A small thing, but so welcome, so needed.
I go to work without an umbrella and not long after, there's a torrential downpour. As soon as I think to myself, "Ugh, why didn't I bring an umbrella?" I get a text from him asking if I'd like him to bring one to my office.
He holds me, caressing my belly although we aren't pregnant yet. His desire to be a father bleeds through and his tenderness reassures me he will be present, aware, involved, nurturing, devoted.
Grocery shopping is a team sport. Armed with our list, we march in, divide and conquer.
Reminders when we're apart during the day: "I miss you." A selfie of him with a thumbs up at the local coffee shop. Links to a worship song on YouTube and hilarious interviews with bemused foreign journalists covering the alternate universe known as the Republican National Convention. A dozen roses awaiting me at home at the end of my first day of class.
My self-consciousness always rears its head. Should I be thankful that I still look young enough that people feel it acceptable to ask my age? The inevitable questions in addition to the unstated obvious: The 5-year age gap between us. Our racial difference. Our fledgling marriage. I'm working while he's finishing his doctoral program. (If it were the other way around, no one would bat an eye.) How did this happen? How does this work? Imagining the gears turning in people's heads trying to figure me out, trying to figure us out. But when we're alone, the Otherness melts away. We have our world, and we're a team. I see and know the work that he's doing for us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)