It became the here and now and I have one year to make sense of life, my life. This one life.
It would be nice to have a guarantee that in today's world of proving yourself you don't have to bring to the table years of experience, degrees upon degrees, and a full portfolio, CV, resume, etc., but this world is not one that welcomes the wanderer. Unless, of course, the wanderer can prove herself on the spot. I am now a resident of the smartest city in the country -- this is true, my zip code is 02138. It makes me a bit nauseous to consider the implication of that statement. That means that my smarts are not smarts, but just another commodity within this shape-shifting, fluid world of academia. The PhD has been my plan, and with that to continue to teach towards social justice, to learn more and help this world be better to everyone who is in it. That is what I have always known I wanted to do. Back in school I am exploring this path, but now there are too many options.
There are always too many options when you open your eyes.
What about my hands?!!
Sure, my brain tells my fingers to type, threads together words and thoughts with the golden needle of experience. This is fulfilling, yes. Somehow though, the satisfaction of writing a good poem or essay isn't the same as building a table, binding a book, or drawing a picture of a snail on cedar.
I am trying to find a way to bind my academic interests together right now, but in the process of considering human rights, identity, the South, and African Americans am I forgetting something big?
My head is heavy with thoughts of the future and fears of making big mistakes.
My niece sent me a letter in the mail upon my request to be pen pals.
She attached a drawing of nature. Just above the yellow markings and green grass she wrote this line: The bees want to say, "The flowers are for you."
That was the most inspiring piece of prose I'd read all week.
Here's my joy this week:
That was indeed a fine piece of writing! First time here, will frequent more.
ReplyDelete