The first semester of graduate school school comes to a close soon and the one thing on my mind is what I will be doing after I finish my MA. I'm already applying to another graduate program and after some soul searching have thought about applying to more. The economy is still weak and jobs are scarce, so like so many others it seems best to stay put in school and build up enough expensive education as possible until things pick up.
My body is a machine to capitalism. It's about how much I can produce, my mental capital in this post-industrial, information based economy. I can read well and write well, I'm articulate and I have knowledge few possess about a topic that is serious and worth giving attention, and money. Where this road leads us few are certain. When I say I'd simply want to be happy with something modest, with enough money to travel or to live a decent life, I know my body/mental capital is being wasted, and that bothers me. Does someone who believes in revolutionary politics stand to lose so much when in the current system, despite their disagreements, they have been so successful? These and other questions pass through my head as I come to experience what has already been experienced---the crisis of conformation, the desire to become apart of something, to believe that after this point, into the factory, I will no longer live for myself. Isn't that the scariest and yet most reassuring thing about having kids? At one point you are allowed to say, "I do this for my kids" and on the other you grudgingly remark, "I cannot do this because I have kids."
I wound up in DC for the Thanksgiving break, which after 22 years seems like any other Thanksgiving. I suppose as you get older it becomes hard to detect the point at which things change, at least small things. I enjoy the holiday more now that I'm older and find family time relaxing rather than a burden. While I'd rather be in Paris or Rome or somewhere far away doing something more exciting than helping to prepare the Thanksgiving feast, it's altogether a nice time to relax and listen to the sounds of family converge.
I've been thinking more and more about the idea of recognition.
It's obviously not about getting on track anymore, that's a question of routine and discipline, of making it and mastery, these are questions which seem silly at this point--it's the tracks that are the problem. I'm slowly learning to accept the grind of life and become dissatisfied with it in a way that is less bitter and confused and more targeted and controlled. Better put, I've come to realize life's too short o compromise, but it's also too short to fight. Luckily, there are opportunities for those who are smart, and while there are all kinds of problems with feeling that way, I'm not about to take the first shot. It might be post-modern or it might be laziness, but like Anzaldua said, "if I change myself, I change the world."
With all this in mind I've approached graduate school with a high level of skepticism and found myself humbled by the sheer difficulty and creativity of my program. I'm not one for rigor or hard work, it just happens that way, but I'm enjoying myself despite always ending up behind on the readings or wanting to ask more questions. What looms behind this all is the fear or applying to law school and the many rationalizations I've developed which attempt to soften the blow, ease the pressure, and comfort the cumbersome and confusing path entailed in application. With all that said, I know, like always, it will get done and good things will happen. I've come to rely on this consistency.
At the end of the year I have the promise of returning to South America. All in all, this trip should provide me with a lovely break from the constraints of being in this country for too long. What's more exciting about the journey is that for most it, I will be traveling with Tania. After this year it would be an understatement to mention how much we need this trip, so I'll simply leave it at that, but I will say the promise of sitting on a bus for 15 hours, crossing the Andes brings a certain nervous contentment in me that almost reaches the point of joy--even if it is a thought.
I'm starting to get the feeling that most people never get to the point where they are comfortable in their own skin. I'm starting to get the feeling that most people age as if they were never moving, or more precisely, as if they were themselves always moving away from a point of particular importance, or into a point of importance. Either way, the process is about an infinite sense of departure and arrival. I also get the feeling most people just project.
I cam to the realization the other night, with Tania, that there's something fortunate and satisfying about quitting. This doesn't mean you shouldn't try hard--try hard, just not too hard and just not for too long.
It's getting harder and harder to write entries. I suppose I neglect this thing when life is good, which is not the idea, but it happens. I'm a little worried, I guess, it feels kind of strange but I haven't really thought this far and now it's coming down to the wire--a sense of urgency about life. If I had it my way I'd just spend time walking in a cool breeze and help people finish small tasks and make things right. This world is so big, I always get nervous watching the weather reports on international news stations, it makes me frightened to think of the world as so big and so populous and so alive and all over.
I've become more interested in aesthetics, which is to say I'm trying harder to appreciate beauty. I used to think it was all silly, but now I find something powerful about culture, something important about legacy, curiosity, revolution. I had a lot of plans for this summer and a month has gone by and none of them have been realized. I need to work harder when I'm not required to work. I need to find inspiration in more than just my words. Creativity is so important, and I need to begin the process to remaking myself, inventing and powerfully moving into something new.
I think of myself as apart of a team. My partner and I are separated though, and I think I feel sad about it.
I think I'm just worried about myself. That's all.
I tried to fall asleep but I woke up. I think it had to do with someone outside my place pretending to be a bird, yelling loudly for no good reason.
Tania left back for Dallas yesterday and so now I'm here in my apartment alone, waiting for Thursday when I can go to Dallas to see her.
I feel more creative than I've felt in a long time. I've been writing more, and thinking of writing more. I want to have a radio show and I want to make music. I want my brain to click and for impressive things to come from my mind into the world for others to see. I wish I had played an instrument in school or stuck to something I can respect as talent. Instead I debated. Great debaters move on to do other things, perhaps become great lawyers, judges or politicians. But great musicians or writers can do those things too. I'd rather fail as a musician and end up a lawyer, than try my best to be a lawyer and then become one. I'm looking for something unexpected and I miss Tania dearly.
