Go Round and Round

That's what my thoughts do these days; they go round and round. Friday is the application deadline for that local faculty position. I think about it all the time. If they offered it to me, would I want it?  I think about that half-time post-doc an hour away. If they offered it to me, would I want it? I think about having a little home-based private practice. Is that what I want? I think about staying home for a year and catching up on all the things I have let slide around here, and having gingerbread ready for the boys at 3:30 every afternoon, and making really fabulous Halloween costumes.

I think I might run out of gingerbread recipes.

I think I am sabotaging myself by procrastinating on the application packet. I think that in my heart of hearts I don't want to teach three classes each semester in a field that's not my own. I mean, it's close enough that I could make it work. But do I want to?

Maybe this sounds elitist -- heck, maybe it is elitist -- but it's a less competitive program than the one I'm trained for. It's more satisfying to work with more motivated students.

Elwood and I have been struggling a bit with division of labor and I am trying to see it as a providentially timed struggle. If we disagree now about who ought to call the insurance agent and get up with a wakeful baby and handle the swim team drop-off, what should that tell me about next year?

Huh, that sounds really stupid now that I have typed it up: I might turn down a challenging job to stay home because I hate arguing with my husband about who will follow up with the state department of revenue. But it's a consideration. I have read that most marital arguments are about money, sex, kids, and in-laws. We never fight about any of those: we fight about time and responsibility.

Look at that-- I was just about to type something like "so I don't know what to do next year." But then I realized I'd already said it approximately 45 times already in this post and stopped myself. There is a line in an Anne Lamott book that was very helpful to me the last time I didn't know what our next step should be: she quotes the pastor of her church, saying that God doesn't shine a big floodlight on the path ahead. Instead He illuminates the next patch where we should walk, and then the next, and then the next, until this funny Charlie Chaplin gait gets us where we ought to be.

My next little Charlie Chaplin step is to write up a research agenda and a cover letter. And then we'll see. If I keep singing "go round and round" to myself, maybe I'll wind up as the roller derby queen. Dr. Roller Derby Queen -- it has a nice ring, don't you think?

Comments

[rachel]

well, we fight about sex and in-laws as well as time, but it's the fights about division of time that indicate something is wrong. Meaning, and maybe I'm reading myself into what you write, I think this isn't stupid at all: my limited experience is that division-stress comes when we're both stretched too thin, and that my temptation in these cases is too leap into a new challenge - and that's not very helpful.
Also - and gosh, I feel really stupid writing this to you with your experience - but I found *nothing* as difficult as finishing a diss with a mobile baby, who's by now demanding all kinds of attention. But you know this.

[Jamie]

Thanks for the reminder, Rachel; I had sort of lost sight of the fact that this crazy season (unending data analysis and unending fishing of small objects out of baby's mouth) is temporary. :-/