Spring

Something new in the air today, perhaps the struggle of the bud

to become a leaf. Nearly two weeks late it invaded the air but 

then what is two weeks to life herself? On a cool night there is 

a break from the struggle of becoming. I suppose that's why we

sleep. In a childhood story they spoke of the land of enchant-

ment. We crawl to it, we short-lived mammals, not realizing that 

we are already there. To the gods the moon is the entire moon 

but to us it changes second by second because we are always fish 

in the belly of the whale of earth. We are encased and can't stray 

from the house of our bodies. I could say that we are released, 

but I don't know, in our private night when our souls explode 

into a billion fragments then calmly regather in a black pool

in the forest, far from the cage of flesh, the unremitting "I." This was 

a dream and in dreams we are forever alone walking the ghost

road beyond our lives. Of late I see waking as another chance at

spring.

> Jim Harrison, Spring

My one-year work anniversary is coming up next week, and as with any anniversary, the year seems somehow to have taken forever and also no time at all.

12 months ago I had just gotten a permanent job offer, but I'd been working in temporary positions off-and-on for over 6 months, since before I even defended my dissertation. I was hugely anxious anyway, though—being without steady work for a few months felt like I would be without a job forever. In retrospect everything seems like it was obviously going to work out, but I was right to be anxious, and very, very lucky to find steady work just 6 months after defending. Especially considering how thoroughly, and for so many years, I had avoided thinking about what I was going to do after school.

Overall, though, what I've learned (remembered?) this year is how much I enjoy working. I miss grad school for many reasons, not the least of which are the friends I made there who have now scattered, but I don't miss being a grad student at all. The work was engaging, but I didn't enjoy it. By the end I was so frustrated, I could barely suppress my disdain for the entire system and everyone who had a hand in maintaining it. And after I'd finished, I was so anxious I'd never work again it seemed impossible that I'd ever find anything satisfying to do. After a year at work, though, I can say that I have occasionally been useful to individuals who have appreciated it. (And paid me adequately for it.) That is a modest accomplishment, but one that I've found surprisingly enjoyable.

By that measure, though, I probably should have been a plumber. There's still time!