the lining is quite silver.

My dear cousin:

I find myself reassuring family members of my happiness multiple times today. My next facebook status will go through several stages of review before being published...

Every now and then--and particularly in very busy weeks--the world seems much bigger than usual and I give in to despair for a few moments, convincing myself that it's entirely TOO big and crowded for me (and J) to wiggle in. Last night (two nights ago, now), during one of these moments, I posted my facebook status, and the rest is history. It's all symptomatic of a bit of leftover child in me, a child who says "I don't WANNA!" when made to take out the garbage or clean their room. My adult side recognizes that struggle and uncertainty are just a part of life, particularly young-20s life, but that kid would like it all to just come easily.

Most of the time, however, I feel up to the struggle and vivified by the uncertainty. Questions like "where are we going to be next year?" and "what kind of job will I have?" excite me. Life in general is good; I enjoy my students immensely, even when they're exasperating, and I'm excited about my capstone project (when I have the time to work on it). J and I are getting married in January, my parents offered to send us on a honeymoon as a wedding gift (even though they're paying for the wedding...this feels excessive to me, but I won't complain), and now that he's off salary-schedule I even get to see him some of the time.

All of this made me decide to keep on going...to continue doing what I enjoy and seem to be good at, because when I'm enjoying my work, I don't care so much that I get paid so little. So, with encouragement from J, I decided to apply to PhD programs at the schools he's applying to for his MFA. I could try to do the safe thing and find a job, but chances are I won't find one even remotely related to what I've been studying or one that pays much more than a graduate student stipend anyway...

I guess the child in me came out after this decision (which I made Monday), because I'm choosing to do what I like and am good at, and this means that I'm choosing to struggle. It's intimidating...and I admit I got a little angry that what I like and am good at isn't valued enough in the US today for me to even be guaranteed a good job on the other side of a PhD. I want everything! A cushy job that I like that gives me the flexibility to have a family, a spot for J at a school he feels comfortable at...

Two weeks ago (I swear this is related), I went to a conference at UNC Greensboro to present a paper I wrote last Fall. Four of my classmates went along; two of these were on the same panel as me. The conference ended up being a bust. There were maybe 30 people there, none with papers that interested me, and because our panel was at the end of the day, nobody came. That's right, NOBODY showed up. Not even the two classmates who presented at separate panels. So, my panel-mates and I read our papers to each other (something we could have done back home at VT), and drove three hours through pouring rain back to Blacksburg. The whole experience discouraged me at the time, but there is one thing that one professor said during a plenary session that WAS worth driving three hours to hear. This young professor advised us all to do what we like. Generally, she said, if you write about what you're interested in and do what you're good at rather than what makes you money at the time, you'll end up in a place meant for you. Your unique experiences won't let you end up anywhere else OTHER than that place.

I've learned over the years to trust the advice of people who've lived longer than I have, and, as I'm taking this woman's advice, I certainly hope she's right.

Anyhoo...I guess what I was getting at with all of that is: I'm quite happy. My lining is very silver...gold, even. The doubts just sometimes creep in, as is their wont, and I have trouble ignoring them every time...especially in the wee hours of the morning when I'm alone in the apartment and J is at work.

Love,
Kate