I realize that a year ago was the break-up, the awful interview, the approval of instructional titles in my current department, and, when the handling of that was so badly botched in the Fall, the beginning of my journey to a tenure-track position. I feel a lot of melancholy. It has been a hard year. Things fell apart, but then something else seemed to come together for me. I had such hopes for a good career where I am. And then things fell apart again, putting my feet on this path.
I have been terrified and sad and alone so much of this year. Chin up. Moving forward. Trying to keep a smile on my face, but sometimes far from succeeding.
Things come together, and they fall apart. This has been a year of both. I hope next year will be coming together. But I fear the next falling apart, whether it is next year or further off. How much more can I take? As much as I need to. That’s how much.
It is time to start moving forward on a number of things. I have gotten moving. And I’ve gotten sick, which has me temporarily stalled out. Every stall scares me a little, but I know that big scary things just get done. They get done one step at a time. All you have to do is keep stumbling toward your goal.
In the midst of all this, I find myself wasting time with a game, 2048: http://gabrielecirulli.github.io/2048/. It’s nicely mathematical, and you think I’d figure it out easily, but as much time as I waste, here too, I am still struggling. I have made the 1024 tile. Persistence. Persistence. If I make 2048 once, am I done? Can I quit?
I am sad to be leaving what has been my home for 12 years now. I am eager for new friends and new opportunities. I am scared of the challenges that lay ahead of me. I am excited to see what new things I will do.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?