When given the choice, I always want to hear bad news first. It softens the ultimate blow, and even after hearing something I don't like, I know that I have something to look forward to.
So the Bad News:
The last 6 months have been heavily focused on finding a full-time tenure track teaching position at the community college level. Of all the applications packets I completed and sent off, none resulted in either an interview or a job offer. (I heard from the final one last week.) I sent a total of 6 out. That means six separate applications, supplemental questions, copies of my CV, letters of recommendation and transcripts. The average paper count was roughly 23 pages for each. As of now I do not have a full-time benefited job for fall.
Of the six schools, two rescinded their job openings. So in full there were only four true rejections. In all honesty the first three didn't bother me at all. After each I could easily see all the reasons why I didn't really want to work at that particular school or that particular district. It was very easy to look optimistically forward for the next potential school and interview.
The consequence of pushing disappointment aside for the first three rejections was that this last one really hurt. I pretty quickly fell into a metaphorical pit of despair (with no six-fingered man to watch over my suffering). Really old, old, icky feelings of worthlessness bubbled to the surface. My confidence level feel dramatically. I was embarrassed that my application packet could be so bad that no one wanted to meet me. Other feelings that I couldn't identify felt a lot like grief. I suppose in a way I was grieving the loss of the life I had imagined for myself at each one of these schools.
My wonderful husband consoled me with flowers dinner out. I couldn't bring myself to post my usual Facebook Job Hunt Update, so I waited. Then I discovered the good news.
The Good News
Now that the uncertainty of scheduling interviews and knowing which school to become an overnight expert about are no longer percolating under the surface of my thoughts every day, I feel revitalized.
I don't have to worry about a new commute, getting up to speed at a new campus, finding the primo parking spots or where the most reliable copiers reside. I don't have to learn a whole new set of course outlines, revamp my syllabi and struggle to make the books I like to teach fit into another curriculum.
I am really excited about teaching summer school at a college that I know and love. I am still employed part-time at two community colleges, so I do have work--work that I am very, very grateful to have. All the while I was putting together application packets I was also laying the ground work to make sure I have classes in the Fall at these schools. Although I only have two confirmed classes (when three or even four would be optimal) I can pretty clearly see more on the horizon. I have chosen a few new books for my classes, begun my reader for summer school and am well on my way to being very organized for the Fall.
And best of all I am excited about returning to my book project.
And yes, I realize that my initial reaction was really about old buttons and old issues. Logically I know that this is a lousy time to be looking for full-time teaching work. I was up against (literally) hundreds and hundreds of other applicants and that some of those colleges really wanted to hire from their adjunct pools.
So although I was initially disappointed, now I am quite relieved.
Lake Mendocino
Friday, April 29, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Renewal
Here we are in late April and Spring is finally upon us. The plants in my yard that survived the record freezes and deluges of rain are blooming or offering new leaves for me to gaze upon. Our renegade peach tree looks as though it might have a fruit or two slowly developing in the growing warmth.
I have no idea what the weather outside was like a year ago. I could easily check, but I choose not to. I do know that the inside of the house had been plagued by a long-term chill. It had been growing steadily colder over the course of at least three years, my husband would argue that it took longer, and had finally become unbearable. A sudden heated discussion shattered the ice that had grown between myself and my life partner and we were left to wonder if there was anything left to salvage or if we wanted to make the effort to rebuild our life together.
I would never have characterized my marriage as unhappy. Even in the midst of misery I most ofter prefer my husband's company to anyone else except my children. But suddenly we realized that the life we had built together was potentially not what he wanted. He had long standing issues within his own heart and his own head that he had worked around for so many years. He didn't like himself very much. He didn't believe he was talented. I don't think that he believed that he deserved to be happy. There were some deep, dark secrets that he was keeping, not just from me, but from himself. He had pulled inside of himself so deeply that he wasn't sure if he wanted to come out and participate in our life, or start a new one without me.
A year ago I was working on a book project. A memoir and research book that was meant to look outside my own experience at the historical and factual realities that surrounded my story. Unlike many of my writing colleagues, I can't write my way through my problems. I don't feel compelled to take notes or journal during crisis. I shut down for the most part and focus so mightily on surviving that I simply don't have enough energy left over for creativity. So when things fell apart at home, the book project stalled. As time went on it became clear that my story wasn't ready to be told in part because my husband's was still unfolding as well.
So when the ice was shattered, he had to decide. and he had to do it without me. So he went away. We had no contact except a few text message conversations. He said he would be gone overnight, but the next day he wasn't ready to come home. This went on for what seemed like weeks and weeks of waiting and wondering. I began planning my life without him. I was forced to look seriously and honestly at how my life would look and how I would move forward. I felt quite ill most of the four days he was gone. Those were the longest four days of my life.
This past Saturday was one year since he chose to come home to me and our life. The past year has been filled with a lot of work and a lot of pain and a lot of tears. He has worked very hard in therapy and with me. He is certainly not done with his work, but his growth has been tremendous.
To celebrate the journey behind and the road ahead, we renewed our vows on the anniversary of his coming home. It wasn't until after we chose the date that we realized it was the actual anniversary. We went public and invited our closest family and friends to witness the exchange of new rings (that he made), a restating of our original vows (and a few new ones). Then we had a party.
I've always enjoyed Winter in large part because I like cocooning in my house, wrapped in the warmth and listening to the storms rage outside while I am safely inside. More than ever I appreciate the necessity of the work that is done indoors when the weather outside is inclement.
This year I am reveling in the welcoming weather of Spring. As it brings a renewal of life, I feel blessed and thankful. The flowers look especially beautiful this year. The new leaves are brighter and the vibrancy of the days surprises me. I feel like writing again. It is suddenly clear to me that my book project needs to move forward, but with a different structure and focus.
Most importantly I am moving forward in my personal and creative life with the man that I love and he is, at last, comfortable enough in his own skin to go with me.
I have no idea what the weather outside was like a year ago. I could easily check, but I choose not to. I do know that the inside of the house had been plagued by a long-term chill. It had been growing steadily colder over the course of at least three years, my husband would argue that it took longer, and had finally become unbearable. A sudden heated discussion shattered the ice that had grown between myself and my life partner and we were left to wonder if there was anything left to salvage or if we wanted to make the effort to rebuild our life together.
I would never have characterized my marriage as unhappy. Even in the midst of misery I most ofter prefer my husband's company to anyone else except my children. But suddenly we realized that the life we had built together was potentially not what he wanted. He had long standing issues within his own heart and his own head that he had worked around for so many years. He didn't like himself very much. He didn't believe he was talented. I don't think that he believed that he deserved to be happy. There were some deep, dark secrets that he was keeping, not just from me, but from himself. He had pulled inside of himself so deeply that he wasn't sure if he wanted to come out and participate in our life, or start a new one without me.
A year ago I was working on a book project. A memoir and research book that was meant to look outside my own experience at the historical and factual realities that surrounded my story. Unlike many of my writing colleagues, I can't write my way through my problems. I don't feel compelled to take notes or journal during crisis. I shut down for the most part and focus so mightily on surviving that I simply don't have enough energy left over for creativity. So when things fell apart at home, the book project stalled. As time went on it became clear that my story wasn't ready to be told in part because my husband's was still unfolding as well.
So when the ice was shattered, he had to decide. and he had to do it without me. So he went away. We had no contact except a few text message conversations. He said he would be gone overnight, but the next day he wasn't ready to come home. This went on for what seemed like weeks and weeks of waiting and wondering. I began planning my life without him. I was forced to look seriously and honestly at how my life would look and how I would move forward. I felt quite ill most of the four days he was gone. Those were the longest four days of my life.
This past Saturday was one year since he chose to come home to me and our life. The past year has been filled with a lot of work and a lot of pain and a lot of tears. He has worked very hard in therapy and with me. He is certainly not done with his work, but his growth has been tremendous.
To celebrate the journey behind and the road ahead, we renewed our vows on the anniversary of his coming home. It wasn't until after we chose the date that we realized it was the actual anniversary. We went public and invited our closest family and friends to witness the exchange of new rings (that he made), a restating of our original vows (and a few new ones). Then we had a party.
I've always enjoyed Winter in large part because I like cocooning in my house, wrapped in the warmth and listening to the storms rage outside while I am safely inside. More than ever I appreciate the necessity of the work that is done indoors when the weather outside is inclement.
This year I am reveling in the welcoming weather of Spring. As it brings a renewal of life, I feel blessed and thankful. The flowers look especially beautiful this year. The new leaves are brighter and the vibrancy of the days surprises me. I feel like writing again. It is suddenly clear to me that my book project needs to move forward, but with a different structure and focus.
Most importantly I am moving forward in my personal and creative life with the man that I love and he is, at last, comfortable enough in his own skin to go with me.
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