12.31.2005 | It's like I'm not here anymore
If it were me and I had the choice, I would've stayed home. Weather like this, only the indentured and longhearted seek the trappings of improbable chance encounters. I like to be away from my obligations, to travel the distance to the reverse. But I wish the distances weren't so far. It may be the case that the ability to integrate opposites creates more interesting character, but it requires being the sole sentry against an assault on self knowledge. In moments when the tension is sustained, I see the wide field of possibilities available only from that height. But the rest of the time, I experience physical and mental exhaustion, the abandonment of connections that I care about, and the absolute denial of what I need to feel alive. It would be one thing if I were passionate about both needs, but I'm only passionate about the creative part; the psychology (career) part I endure. People who know me probably would say that I'm pretty passionate about psychology, but I would counter that I talk on about a lot of things. If I choose education, no matter the venue or topic, there will be a period of years of intense focus that is the opposite from what I need to do to feel like I am being true to myself. But, maybe not all Ph.D. tracks would consume so much as the one I'm careening toward. I have wanted the transformative growth of rigorous professional training. There is something appealing to me about a vocation so deeply potentiated that it flavors the whole range of personal expression. But there is also transformation through self discovery and the gentle congealment of habit, preference, and personality over time. If you open yourself to how you really are, accept what you find, and even grow to like and nurture it, then this kind of progress becomes non-negotiable. I've always wanted to be a psychologist -- since middle school. Despite a number of sustained dalliances, I've always kept one foot firmly in pursuit of psychology. As my current mentor in that realm would say, in the past two years, I've made systematic progress toward that goal. Or, as I would say it: In these past two years, immersion has felt like coloniziation, a relentless campaign of subtle and overt pressure to change the way I dress, the way I make decisions, and even my language. My language: too flowery, too hokey, and weird, they've said. In private I tend to myself, but always more effort is needed to return. Few models exist to demonstrate that you can come out the other side of this professional degree still a creative person. I don't worry that I wouldn't be one of those -- I have more intention than most. But I worry about the physical and emotional costs of occupation and how much of myself that is newly known and dear would be lost irretrievably, recorded over. On one hand, so much has already been invested. Who is to say that so many of the traits I call intrinsic weren't somehow made by this steady pursuit? Yet, despite all that, the vocation doesn't feel like it fits. I go to conferences, which I dislike, and everyone is dressed the same in generic mall suits that I also dislike. When I play out the course in my head, the years of study in theory and research all sound fine. It's the taking of clients and the eventual tetherment to that role that I dread. Later there is the mandatory internship year. And then what? By then, all you own is mall suits and you've straightened your hair. When I think that far into the future, my chest tightens. I think to myself, when will I ever do the things I love again? And there, that is the fault line.