Text and Hubris

So much for that morning, eh?

After a chaotic week I found myself on the edge of a long weekend without my usual access to the Internet. I was, for several days, disconnected (I think I just shuddered a little). I could connect and interact in very basic ways but anything beyond that was all but completely impossible. Essentially, my communication stream became read-only. For a fellow used to living in a read-write universe, this was a true tragedy.

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I’ve been buried in a strange variety of mishaps of this week so I am giving you a cat to appease you. New posts will be coming tomorrow. I have a lot that’s been brewing so expect a few, all fast and furious. I am also going to create a whole Diaspora section because I honestly have a lot more to say on that topic as well.

Enjoy the cat! See you all in the morning.

The weekend always comes to an end so quickly.

On Saturday, it rained so hard that we ditched our plans to head north. Instead, we turned back and settled with friends. We watched football in a bar in Cedar Rapids while eating fried wontons filled with an unnamed yellow-white cheese. I say unnamed because it was an unrecognizable and gloppy thing, albeit entirely too delicious to be healthy. We were so consumed (in the consuming?) with the taste that no one even bothered to ask for a name. We left the bar to spend the next several hours locked in conversation. Our topics were endless: politics, healthcare, religion, relationships and the many myriad possibilities that arise in such an open forum. It grew late far sooner than we expected. Courtney made us spaghetti. We just kept on talking and talking. When we left, dawn was on the horizon.

Sunday was nothing. It was blissful in its absolute relaxation, its immobility, its silence. We slept. We ate. I installed Slackware and realized once again why I am a Linux user. The sun rose, the sun set, and we had a brief moment of peace.

Today was breakfast the the Frontier Cafe in Grinnell, IA. The place was packed as we took our seats. The wait staff was surly and pressed for time. There were too many tables, too many mouths, and not enough people to help them. At least the food (two pancakes, eggs, ham) was good. We left full but unimpressed. I spent the rest of the day setting up the Slack environment, fixing a serious issue on this blog which had rendered it almost unusable and, finally, getting some shots from around the property. Mostly, I relaxed and planned out some pieces of writing I’ve been working on. I want to get my portfolio sent out by the middle of October at the latest so I have a lot work to do and a lot of people to contact.

The shot above was my last shot of the day. The sun was already gone, lost behind the treeline. The shadows of the impending night had already taken hold. I aimed my camera up and I took a run of shots. My farewell to the day.

Now, I rest. To sleep, perchance to dream, to dream of places I still must go and the things I cannot wait to do. Tomorrow will come with its attendant duties and frustrations but we all soldier on because somewhere in all that effort there is a sunset waiting for each us. A quiet moment of peace and tranquility in which we can all find rest.

May we find it soon.

I love how the lessons keep coming. Sometimes a little repetition can be a good thing. It drills the lesson in.

This week I taught myself how to run and manage two complex application platforms that were critical to the running of our network. I resolved performance issues that were affecting the entire district and I did so in such a way that no one else was impacted any further.

In other words, I did my job.

To say that I am good at what I do is an understatement. I am an expert for a reason. I could, arguably, do this for the rest of my life. I would have money and comfort and in every way it would seem to be the wise thing to do.

Then Wednesday comes and I listen to a poetry reading, a benefit for an incredible poet who so impacted his students and his readers that they felt compelled to come to his aid at one of his darkest hours. I see the sign-ups flying in as the Iowa Youth Writing Project fall programs prepare to start. I see an army of young writers, many of whom I know and respect, volunteering to help. I see all of this and I sit back and I ask myself why I stopped?

I like to think that if I ever completed The Artist’s Way I would have already found my way through all of this. I would have found a way to silence the critics that now chat incessantly inside my head. Take my boss (please?). He is actually a good guy. He knows tech and he knows and his environment.

“I was reading your email and it was like reading a story. I mean it was really good. Then I remembered, oh yeah, he has a penchant for that”

It was a compliment. I know that. A penchant, though? I suppose. But I was beginning to think it was something more.

No, I know it is.

I felt like such a rebel this past year, but the truth is I wasn’t willing to commit. It was easy to hide when the money was there and steady. I faltered and ran and I have to say I am more than a bit embarrassed.

But we get back up, and we move.

I am ready now. Whatever it takes. It will be done.

I spent part of today in a small concrete room that had just been built. The dust from the masons’ trowels covered everything, got everywhere. It was hot. It was dark. It was a nasty place. I had to be there, though. In that room is a switch that I had to make run. After all, that is what I am supposed to do.

I have to say that the construction workers around me were incredibly helpful. They gave me a light and aimed a fan into the room. I think they knew I was more than a bit out of my element. As I trimmed cables and carefully fanned the wires to attach new ends, I began to realize just how out far out of my element I have gone. I am working in a small town managing a network down to the physical layer. I live in the country so far away from any of the things I used to value that I am beginning to forget what it is like to have those things. I am barely writing and I miss it so much that it hurts.

Then I remember that college starts up in a couple weeks, and for the first time in four years I won’t be there. It is okay, in one sense. I accomplished what I wanted to at the University of Iowa. Because of that experience, I got to teach this summer and that will go down as a highlight in my life. I loved doing that so much. I can’t really express how cool it was to watch a bunch of kids sit down and write and create. If you ever doubt that human beings are storytellers, you are not spending enough time with children.

So I know now. I know I am not done and all the doubt about my choice in career and major, that nagging voice that so haunted me during that last semester, has been completely wiped away. I want to write and teach and build and create. I want to use tech and I want to show people how to make it their own rather than being slaves to it (there is a difference and it is an important one). Between the summer, this job, and my time teaching and at IYWP, I know that much now. So I am doing something.  I am going to send an email to Northern tomorrow. I hate that it is so far away, but I think it may be the best option. Their structure will allow to complete my both Masters and then my MFA.

I have another reason as well. I really want to take what I have learned at the IYWP and apply in the Upper Peninsula. If there is ever a place that needs free creative and education programs for youth, this is it. I need to trust myself, though, and not get sidetracked. This summer I had a whole development plan for the IYWP site and it was sidelined by the job and life chaos. It shouldn’t have been. If I plan on taking this with me, I can’t let that happen.

Of course, life and jobs can’t just be ignored either. Resolutions must be found. All of this is contingent on Courtney and I being able to make enough to survive. I’m not sure, yet, how we are going to pull it off but I am looking. I am confident we will find a way. Every time I start to doubt, I imagine myself still stuck in that dusty concrete room, sweat dripping, as I search for a way out.

“For the love of God, Montresor!”