It looks sizable when you look at it from the side, but look at it from above:
Way smaller, huh? The glass must somehow magnify it. Don't know how. The little glass fish in the little glass fishbowl is very heavy-- but it's that imperial sort of weight which lends importance and esteem to the subject.
I remember once last winter, when I was still working at my boring desk job, and Annie had just embarked on her Big Trip, I sat in the living room, staring sullenly at this glass fish.
It was immobile. Stuck. Frozen. The three tiny air-bubbles that had been carefully contrived by the artist remained paralyzed in their glass encasement. A pretty little red fish, with nowhere to go, and no room for breathing.
Then I looked out the window and saw birds swooping past: heading south for the winter.
I thought of myself, and thought of my job: Fish.
I thought of Annie, who I imagined that moment to be racing down some long interstate at 75mph, her life packed away in her car, her stereo cranked, and her Tomorrow uncharted: Bird.
That image is perhaps not as relevant this year: being in grad school gives my life a decided feeling of momentum, and I no longer feel stuck. And, as this blog entry suggests, the last 7 months have been much more about trying to catch my balance in a state of upheaval-- not feeling stuck in the mud.
But with that pulling up of the anchor, I look ahead to next year and find it entirely uncharted. I have NO idea where I'll be, come September. I need to find a teaching job-- but Seattle's offerings are few and far-between. At least three different districts that I know of are in hiring freezes. I could try around other areas of Washington, but that sounds less appealing. Move to a brand new city, where I know no one? Where I have no interest, and no connections? In considering options of where this brutal economy might be able to offer up a classroom, I started mentally casting the net wide. Maybe I could go to Scotland? Love those Scots. Maybe I could go to Korea? They supposedly pay teachers really well over there. Maybe I could live in Nashville? How fun would it be to live near Annie again, and enjoy the music of that town!
This last week provided a chance to give the city another look. I flew into Nashville on the 13th, and stayed through the 18th. I LOVED it. I roomed with Annie in her Princess Tower bedroom, bonded with her roommates, was utterly charmed by her guy friends, ran (then walked) with her Running Group, went to church, went to her church small group, and soaked in fantastic music at several different shows. We wined-and-cheesed; we tried on different outfits for different events; we Valentined; we imbibed; we walked and had long talks; we side-by-side facebooked; we ran errands together and ate samples at Whole Foods. There were delightfully ridiculous moments too: on the run, my walking buddy, Cara, and I got hopelessly lost and kept returning to the same heart-covered Valentine's mailbox, trying to get our bearings. We hollered at the mailbox, and hollered at the street signs, and hollered out the names of the running crew, and giggled with one another, and marveled at our bewilderment with elated solidarity. The first night out, that Friday, Annie got her car towed (ugh.) But pleading with the ancient tow-truck man provided a silver lining: our melodramatic beseeching (which, incidentally, occurred next to a snoring, scratching, pot-bellied man on the adjacent couch) completely un-phased the wizened old man, but left us turning our faces in silent, eruptive laughter. The last night found Annie and I at the Pennsylvania boys' house, helping them prepare dinner. My main contribution consisted of reading aloud a children's book about "How Babies Get Made" in a Mary Poppins accent. And even though I was sniffling, sneezing, coughing, and hoarse the whole week, I felt completely at ease in my company. I felt at home.
As I boarded the plane on Wednesday that would take me back north for the rest of the winter, I thought again of my open-ended September. How much fun would it be to live in Nashville next year?
There are pros, and obvious cons-- not being able to see Gramps every day would be sad, and hard. I would be so far away from my family, and THAT would be sad, and hard. Impracticalities and complex logistics abound, but-- the idea has been planted. And I'm praying about it. And I'm thinking about it.
The little glass fish in the little glass fish bowl is a pretty thing to look at-- but a tiresome thing to be. The anchor's already been pulled loose... Next fall, I may just fly south.
