…. the rest of the story.

in the states, i used to listen to paul harvey’s weekly radio broadcast. he’d always tell some strangely wonderful story about our history, and end by saying, “and now you know the rest of the story.” i loved him, and the budding historian inside me was inspired by details and moments too trivial to make it into most history books, but too inspiringly nuanced to ignore. i have to remind myself of these details as i come to the final year of my doctorate.

i just got off the phone with a friend on the other side of dissertation land. she’s successfully made academia her home and in it, she’s found publishing land.

i keep reading about people who want to go back to school – and it is all i can do to control the overwhelming urge to say “no! no! don’t do it! it’s a trap! save yourself while you can!” but they are convinced that a phd, a master’s, or something in between is the thing that will turn their lives around. and hopefully it will. hope is a good thing. [i have similar sentiments about living in other countries.]

but i’m still confused about how constant soul-crushing self-imposed pressure is a good thing. and if i would have known then – when i followed my dreams into grad school – what i know now, i would have chosen differently. that’s always the case though, isn’t it. hind sight and such. apparently i like it because i’ve decided to continue no matter what.

our conversation felt a little like a pre-natal class. we talked strategy. we talked technique. we even talked about building morale. but we did not talk about the incredible pain. no one really told me about that part and when i left the hospital with my precious bundle, i was overwhelmed by all of the people walking around who had birthed children. and no one told me. so this is almost the same. it hurts and instead of a child, i get a book. a book… if i really put everything into the coming year [but i thought i'd already given this thing my all? apparently i'm supposed to give more] i could come out with one of the few remaining jobs in academia. and what will i put myself [and my family] through for that? two more languages. one more country. and another year of ‘don’t bother mom, she’s in her study’.

this summer will be ten years since i sat on a bench with my favorite professor who cunningly told me about how he could not learn arabic. it was a challenge. he knew i’d take the bait. and i did. i learned arabic in record time. i even published a book in arabic. my daughter learned arabic. we lived in damascus. it was wonderful and terrible and i wouldn’t ever want to do it again. actually, i wouldn’t do it again. if i could go back to that moment. i’d say, ‘wow. i think i’ll apply to law school.’ by now we’d have a nice house with nice furniture, a couple of cars and maybe a dog and an investment account.

i bet it happened. in an alternate universe. but in this universe, i have more work to do. and in order to do that work, i need to remind myself about what is good. and how i can package and repackage that goodness. because it isn’t just wonderful, it is amazing. people are amazing. and i so love getting to glimpse their lives and most days i feel incredibly blessed to be let in via whatever means i can find.

just a snippet of historical loveliness.