I was recently reminded of a long-forgotten phenomenon:
David: delayed 3 hours because it started snowing in Beijing
a few other more minor adventures subsequently occurred
me: snow? what is snow?
David: the weather condition known as snow is almost , but not quite, entirely different from the temperature of african summer
me: ahhh
of course
David: it is some sort of grain, like sand or dust (thus why it is not entirely different)
David: also causes air travel problems
I've figured out why I've been in a poetry-writing crazy lately. It's because I finally have schoolwork I'm expected to do, and since I'm left without my usual procrastination devices (Freecell, Southpark, Grey's Anatomy, trashy sf novels), I must keep busy with writing. Not a bad way of life. I've also enjoyed reading my blog. It's nice to know what I'm thinking, because I sure as hell couldn't figure it out on my own. My brain is a lot like my tent/room/dorm...cluttered. I know where to find everything when I need it, but it's impossible to see everything laid out at once.
Sunday, we watched cricket all afternoon. And by that, I mean we hung out while cricket was being played nearby. About once a week, all the white people in Maun gather to play cricket against all the Indian people in Maun. I still don't understand the game very well, but it helps if you see how much beer they drink. It's a bunch of men drinking and shouting and running around. It's similar to the American tradition of watching football, but with running around. Sort of like organized tail-gating.
Oh, and guess what I realized:
Shit, I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I don't think I've ever had this problem before. From eight years old until this past January, my life was dedicated to preparing for veterinary school. Then, after a very...interesting...semester at Brown, I decided that being a vet is not necessarily what I want to do. It would be a very safe decision.
Then I spent a semester wanting to be a field ecologist. That would be a fun job. But, I've realized, after my gazillionth day of lounging beside the pool at Sedia, that research is not a full time job. That's why there's the whole professor-at-a-university thing, which I do not want to do. I think if I hang around Brown after I graduate, I will not have a very productive life. I'll be thirty-five and still crashing on a couch at King House.
I've got a few other ideas of things I don't want to do, which I guess is a start. In addition to the aforementioned professions, I do not want to work in Major League Baseball. Nothing personal, Helen, but that sounds so dreadfully dull. I'd probably even get bored of watching the batters from behind.
I could always be an actress...
...HAHAHAHAHA.
I hate to laugh away about twelve years of my life, but what was I thinking? Some people have said I should do it, but I don't think $50 a show is gonna pay the rent. Of course, if I were offered a role in a Broadway musical, I wouldn't turn it down...
I could be a writer, but that is also a profession that has a habit of not paying the bills. And I'm not quite dedicated enough to devote my life to waiting for my Big Break. Maybe I could support myself by EMTing in NYC, but eventually I'd lose interest in blood and guts and helping old people. That would be a fast road to burnout.
I like cooking, but not enough to make a life out of it. (Except cooking for my kids, of course. Whoa, kids. Change the subject. Not thinking about that now.)
So, I have no idea what I want to do with my life. This was pointed out to me right before I realized I can't make a career out of flirting with cricket players at ex-pat bars in southern Africa, even if it is fun. And not as easy as it sounds. (Though I did make 200 000 Zim dollars that night. I'll leave you wondering on that one.) (Just kidding. It's about 25 cents US and a friend of a friend of a friend gave it to me because I thought it was cool.)
Along those lines, I also can't sit and wait for someone to walk into my life and inspire me into a career. We all know that sitting and waiting is the worst way to get that to happen. I've just gotta continue down my own path, keeping my eyes open for other paths I may cross. (Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less travelled by. Then I sat and waited for someone else to come along. Nah. Doesn't have quite the same ring to it.)
I'll keep plowing along, thoughtlessly throwing around metaphors and reciting Rumi's Guest House...
Guest House
This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
-Rumi
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