Transition

Jon graduated (again) this past Saturday! He received his third master's degree, an MS in Science and Technology Studies, and had his approved dissertation topic read in public, to a lot of interested-sounded murmuring.

It was a small ceremony, as the program is small and many don't attend the graduation, in "informal" in the sense that absolute quiet wasn't maintained and we didn't wear suits, but the kids' monkey business still stuck out pretty dramatically. They were the only kids there, by the way. I was about at my wits end by the time it was Jon's turn, and he went up to receive his degree only to be interrupted first by Miles, who ran up to him just to flash him a thumbs-up and return to me (Jon & his adviser react to this below)..

...and Adele, who ran up to Jon shortly after this picture was taken and just sucked her thumb and clung to his leg. He rolled with it. As he's always done.

He actually finished the work for this degree months ago, but it was something to take some time and acknowledge this point. While climbing a mountain, you sometimes stop before you get to the top to enjoy the view from that height, while knowing it isn't the destination. We did that. We breathed, and talked, and thought. 

You may or may not know this, reader, but Jon's been applying to jobs all year. We don't know, obviously, but we think we're ready for another stage, one where Jon works at a job that can further his career, and I can transition into something that will further mine (namely, finishing my MA). It seems like time, since he can now work on his dissertation somewhat independently. So there have been about 25 applications this year (compare to 2009's 40 or so) and only a few nibbles and a few negative responses. The majority haven't communicated anything at all. I had a great deal more patience for this a month ago, but now I am becoming quite distracted.

We're hoping to hear about another step soon, now that most graduations are over (all are jobs at universities). There are a few jobs here, there are a couple in NYS we're waiting to hear from, and many in other places entirely. But in the meantime, everything is suspended. I can't make plans. I'm even having trouble committing to things in June, even though probably we wouldn't need to move until late July. I just can't think about this summer at all. It's too uncomfortable. The lease is up and we're being ejected from this condo (which was just sold) on August 1. We're moving somewhere. We just don't know where. And having been on the inside of several university search committees, I know how they drag their feet and don't communicate with candidates. But it's becoming a burden on my peace of mind. 

We could also find ourselves back here, doing the same job and assistantship and at the same sort of level in life as this year. We have mixed feelings about this possibility. 

Won't you pray with us?

O to be a Hahn Horticulture Gardens fish. Fish don't have these problems. 

We lingered in the garden, playing and taking a breath together.

Our priest preached a sermon on Sunday which spoke to us powerfully. He referred to a piece of writing by Danaan Parry, which was a parable about transitions in which he uses trapeze artists as an analogy. Speaking of transition times, he writes,

Each time it happens, I hope - no, I pray - that I won't have to grab the new one. But deep down I know that I must totally release my grasp on my old bar, and for some moments in time I must hurtle across space before I can grab the new bar. Each time I am filled with terror. It doesn't even matter that in all my previous hurtles I've always made it.

...But I do it anyway. I must.

Perhaps this is the essence of what the mystics call faith. No guarantees, no net, no insurance, but I do it anyway because somehow, to keep hanging on to that old bar is no longer an option. And so for an eternity that can last a microsecond or a thousand lifetimes, I soar across the dark void of "the past is over, the future is not yet here". It's called a transition. I've come to believe that it is the only place that real change occurs.

It was a message we needed to hear. I felt both challenged and comforted, which is probably how sermons should affect the listener. 

So I apologize if we look at you blankly or go unresponsive if you try to make plans with us. I promise you, when we know what's going on for sure, you'll hear about it. When we even have an inkling, we'll share it with some of you. But right now? we know nothing, Jon Snow. 

We'll try to get more comfortable with that.