all other things being equal

I have taught for my first week now as a tenure-track professor, and if I am to fulfill my reason for starting this blog, I should write about all the transitions this week entailed.

Between that last period and this sentence there was a very long pause because in a strangely comforting way, life has gone on much as it might have were I still teaching in North Carolina. Granted, I am not sharing an office with 3 other people, and I am teaching 50 students instead of 120, but these new privileges have not yet accumulated enough traction to change the rhythm of daily life.

The effect of change rears its ugly head more often during the experience of living in a new place (opening 4 cabinets doors because I still can’t remember where I put the peanut butter, the same peanut butter that it took me 10 minutes to find in the grocery store), than during the experience of working in a new place.

I am homesick when I drive down Valley Mills instead of Wendover, buy my peaches from the farmers tent on Bosque instead of from Rudd Farm, sit in the courtyard of Harrington instead of the driveway of Roundup, eat at Sams on the Square instead of Lindley Filling Station, run around the Bear Track instead of down the Greenway, see the weather report for 108 with no rain (ditto for the next 7 days) instead of 80’s and scattered showers.

Whereas, I feel a sense of home when I am teaching, or running my finger along the call numbers on a library bookshelf, or listening to the chatter of students walking to and from classes along the stairwell. These things have a comforting air of familiarity about them.

This is not to say that there are not frustrating moments of figuring out a new work place. It took me a week and half to finally ask where the file folders were kept so I could walk to my classes without dropping scattered sheets of class notes along the way. I am about to find out if I can work the semi-ancient technology system in the classrooms this Monday, and I have my doubts.

Beyond these logistical transitions, the biggest change that looms over me, still largely undefined, is the role I will play in my new department. Because that’s the biggest difference I can sense so far, that as a full time faculty member I should have a place, a role, some niche that I fill in the department. As a student, that role is defined for you by virtue of being a student and as a limited term lecturer nobody cares (to be quite frank).

I have the feeling I am in a sort of grace period, being left alone to get over the logistical transitions of living and working in a new place. I suspect the transition to follow, which might be described as a more metaphysical one, will soon follow. Then I will have to settle down to the task of thinking and acting like a tenure-track professor without having someone first wave a wand over me and (abracadabra) turning me into one.

Until then, I will be content with pretending that misplaced peanut butter and hot temperatures are the real challenge, because of course "all things being equal" can only be a hypothetical.

The Art of Conversation

Jennie Willing, in The Potential Woman, tells her readers: “A woman ought to talk, as a real lady always dresses, simply, neatly, and with refined taste; her tones should be quiet, even, sure and steady.” In case you couldn’t tell, this sage advice is a wee dated. It harkens from the 1880’s, in fact, and represents the kind of anxiety that churned around what constituted proper conversation in the nineteenth century.

I’m feeling a bit of that anxiety lately. For the last week and half I’ve made it a point to go into my office for several hours every day with my office door open. Sure enough, this has led to many introductions and conversations ranging from 5 minutes to 20 or more minutes. At the end of every one of these exchanges I spend at least the next 30 minutes analyzing what kind of impression I must have left, going through several Homer Simpson “Doh!” motions over things I should have (or should not have) said.

It’s exhausting.

Everyone I’ve met so far has been extraordinarily nice, so I can’t imagine what this “meet and greet” process would be like in a place where people were snooty or grouchy. I don’t for a minute think that my panic attacks after each conversation is unique to me, I imagine its something most new faculty go through. Here is a glimpse of what goes through my mind when I’m in the middle of one of these casual drop-in-to-say-hello-to-the-new-professor conversations:

Should I stand up and go to the door or invite him to sit down? Don’t forget to have a firm grip when you shake hands. Boy am I glad I don’t have to courtesy any more, imagine doing that in this skirt! I can’t believe Kassie talked to me into finally wearing skirts. Focus, Kristen, focus. What was his name? oh Gosh, I totally missed him telling me his name. maybe I can look it up on the webpage. Ask him a question. Any question. No, not that question. His area, ask him what area he’s in. Am I slouching? I’m doing that weird cross-over thing again with my leg. Why do I do that? Make eye contact, am I making enough eye contact? Maybe I’m staring to intently, look away casually now. Uhoh. I don’t know the name of the author he just mentioned. Should I admit that or just nod and let him go on? He’s leaving now. Is that too soon? Was I boring? Oh, he just has to teach. Shoot. I already forgot what area he teaches in. Just smile. Just smile.

I could go on, but I thought a 30 second clip was enough.

I’m not sure if Jennie Willing would condone my conversation (or dress for that matter) as refined, but I hope this experience, if nothing else, makes me a connoisseur in the art of conversation.

Carolina in my Cooler

I threw out the cantaloupe when we were in Arkansas.

If I had thought of it, I would have tossed it as we went over the mighty Mississippi river, to be poetic about it and all. But I didn’t, so the cantaloupe went down the sink in our hotel room in Little Rock. Maybe this doesn’t sound like such a big deal, it just being a few pieces of fruit and all. But it was my last link to the Carolinas, my last link to home.

Over the last several years in Greensboro I had really started changing the way I thought about food. I wouldn’t really consider myself a locavore, herbavore, omnivore, or any other “vores” that have lately become associated with ways of relating to one’s food. But I have become more thoughtful about the purchasing, consuming, and preparing of my food. Largely due to the books I’d read (see the list on my blog) and the composition courses I’d taught themed around food, but also due to the readily accessible farmers markets, Earth Fares, Fresh Markets, and other food-conscientious stores in Greensboro.

This small food revolution in my life made it very important to me to have some fresh fruit on the long road trip. And, like I said, it was the last remnants of home to take with me. A few days prior to leaving I visited Rudd Farm, the local farmer just the down the road from whom I bought most of my fruits and veggies. I cut up the cantaloupe and peaches and put them into the tupperware I had saved for this purpose. After two days in a semi-cool cooler, the cantaloupe had soured a bit and needed to be tossed.

I thought this would be a difficult task, but in the days leading up to our departure, and along the route, I kept reminding myself to stop looking behind and start looking ahead. This became easier once we left. For one thing, I literally had to look ahead, down the road, watching the signs declare “welcome to Tennessee” or “welcome to Alabama.” It wasn’t so hard, after-all, to throw out the cantaloupe, and I had a rather silly self-congratulatory feeling about my ability to look ahead.

Except that looking ahead no longer matters, because we’re here – now. When we crossed the Texas state line I had a sinking feeling that my earlier bravado about looking ahead no longer sufficed. I suppose this is something like what they call “living in the moment.” And I must say, it was a good moment walking the two short blocks from my house to the English department and turning the keys of my office door for the first time this morning. Here’s to more good moments, now and ahead.