Things appear to be at a bit on an inflection point. At such times, it's always good to do what the television football and basketball broadcasts I remember from childhood used to call the "game reset." Basically a quick description of the story so far.
After about a decade of work in the theatre and a top conservatory degree, opportunities seemed to vanish for several years. So I went to a top-tier law school, and, perhaps because I was a few years ahead of most folks there, who had gone from undergraduate study to the J.D., I seemed to be a bit of a target for some faculty members. One in particular went very far over the line in my opinion, so I transferred to another top-tier school back in the city, got good grades, and took as many doctrinal and black-letter-law courses as they would allow (which almost no one does). Was largely shut out from the career paths, though. Perhaps coincidentally, it was a religious school, a faith different than mine (though not inconsistent with mine). A few difficult years followed; things got about as bad as they can get in the First World. Then I did a research doctorate, but after writing a 300 page dissertation and grading thousands of student papers, the faculty refused to schedule a defense. Perhaps coincidentally, during my time there, I had respectfully pushed back against a few practices that I firmly believed to be unethical. A few years of the same adversity followed.
This peregrination has been valuable. I've been able to fund it out-of-pocket, no credit cards, thanks to the relatively inexpensive cost of living, and the purpose of it -- the cultural exploration -- made the game worth the candle.
And yet, there's that story of mine that was unfolding in my own country, and that seems to have paused for a bit. This has been a time of work for me, not a vacation, but I'm conscious that it's the exception to the general difficulty that I've faced in my own country. These three careers that I've attempted (the first is still my life's work) collectively finding no traction can suggest odd things to the mind. I've firmly set my mind against thinking of anything like a vast conspiracy, but at the same time, I've come to realize that the generally held notions of what it is to live and work in my country couldn't account for these events. So there is no conspiracy, that's true. But, equally, the generally held notions do not describe what it is to live and work in this society. The present distorted national politics are not epiphenomenal.
I've been envious of the lives that I've observed in these travels. Even without a lot of disposable goods, people make generally better lives here. Coffee in the afternoons. In many countries, most people have second homes in the country. Bookstores in every neighborhood. I've kept an eye out for positions that I might apply for locally, while doing the global job search, but an American lawyer/academic/what you will is not exactly a logical staffing solution in most of these contexts.
I do rue one mistake. During the pandemic, I headed to the upper Midwest, a place that I like very much. I had just finished the PhD work, and my hopes were high that I could land a position either domestically or internationally. But in the interval, given the things I've described above, I've come to understand that even with my skills, degrees, and experience, the best that I can hope for in this culture is to find a place, read as much as I can, and write as much as I can, while finding a retail or basic position somewhere in the neighborhood. (And then part of the work will be in explaining why that is.)
There are role models for this kind of internal exile, and I think about them daily. My regret is that I didn't fashion such a place during the pandemic travels when I could have abandoned the job search and found a basic job deep in the rural Midwest, and set up the fortress of solitude. I am still convinced that if I can write and study, I will be able to accomplish some worthwhile work. And these studies are the sorts of things I would do even if I thought that everything I did was certain to vanish like words traced in water, as the romantic poet said.
So the wisest course seems to be to try to set something like this up, though it will be considerably more difficult now. And it looks like there will be some extraordinary difficulties in the near term.
Spiritually, this has been an extraordinary journey. The progressions of dreams in these places have been carefully noted. I will close this by relating something that I wasn't sure I would ever relate. At many points during these journeys, I have been conscious of a woman's presence, very near, and each time I am aware of her (there is of course no one around), she carefully asks if I am happy. Well. As I think about the question, I'm often tempted to reply somehow that no, reading philosophy while sipping a bit of kefir on the roof of the supermarket in Bosnia isn't precisely the dream, but I am happy in being able to continue the work, studying the philosophy, thinking about the theatre. But it took me some time to understand the point of the question. Happiness is not some condition that follows the work, or that occurs when the work is going well. Happiness comes from seeing the entirety of your life, as you do these mundane, particular things, and knowing that this living presence that studies, prays, observes, is a miraculous gift. When Thomas Merton saw those around him at a nondescript corner in Louisville (that I've walked past many times) seem almost divine, it wasn't because they were doing extraordinary things. Our prosperity has misled us as to the nature of happiness, I think.
Perhaps I should have told her that.
Perhaps I will.
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