Sunburnt

So the other day my mom mentions almost in passing this girl she met in Michigan--working toward her PhD in flautism or something, and that she's in Brazil this summer studying some type of music and wouldn't that be a cool thing for me to do and I break down.
I think it was a good breakdown because afterward I went and bought $95 worth of poetry, etc. (after my gift card) and read for hours and hours and changed my job and started planning.

And it comes to this: I'm certain that teaching will bring me satisfaction this year. I'm certain of that even though right now the odds I'm up against seem not only insurmountable but senseless (yes, please overstuff the most time-intensive core class you offer, the one with the least experienced teacher who didn't study Sophocles in college, actually; that sounds like the perfect way to boost your much-flaunted academic prowess) I will work my tail off and at some point will lose myself in the teaching and will love it.

But. I don't think I'm ready to settle. Not yet. And settle is such a sticky word. Because I think that a little settling might do me good: settling into me, settling my poor self down. I think that domesticity and contentment and good friendships and all of that are wrapped up in settling. But not settling for less, or stopping the reaching, or expecting less.

One of my friends posited that if I ceased to be flighty I might cease to exist altogether and while this makes me a little sad, I wonder if there's a way I can embrace this part of me, make the most of it, stop running from my flightiness and put it to good use?

As Lina put it (in a moment of her seeing in her what I see every day) "this might all work out." Damn right.