Room Again for Old Things

Before I was an English professor, I was living a very strange period of my life.

I was virtually done with my master's, but I hadn't found anyone who would pay me for my above-average education. I had a lot of free time, so I filled with things I loved. Being unemployed is demoralizing, and you have to keep busy. I taught karate, I joined a band, I recorded podcasts, I did a lot of yoga, and I wrote to my heart and mind's content.

And yet, I'd often feel stressed out. Not because of workload, but because of external—and subsequently internal—pressures to get off my ass and put my degrees to use.

But how could I? I was doing things I loved. I was living a life comprised almost entirely of passions. Not even slightly lucrative, but very joyful, save for the financial stress.

And yet, ultimately unsustainable. A guy's gotta eat.

Now I'm teaching English composition at a nearby community college. I love it, and hot damn is it nice to have income.

But I was conflicted, because the daydreaming, passion-driven, Internet-living, writer, podcaster, entrepreneurial wannabe in me was protesting.


Yeah, I know.

When you set off on a new endeavor, you spend a considerable amount of time adapting. New schedules, new people, new workflows, new locations, new responsibilities, and more. Old things seem... inconsequential. Certainly your Internet website does compared to your newfound stewardship of tomorrow's burgeoning, young minds.

But eventually, harmony returns:

Things have been crazy. Transition surrounds. Time and attention are at a premium. Sleep is a gift.

Life will settle shortly and balance will return. It always does.

It has. Perhaps not fully, but it's getting there. And there's room again for old things.

Patience. Then, balance.