The past several years have been a repetition of the same movie script over and over again.
(bearded stranger walks in silently, taking a seat at the crowded table)
Random Teacher 1: "Hi, my name is ________ (usually Linda, sometimes Nancy, always a woman, always far too excited for an 8:00 am orientation)! It is so nice to meet you! I teach 3rd grade....
(bearded stranger stops listening)
Random Teacher 2: (interrupting RT 1) So, where did you come from?
(mindless conversation about previous teaching experience and education ensues)
After several conversations that go no further than this, invariably the discussion turns to family. I talk a bit about my wife, regurgitating the same spiel that was told at the last orientation, and the same one that will be told countless times more in the coming weeks...."accountant"...."Arlington"....."3 years"......"met in Denton".....etc. In short, wife, mother, father, sister, brother, et al, are placed in their proper categories by which the small solar system in which I orbit will know of their existence. (fast forward six months: "Oh, your sister....the baker, right?) It is the way the universe is structured, I did not construct it, but I have nonetheless embraced it wholeheartedly and abide by the rules of depersonalizingly classifying those closest to those I feign closeness with in order to further feign knowledge of those I indeed have never and will never meet or be close to.
I take special pleasure in the categorization of my brother. It is both simple and privately entertaining.
RT 4000: "Tell me about your brother."
Bearded: (smiling, very satisfied with his impending cleverness) "Oh, Jim? He's Jack Kerouac."
Indeed, my brother is straight out of On the Road (though he refuses to read it). It has been a few years since I read about the cross-country odyssey that sparked and encapsulated a whole generation of beats' and spawned countless generations of pseudo-'nicks walking aimlessly hoping for direction, catharsis or purpose. The beauty of Road, though, as best this weak memory can recall, is that Jack was not on some hippie-esque crusade of self discovery, looking for some sort of higher purpose in his wanderings. No, he just went. The story of Road is indeed filled with moments of self-awareness and generations since have not wrongly found deeper meaning in the journey, but, like all valuable lessons, these grew organically out of experience not focused on finding "experiences"
Jim, as far as I am aware, has no great aim in his years of trekking from here to there. He is not setting records, not peddling a message, he just wanders. Hedonistic? - maybe. Selfish? - could be. Waste? - not for a second. Jim/Jack are the segment of the population that cannot be more than a minor minority, because were they the majority the world might cease functioning, but they are an important minority. Important? - their importance in deviating from the norm both gives the rest of us dreams of escape, and supplies us with tales unknown to us (something like Odysseus' Cyclops' island), but might even inspire us in ways that the book written by a stock broker about a vacation to Maui could not.
So, on your birthday, Jim. Cheers!
(bearded stranger walks in silently, taking a seat at the crowded table)
Random Teacher 1: "Hi, my name is ________ (usually Linda, sometimes Nancy, always a woman, always far too excited for an 8:00 am orientation)! It is so nice to meet you! I teach 3rd grade....
(bearded stranger stops listening)
Random Teacher 2: (interrupting RT 1) So, where did you come from?
(mindless conversation about previous teaching experience and education ensues)
After several conversations that go no further than this, invariably the discussion turns to family. I talk a bit about my wife, regurgitating the same spiel that was told at the last orientation, and the same one that will be told countless times more in the coming weeks...."accountant"...."Arlington"....."3 years"......"met in Denton".....etc. In short, wife, mother, father, sister, brother, et al, are placed in their proper categories by which the small solar system in which I orbit will know of their existence. (fast forward six months: "Oh, your sister....the baker, right?) It is the way the universe is structured, I did not construct it, but I have nonetheless embraced it wholeheartedly and abide by the rules of depersonalizingly classifying those closest to those I feign closeness with in order to further feign knowledge of those I indeed have never and will never meet or be close to.
I take special pleasure in the categorization of my brother. It is both simple and privately entertaining.
RT 4000: "Tell me about your brother."
Bearded: (smiling, very satisfied with his impending cleverness) "Oh, Jim? He's Jack Kerouac."
Indeed, my brother is straight out of On the Road (though he refuses to read it). It has been a few years since I read about the cross-country odyssey that sparked and encapsulated a whole generation of beats' and spawned countless generations of pseudo-'nicks walking aimlessly hoping for direction, catharsis or purpose. The beauty of Road, though, as best this weak memory can recall, is that Jack was not on some hippie-esque crusade of self discovery, looking for some sort of higher purpose in his wanderings. No, he just went. The story of Road is indeed filled with moments of self-awareness and generations since have not wrongly found deeper meaning in the journey, but, like all valuable lessons, these grew organically out of experience not focused on finding "experiences"
Jim, as far as I am aware, has no great aim in his years of trekking from here to there. He is not setting records, not peddling a message, he just wanders. Hedonistic? - maybe. Selfish? - could be. Waste? - not for a second. Jim/Jack are the segment of the population that cannot be more than a minor minority, because were they the majority the world might cease functioning, but they are an important minority. Important? - their importance in deviating from the norm both gives the rest of us dreams of escape, and supplies us with tales unknown to us (something like Odysseus' Cyclops' island), but might even inspire us in ways that the book written by a stock broker about a vacation to Maui could not.
So, on your birthday, Jim. Cheers!
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