The politics of uncertainty

I've discovered that even upon achieving a major intellectual milestone and graduating with a level of degree few people attain, you can never escape the same questions you heard for all those years you were in grad school. What are you going to do? Where are you going to live? Why are you not dating anyone (because an educated gal like you should have lots of suitors)?

That last question, given, came from my eighty year old Great Aunt Patsy.

Here's the thing. I just did a "here's your life" esque tour of these southern United States. I jumped from the foggy swampy memory terrain of South Louisiana to the safe liberal cradle of Athens and then back to the land of my youngest days: the dry, flat piney wood of North Louisiana. Shreveport will always be my hometown, I guess, but I never feel anything but frustrated there when I visit. My love for my childhood friends runs deep forever, but their disregard of the potential for life to blow their minds is, well, just really sad. I think they feel sorry for me because I have a piece of paper yet no husband or children. I guess I can write about it all on here because none of them have ever checked a blog post...ever, I am pretty sure.

Uncertainty where I am from, a town of smoggy conservatism, barbecue dinners, and dated culture, is about akin to homelessness. In the town where I made myself, Athens, uncertainty is so common and so embraced that it's not only a dime a dozen but also really annoying.

In my current world, one made of accomplishment but also analysis, wandering but also a very personal refocus, uncertainty is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. My talent will carry me through to pick from the right options for the coming months, I have no doubt. And I'm writing again. In the meantime, Austin is incredible. Duh.

Attached is a sketch from my dear friend Julia. She understands the joy of the place I am at.