A couple nights ago, I opened the main drawer of my desk a little too vigorously, pulling it out of the desk entirely and spilling the contents all over the floor. In an instant, I created for myself what became a major task yesterday because, not only did I have to put it all back in, but I had to examine and organize every bit of it in the process.
One item was an address book which I had kept over many years in grad school. I was then required to go through and google everyone about whose present situation I was remotely curious. Many people did not show up at all, but many others did, as professors at Michigan, Columbia, Bennington, Oberlin. (There was one museum curator, too.) The Bennington prof had first-authored a paper with second author "R. Penrose".
All this brought up my former academic ambitions, and I felt rather inadequate. But reflecting further on it this morning, I confirmed that I'd probably not be happy being a professor. For reasons both personal and mysterious even to me, I think I'd feel like I wasn't really accomplishing anything being a professional intellectual. For some reason, it feels much more satisfying traveling to Eritrea, setting up met data stations, trying to get wind farms built. Someday I could see doing something more think-tanky, but for now, more praxis.
1 comment:
think tanky things aren't as great as they seem, i'm suppose to be think tanking right now and i'm reading your blogs, so maybe you should explore the male supermoldel idea more vigorously.
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