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Yesterday, R and I looked at a potential place to live, a house that's several miles away. I felt mildly euphoric about the place as we left, but as time has gone on I've started to feel a bit broken-hearted about it and I'm left trying to figure out why. It's not entirely about the house, really.
In part, just moving itself forces me to recognize the impermanence of my position, my precariousness. This is no new news to many, for Americans are generally mobile and unsettled, and the academic life typifies that as much as any other lifestyle. But I have to ask myself, what am I exchanging, and for what? This potential new dwelling-place offers some opportunities (a yard for gardening, cheaper rent), and in the very least, space. But (and I've just been realizing how large this qualifier is) it's further away from campus, and from downtown Tempe. Suddenly I'm more aware of how much I'd been thinking about the opening of the light rail system at the end of the year, and the ability to walk to it and to other places.
And I have to ask myself, how do I assign monetary value to differences in location? What am I saving, if I pay less money but live further away and feel the disruption of moving out of a neighborhood where I know my neighbors? Is it worth it, the change in lifestyle?
This move also becomes symbolic of larger decisions, like what happens after I graduate. I've come to appreciate the saying, "Don't rush the good work," and it feels like this neighborhood is a part of the good work of my life. Do I turn my back on the community? Do I look for an even more permanent place to live, through purchasing a home, though I have no idea of the financial feasibility of such a thing? Do I change careers to accommodate the kind of life I want to live?
It all makes me wonder, too, about which sorts of things are symptomatic of impermanence--do people create and cling to certain types of relationships because such things provide at least an illusion of stability? I won't even get into the many other forms of compensatory behavior.
I wish I had answers to these questions, but many answers can come only from continuing to live, making decisions thoughtfully and carefully. The decision of a living-place is difficult.
In part, just moving itself forces me to recognize the impermanence of my position, my precariousness. This is no new news to many, for Americans are generally mobile and unsettled, and the academic life typifies that as much as any other lifestyle. But I have to ask myself, what am I exchanging, and for what? This potential new dwelling-place offers some opportunities (a yard for gardening, cheaper rent), and in the very least, space. But (and I've just been realizing how large this qualifier is) it's further away from campus, and from downtown Tempe. Suddenly I'm more aware of how much I'd been thinking about the opening of the light rail system at the end of the year, and the ability to walk to it and to other places.
And I have to ask myself, how do I assign monetary value to differences in location? What am I saving, if I pay less money but live further away and feel the disruption of moving out of a neighborhood where I know my neighbors? Is it worth it, the change in lifestyle?
This move also becomes symbolic of larger decisions, like what happens after I graduate. I've come to appreciate the saying, "Don't rush the good work," and it feels like this neighborhood is a part of the good work of my life. Do I turn my back on the community? Do I look for an even more permanent place to live, through purchasing a home, though I have no idea of the financial feasibility of such a thing? Do I change careers to accommodate the kind of life I want to live?
It all makes me wonder, too, about which sorts of things are symptomatic of impermanence--do people create and cling to certain types of relationships because such things provide at least an illusion of stability? I won't even get into the many other forms of compensatory behavior.
I wish I had answers to these questions, but many answers can come only from continuing to live, making decisions thoughtfully and carefully. The decision of a living-place is difficult.
