O-hi-o

We're in Ohio this weekend visiting Cora's aunt, uncle, and cousin. It's beautiful outside, and C is sleeping upstairs. The time change was tough last night, but she went down for her nap right on time, so hopefully the transition won't be too rocky. I think she's going to get addicted to having a playmate in the house, she's never been able to wake up in the morning and immediately find a fellow, small house traveler to share toys with.

Last night, we lay in bed talking for several hours after C went to sleep, just listening to her breathe softly while we waited to get tired. The time change was actually pretty fun in that respect. Most nights we are too sleepy to do much more than just read our books and say a few things before turning off the light. We talked about something that has been a major topic for me lately: the fragility of moments and of thoughts, especially positive ones. I feel like there is such a pull to think about things negatively, to be tentative in our intentions. It's almost schooled into us to put ourselves down, to sort of hide away our true passions and brush them aside in conversation with small talk and a tendency to articulate the probable downside of things. Frankly, cynicism just sounds smarter, is often a product of experience and the daily grind. Choosing to have a hugely open heart and mind can feel naive and dangerous, like you're making yourself way too available to disappointment. We were talking last night about how brave you really do have to be to just say, "I want this, and I want it so badly that I am going to work really hard for it." I feel that we, at least, are conditioned to say something much softer, more cagey: "Well, I'm going to give it my best shot for awhile. It's tough, I know the chances are really slim, and so I'm just going to experiment for awhile. If it doesn't work out, I can always go back to what I was doing." Of course, I'm talking about dreams here, the ones that I think about all the time. But what is interesting to me is how pure things can be when you're not worrying about other people, about the cultural norm, or even the right language to use in a certain setting.

I have friends and in-laws who have chosen difficult paths in academia, gone through the entire PhD process knowing that the territory they are entering is incredibly tough, hugely competitive and that, statistically, the chances are slim. But they keep doing what they want to do because it's what they want to do. Their path is relatively long (5-10 years), full of uncertainty and hard work and critique, and doesn't have a definite end in sight. It often involves sacrifice to get there, both in limited graduate school income and location, sometimes living in places they'd rather not live in order to pursue their profession. While it's a long haul, it is also a clear path, with clearly outlined measurement points and requirements. Why don't we allow that same amount of time, and have a clear idea of the work and sacrifice involved, to pursue all our dreams?

Anyway, I hear C waking. This has been a short one, mixed with nice conversations with my sister-in-law. It's just that I am reflecting on the fragility of dreams. They are like small, bright orbs that we must feed and tend carefully, guard from naysayers and pessimists, particularly those produced by our own minds.