The year of living dangerously...

What does it say about me that I'm already considering deleting this blog? Much that I already knew: I have trouble with self-exposure and with following through on writing projects of all kinds, particularly if there's no one depending on me. But it also makes me recognize the conditions under which the blog seemed like such a good idea, conditions that are temporarily suspended right now.

I have spent the last year living in a very remote spot, to which we moved so that my husband could have his turn pursuing a career that he cares about. The idea has been that I would spend the year "finishing my book" while he would acquire some job experience that he would then be able to use to find desirable work back in the big city on the other coast where my job awaits my return (and where we have a house and friends and family). But at the back of both our minds has loomed the possibility that we might stay in this remote place, where my husband has finally found work that is satisfying to him, where there is a wonderful public school system, where we can live quite comfortably on one academic salary, and where I can perhaps finally figure out what I REALLY want to do with my life. While I'm the one with the tenured position in a desirable city, it turns out my husband, who has only now been able to get an academic job, is a much happier academic than I have ever been.

For much of this year off (and we've committed to next year as well), I have felt lucky to have a break from teaching, to have time to read and think and write, and especially to have more time than usual to spend with my daughter. But I have also been lonely, and increasingly anxious about my career, particularly as the months went by and the "book" did not show signs of getting written. In the midst of this unproductive anxiety, I've felt more and more adrift, and drawn to the somewhat dark fanatasy of embracing this drift and quitting my job, cutting ties to my prior life and starting anew in this small town where nobody knows much of anything about me.

It was in this mood that I began to read blogs, and to be drawn to this alternative "public sphere" that seems to include so many intelligent, thoughtful voices crossing the boundary, which in my "real life" seemed so uncrossable, between academia and the world outside it. Reading blogs has become part of my daily life, and to some extent has alleviated both my loneliness and my frustration with academia, giving me new ways of thinking about what is important to me both socially and intellectually (if that makes any sense). I decided, a mere two weeks ago, to begin writing my own blog in part because I couldn't resist it: I wanted to be part of the conversation, and to develop a new voice.

Right now I am back on my home turf, where my family joins me tonight for a month-long working vacation before we head back for year two in the middle of nowhere. I'm around family and friends, I've presented my work at a conference and will be doing some work with colleagues in the next few weeks, and so that space in which I found myself drifting, being drawn to the blogosphere's conversations and to alternative visions of my future, is being filled back in with my normal life. I haven't stopped reading my favorite blogs (and can't imagine doing so) but I feel less compelled to join in the conversation, to rise to the challenge of finding my own voice outside or beyond its usual frequencies.

We'll see what happens in the next few weeks. My internet access will be spotty, as we move about from one housesitting situation to another. But writing this post has made me feel like I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet.