Septmeber 8: Working Late, Trade-Offs, Juidth Minty, "Walking with the Bear," Adventures of Stickman

For years he [Ives] found working late dispiriting, for he lived to see his kids.  On his desk, among the piles of mechanicals, memoranda, purchase orders, magazines, and page proofs, and upon his walls were a number of photographs:  a shot of himself and his father and brother and sister taken years ago in front of their house on Carroll Street; a picture of Robert, ten years of age, shaking hands with Pope John XXIII during a general audience at the Vatican, "the greatest moment of my son's life," Ives used to think; and a third and favorite shot, of himself and Annie and the kids when they were small, about 1956, posed in the park before Grant's Tomb...

Above all, Ives is a family man.  Nothing gives him more pleasure than spending time with his wife and kids.  Working late is something that fuels his melancholic disposition.  It means time away from the people and things that give his life meaning.  Work, for Ives, is simply a way to provide for his family.  Work isn't his passion, although he enjoys it.  It is a necessary distraction.

Today was the first day of school for my daughter (a high school freshman this year) and son (a second grader now).  It was also my first day back at work since my sister's funeral.  After I dropped my kids off at the bus stop, I drove to the medical center.  I must admit that walking into the medical office where I work filled me with more than a little dread.  Not because I don't like the people with whom I work.  I just didn't feel ready to face nine hours of phones and patients.

I survived, but now I'm in my office at the university, waiting to attend a reading being given by visiting writer Leslie Jamison, author of The Empathy Exams.  This morning, I was looking forward to hearing her.  Now, sitting in my office, I find myself simply wanting to jump in my car and go home.  Like Ives, as I sit at my desk, I'm thinking about my daughter, who texted me that she was "really tired."  About my son, who, according to my wife, had a great day.  About my wife, who seemed more than a little down for some reason when I spoke with her on the phone.

Any time I take time away from my family, I feel guilty.  Yes, I will enjoy Leslie Jamison this evening, but I should be at home, listening to my daughter tell me about high school and my son rambling about his classmates.  Guilt.  My wife is upset about something, but I will not see her for at least another couple of hours.  More guilt.

Happiness for me is always a matter of trade-offs.  When I met poet Judith Minty once a long time ago, she struck me as a supremely happy, successful woman.  Confident in the choices she had made with her life.  Yet, I knew that she had made sacrifices, for her work, for her art.  She had lived a life of trade-offs, too.

This evening, Saint Marty isn't sure he made the right choice.

Walking with the Bear

by: Judith Minty

New Snow, and I follow
the dim path through woods, sink
into silence.  Meadow vole, squirrel,
snowshoe hare, fox:
my tracks walk next to theirs.
If it still falls tonight, by dawn
none of us have traveled here.

Adventures of STICKMAN