I worked with one of my favorite students this week. A gifted young woman who I have worked with over the past two years. What an absolute privilege to witness a young person find their voice, to watch their confidence blossom and know that you played a small part in fostering an environment where it can happen.
This young woman is the type of person so many of us were at that age – passionate, driven, moving through the world without the cynicism and bitterness that come with age and experience, determined to do her part to make the world a better place than the one her generation arrived in.
She’s writing an essay on reproductive rights. This is the second one I’ve read from her on the same subject this semester. We have enough of a rapport that at one point cracked a joke:
“So, this is like your whole deal, huh?”
“Yep!”
Not a moment’s hesitation or even a hint of backing down.
It was perfect.
We fixed her citations. Then moved on to revising some of her word choices because, yeah. Saying “abortion rights arouses controversy” is just a little awkward, kid. But sometimes writing is like that. You struggle to find the perfect word. The one that lingers just at the edge of your perception and then you find it, like the puzzle piece you’ve been looking for all day and everything fits and the world makes sense. You laugh at yourself for not finding it sooner and move on.
At the end of the session, I reiterated that I was looking at some truly strong writing and encouraged her to keep at it.
Teaching is such a gift. One of the greatest joys of my life. All I really want to do is write, teach, lift weights and scream in a punk band until it’s time to do something else.
I just wish survival wasn’t so hard, especially when it doesn’t have to be. This week, I’m balancing work with the throbbing ache of a tooth abscess that needs a root canal, a car that shit the bed on the highway during my long commute home, and rent I can barely cover. For the most part, I live a happy and full life. I love my work, my friends, my home, I have the partner I’ve always wanted, but the stress remains.
All my co-workers are stressed about money, about making ends meet. We spend a disproportionate amount of time talking about it when students aren’t in the room. Everyone is terrified of what the incoming administration is going to bring. Cuts to funding? “Anti-woke” foolishness that could affect how we can talk to students when discussing the topics THEY CHOOSE to write about? Is fucking ICE going to come to campus looking for our migrant and refugee students?
And I get it. That collective outpouring of rage and animosity towards corporate America this week? I get it. That collective lack of empathy for a wealthy man whose decisions and policies who caused untold suffering murdered in the street? I get it. Those pearl clutching, hand wringing, spineless servants of the ruling class in the media can talk about signs of moral decay all they want, but I get it.
I know my worth. I know what my co-workers and colleagues are worth. I know what my mentors are worth. More than anything, I know what our students are worth. You’ll never convince me that their hopes, their dreams, their right to a free and happy and healthy life are worth more than the whims they of some soulless billionaire who exploited countless living, breathing humans to achieve their undeserved power and hoarded wealth.
Elon Musk can eat shit and die.
I only hope I live to see the ruling class tremble before our collective fury, before they starve like the parasites they are.
Signals Fill The Void 