Small spaces

I am nearing the home stretch of this portfolio. The last element is a 2-3-page "personal statement." Through each of the portfolios (teaching, service, scholarship) I offer lots of philosophy, lots of personal statements. So how does this 2-3-pager make a difference? I'm not yet sure, but I think it is meant to set itself apart as a kind of boiling down of it all. Such a skill, the boiling down. Sometimes, my students complain when I give them no more than 1000 words for an assignment. They say, "If only I had more space." And I tell them how much it will make a difference if they can learn the art of being concise. Choosing one's words wisely — I compare it to the thread-count of sheets. Fitting in as much meaning as you can into a small space, being mindful of the quality of the words, stitching the words together seamlessly.

I have saved this part for last — why? — because I wanted a bird's eye view of the whole thing when I went to make a "statement" about it. The portfolio is due tomorrow and now I have the bird's eye view and a seed of an idea. Something about the interconnectedness of teaching, service, and scholarship: it's all about contribution, but in different forms. There is something organic, even with the notorious land-mind-laden landscape of academia, in one's efforts to tie it all together. It's yogic, isn't it? A balance of effort and ease — an ongoing and active engagement, but also an appreciation of the ever-changing landscape of ideas and priorities. Academia as a ship, not a mountain. Hmmm...

My daughter is feeling better. A bit grouchy, but actually nice to see her sling some attitude around. She has no idea how much I adore being home with her today. It reminds me of summer, when she and I would do this dance of Mommy's work and Baby's naps. I didn't take a maternity leave, and I faced a much larger mountain (ooo, maybe it IS a mountain) of scholarly work than I expected when she came. It took some time to figure this out, but eventually she and I started a waltz of working and sleeping, playing and nursing. She slept in the Moby wrap during her morning nap...there, all snuggled in near my chest, while I wrote and wrote. When she awoke, we played until she wanted to fall asleep again...and then I would help her to her crib and sit in the rocker at my computer while she slept. We did this for weeks. And by the end of the summer, the writing got written and my daughter learned to fall asleep on her own. So much for the criticism of attachment parenting; I swear by it.

She is asleep now, in her own bed. She fell asleep on her own. And I am two floors below her, typing this blog. Preparing a deep breath into the personal statement. I can see her on the video monitor that sits next to me...it's sort of like I am still up there, in her room. I imagine that I can hear her every breath while I work diligently, concisely, to fit my statement into the small space I am given on the page, the small space here in time while she naps.

When she awakens, everything opens.