Travels

Mike here.

Had a very good interview Saturday with an engineer, Dave, from an ocean sciences firm on the west coast. He was in Rhode Island between a conference and another interview, before heading back across the country. I picked him up at the airport, we had coffee, a few hours' conversation, then lunch, and more talk on the way back to the airport. It felt good--no, fantastic--to be assessed fairly as a professional, having several different skill sets and even more interests--and the multiple interests are not an impediment to my success. I get the sense that Dave is somewhat younger than I am, though he came to geosciences much earlier too, so I don't grudge him being an accomplished pro and a savvy manager. It was a relief to feel at ease with a prospective (or actual) employer, and not on trial (for trivialities).

Nope, no bitterness in my mind. None to be found anywhere. Movin' right along.

So my hopes are sky-high to land this gig, potentially doing multibeam (i.e. high-res depth sounding and seafloor mapping) work, sub-bottom interpretation, and even some 3D current modeling. A whole passel a' challenges Dave is lining up, and I couldn't be happier. New work I'll have to master, the prospect of going to a place as rugged and fascinating as Alaska--land of glaciers, grizzlies and the Palins--and being secure in the knowledge that I'm keeping a home for Katie and me. Not only am I looking forward even to the prospect of going--I've been missing adventure for a while now--but the hope for economic security has revitalized my willingness to work and study. (Found a 6-part series on the history of cartography in the library this afternoon. I had no idea such a topic existed. So I'm starting with Vol. 1, the ancients.)

When Katie and I got home, I was rip-roaring eager to check out geology supplies, like a transit and a GPS receiver, to scout out prices, so I hopped online immediately. We planned to sponge-paint the now white filing cabinet, and then go to the gym. And the painting took much less time--a little more than ten minutes for one coat--than I thought. So I flew back downstairs to do some more online hunting.

Kate followed slowly, clearly bothered. She's normally so stoic, even in the face of sometimes helpless worrying, that when she finally shows pain I know to pay attention. And at a moment like this, when I'm eager to do something of my own, I have two reactions. The dog in me wants to snap and say, "Let me finish what I'm working on, jeez! Why do you have to follow me around?" And the husband knows that's no way to treat a wife who simply wants my company. And I had a sense, though she wouldn't say at first, what the issue was.

I know because I'm the same way, when something's going to happen that I don't want to--I mourn ahead of time. In part of my mind the thing has already happened, because I believe it's inevitable. And in Katie's case, she knows this job will very likely take me across the continent. She saw me bring home a stack of books, some related to the possible work, and she saw me treat the painting project like I was blowing my nose. That's when her meek side comes out, and she begs for attention like a kitten. I can be inconsiderate and callous at times but I'm no deliberate brute, particularly when, the deeper I probe, the more serious her discomfort reveals itself to be. I'm probably going away.

There are the basic, matter-of-fact questions: what if I'm still gone when she goes into labor? What if she doesn't give birth until the very end of my scheduled leave? There's the big, general question: how can I possibly be a decent husband and father when I have a job 2500 miles away? All we can do about the matter-of-fact things is make the best contingency plans we can think of, and then hope things work out well. As for the big general question...

It's my eagerness to leave which seems to bother her more still. So this paragraph is as much a written reminder to Katie, as it is an explanation to anyone else who reads it. I love adventure. I love going to places where I've never been. I love finding unexpected and surprising things. I love having my mind blown by things I never imagined. I love trying to give some mental order to my sensations. I love exploring and coming to understand an unfamiliar setting. But this passion for novelty and experience leads back to a much deeper, more consistent, far more abiding thing. I want to share the wonder and the energy that wonder gives me, with the people I care about most. Above all, I want to share it with her. So I can bring back a bit of the Pacific, a bit of the mountains and a bit of the glaciers to her, and so add a few foreign seeds to the garden that is her own life.

And if I ever get around to becoming a professor, hopefully to infect my students with the same love too.