On Moving Away from this Old Town aka Woe-is-Me Sentiment

One of my favorite bands right now is Montreal's Land of Talk. Female vocalist/guitarist, Liz, croons, "Family's something fixed, that's fine, you can not never move away." Despite the double negative, this line always seems like it was written for me--as if Liz knew that I'd have this conundrum, and she wanted to prepare me for the inevitable. I realize that the process of growing up, moving out, and going away is one not uncommon for the majority of this country. In the South, however, the act becomes something larger, as our culture, I would argue, is much more collectivist. (Hence our tradition of nepotism in smaller universities in order to preserve the "family" one has created within an academic community, if not to merely keep out the "outsiders.")

There was a point in my young life--I was 23--when I had to decide if I wanted to continue on in academia, or if I wanted to start law school. I had just finished my Master's degree, and I had only always thought I would go on to get a Ph.D. Looking back on it now, I never fully comprehended a lot of things that would have to occur once I accomplished the degree. I'm not sure that I would make the same decision over again, though I'm glad as hell that I didn't go to law school.

This Fall, I will enter the academic job market. If I'm lucky, I'll get a job teaching at a respectable university, but it won't be near this town. For many naive years, I always just sort of thought I would find work at one of the smaller liberal arts colleges in my area, but with the fledgling economy forcing cutbacks on those institutions, that is really no longer an option. So, this town in which we've spent the last seven years laying down roots, finding the best veterinarian, and learning about the proper routes from everywhere to our home, might only be our home for another year.

The Bunny and I love our house and our situation in general, but we had to have a come to Jesus talk yesterday about what we expect to happen in the next year. Honestly, we might have to move away if I intend to really give my career a go. I've been tearing up a lot over the last 24 hours as I finally allowed my body to face the fact that I've been avoiding for so long. Do I love my town? Absolutely not. There is no culture here, and that extends to music, art, film, food, and everything else that my husband and I value but can only crave. In this regard, moving away is an exciting possibility.

On the other hand, however, my parents make these crumbling, veiled remarks about my leaving. They twist and turn in their sheets at night for fear that I will go away. I worry about making babies state lines away from my Mom. I fret about leaving behind the few allies we've made in this pitiful town, and, mostly, I shudder to imagine the moment I'll hand over the keys to my beloved home to some other--in my mind, soul-less--family.

It's the not knowing what will happen over the next twelve months that is killing me. I hope to keep you, dear reader, informed every step of the way, and I promise to be more honest here than I've been with myself in a very long time.

I've always been very superstitious, so one can imagine how I felt when I cranked my car for the long drive to work this morning, and out from my iPod erupts, "Family's something fixed, that's fine, you can not never move away."