I tell you, 2013 has been a roller coaster. Nay, one of those gut-wrenching theme park rides that drops you suddenly and then shoots you up right into the sky. Like The Rocket at Lagoon, the theme park in Utah I frequented as a young'un.
Mid-January I was having a great time meandering around Kwajalein Atoll, visiting Marshallese students participating in The Unbound Bookmaker Project on Ebeye, and then flying to the remarkably remote and stunning tropical island of Pohnpei. That's when the Ride of Life dropped me. I got some sort of tropical fever; we still don't know what it was, except that I was exhibiting all signs of dengue fever or chikungunya (another mosquito-borne disease that means "that which bends up"; check it out). I felt like I was suddenly extremely arthritic in different joints of my body, and I had 103-degree temperature and chills for three days. And a sore throat, but that doesn't fit anything. My husband couldn't find any acetaminophen and we were loathe to go to the hospital because of what we heard (collapsing roof) and because of what we had experienced in Majuro's hospital (cockroach-killing contest, anyone?). The fever broke right before we went to Nan Madol, one of the strangest places I have ever been, which is saying something because the Marshall Islands are pretty strange. It was a phenomenally beautiful trip and one of the greatest experiences of my life. I was weak but very happy.
And then we went back to Majuro and I came down with food poisoning or some type of virus that left me clutching my gut, swaying back and forth through the midnight hours, and weeping for death. Not even joking.
And then we went back to Majuro and I came down with food poisoning or some type of virus that left me clutching my gut, swaying back and forth through the midnight hours, and weeping for death. Not even joking.
Recovering (I'll spare you the details of how), I then had a most profound change in my professional trajectory: while grinding coconut meat on my little coconut-grinding seat—something I find very soothing—and speaking with my darling husband, we discussed the possibility of doing a low-residency MFA in Writing program. I had looked into Johns Hopkins' writing program, particularly because it had experimental lit options, but it was going to be a while before we had a post in DC that would allow me to go back to school full-time. Enter the low-residency program. I had sniffed at the idea, considering it beneath my dignity, but upon further reflection, an MFA in Writing means that you read and write. A lot. And that, my friends, is something I can do from the comfort of my own home, particularly since my home moves a lot and contains and online business and a toddler. David Jauss, a faculty member at Vermont College of Fine Arts, has a great article here debunking some of my earlier hangups about low-residency programs.
And so I began applying like crazy—and I'm still in the process, with one down and two to go.
And then I got a massively swollen lymph node from my earlier fever, and I bruised my toe badly when some guys were cutting down coconut fronds and I stumbled back into some sharp coral when a huge frond descended upon me. Weird, but true.
And then I realized that my lifelong desire to graduate in Physics was still a possibility, and that it's okay to have more than one professional love, and sometimes you can even combine them. So I decided to go for either a master's degree or a doctorate in Physics after the MFA in Writing. I would love to do science writing, experimental writing, physics research, and write books on the side. Happiness and bliss all around. I've already started going through my massive physics textbook to catch up. It feels wonderful to discard old cultural myths about sacrificing all dreams to be a wife and a mother. Heck, if you play your cards right, you can have more than one dream and still be a great wife and a mother. Happiness is a balance, and that balance is different for everyone—perhaps my balance just happens to look like this:
And so I began applying like crazy—and I'm still in the process, with one down and two to go.
And then I got a massively swollen lymph node from my earlier fever, and I bruised my toe badly when some guys were cutting down coconut fronds and I stumbled back into some sharp coral when a huge frond descended upon me. Weird, but true.
And then I realized that my lifelong desire to graduate in Physics was still a possibility, and that it's okay to have more than one professional love, and sometimes you can even combine them. So I decided to go for either a master's degree or a doctorate in Physics after the MFA in Writing. I would love to do science writing, experimental writing, physics research, and write books on the side. Happiness and bliss all around. I've already started going through my massive physics textbook to catch up. It feels wonderful to discard old cultural myths about sacrificing all dreams to be a wife and a mother. Heck, if you play your cards right, you can have more than one dream and still be a great wife and a mother. Happiness is a balance, and that balance is different for everyone—perhaps my balance just happens to look like this:
And then, to continue the drama that was January, I got another infection, a different one this time from the infection in two of my fingernail beds that I got before we went on our trip. Have I mentioned that it's not even February yet?
And then we discovered that our next post assignment is Montreal, Quebec, which is not only five hours away from my husband's parents in New York but also two hours away from one of the MFA programs I had already applied to and five hours away from another program in Vermont.
And then, today—while my son has a small fever and my husband suffers in bed from the same wretched food poisoning/virus that I had a few weeks ago (one theory is that since we're in a drought right now in the Marshalls, the water is not circulating well in the containment tanks, and people are either not washing their vegetables appropriately or the water is foul)—I found out that my first-attempt novel Unadorned: Manifestation of the Gods passed the first round of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, one of the 2,000 accepted manuscripts out of the original 10,000 submitted. They even got my name right.
And then we discovered that our next post assignment is Montreal, Quebec, which is not only five hours away from my husband's parents in New York but also two hours away from one of the MFA programs I had already applied to and five hours away from another program in Vermont.
And then, today—while my son has a small fever and my husband suffers in bed from the same wretched food poisoning/virus that I had a few weeks ago (one theory is that since we're in a drought right now in the Marshalls, the water is not circulating well in the containment tanks, and people are either not washing their vegetables appropriately or the water is foul)—I found out that my first-attempt novel Unadorned: Manifestation of the Gods passed the first round of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, one of the 2,000 accepted manuscripts out of the original 10,000 submitted. They even got my name right.
C.S. Lewis spoke of peaks and troughs of life, but this is getting slightly ridiculous. If the Powers That Be aren't careful, they're going to plum break the Ride of Life. But what a rush!
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