Maps and Journeys

I am reading a book called The Island of Lost Maps about cartographic crime. The author does a wonderful job of interweaving the metaphor "Maps" into a story about the histories of certain maps and about one certain map-thief. Maps are the portrait of, the reason for, and the story of journeys of both the soul and the body. Add in this quotation from a recent email from my brother, who is establishing a foundation "for good works" in our mother's name: "I have a variety of personal reactions when I read such stories as these. I think, "Oh, everything I want to do is already being done." I also think, "If a 14 year old girl can raise that much money, and a pastor plunks down everything he has, how can I set my sights any lower?" And then I worry, too, that I won't achieve what these ordinary folks have achieved with such apparent aplomb. I suppose the only thing to do is just keep at it."

I am busy these days living on several types of time. The healthcare debate promises either little change (the version that passed last night won't change lives for many people) or huge change (assassination and revolution): I fear for my country and weep for the fading of optimistic belief in the mirage called "American Dream." My inheritance from my mother will be used to buy my house from the bank -- that's telescoping about 15 years of my life into the minutes it takes to sign the check and seal the envelope. I have (finally!) set a teaching schedule for the spring, still a few months away, one that promises both periodic flurries of never-home busyness and new challenges relating to pedogogy. Spring will also bring the execution of those plans made in the days of waning summer and of frigid winter.... And, today, on a day when I have to look at a calendar to find out what the date is, and when the sunshine is saying through the window "Come quickly! I'll be gone soon," I am making a list of what must be done before bedtime.

I have been working on my lectures about the various stages of "adulthood" (as set out by our textbook). I think I'm in, or due for, a mid-life crisis. Perhaps I had one and didn't notice. I am aware that my clock is ticking. I am aware that I think about dying more often than I used to (eg., the mortgage will mature in 2024 and my first thought is that I might not be here to see it -- math is not one of my skills). Because of my experience with my mother's passing, I see the files of banking and insurances and children's college funds in a whole new light ("Oh, I should organize those!"). But, to my own confusion and fascination, I am at the same time eager to see what the next corner brings. If this is what age 50 feels like, what will it be like to be 65? Can I really eat & exercise enough to forestall disintegration? I ask my young-adult students, "What is old?" Am I a grown-up yet? One assignment in this class will be to write an obituary for yourself. What do I want on my headstone? In the end, at the end, what will I turn out to be? This is a journey that doesn't allow maps.