Because we are food for worms, lads.

This entry will begin without a proper introduction.

I remember my first year here, the panic attacks that took me to the emergency room a few times, and the fears for my son, whose health and growth seemed to be tenuous, as I grappled to nurture my child, in a maelstrom of worry and insecurity.  The funny thing is, the second time I went to the emergency room, a security guard smiled as he opened the door for me - it was the father of one of my students. And the receptionist who checked us in said immediately, "You're Langston's mom, right?" And it turns out, her daughter was in Langston's day care class. I should have known then that I was home.

I recently commented to a friend that I was inclined to make an unwise decision to enjoy his company. What a silly pretension, when it was the tendency* to incline towards foolishness which led me to New Hampshire in the first place.**

We all know Robin Williams' sincere, whispery inspirations from Dead Poets' Society, and I'm sure a collection of odious memes out there distill his heartfelt performance into fortune-cookie-sized deep-thoughts images on the Internets.

Last week, as I wrestled with a new health-related fear, it made me think two things. First, how different my circumstances are presently from my early Newmarket days, and second, that measuring one's enjoyment of present pleasures against some cultural norms of what is wise, expected, and culturally or socially appropriate is just plain stupid. We are food for worms, and damn it, I will enjoy what I want the most.
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* I first spelled tendency as ten-dancy. Because if you have a tendency, you should dance in its direction. Ten times. Which just made me look up whether there is a word like twice and thrice for ten times. There isn't, but if there was, shouldn't it be dice?

**Well, that, and a teaching job.