The illusion of permanence

The illusion of permanence governs most of us (in the Western world, at least): we want to build something lasting (at large scale–civilizational achievements, or small scale–perpetuating our family line, or leaving something tangible behind; we are all secretly Ozymandias on some scale). We want to live forever, be young and beautiful and healthy forever, and so on and so forth. In academia, this notion is best expressed through the idea of tenure–the gold standard of academic employment, the concept that allows us to keep our jobs in perpetuity (?) based on our past record of achievement and promises of future accomplishments.

Of course, Eastern philosophies warn us against such illusions: time is a river, constantly changing, and the only constant is change (Heraclitus himself was allegedly influenced by Eastern thinkers, when he said that no one can dip twice in the same river). Clinging to illusions of permanence is at the root of our suffering. We imagine that we don’t change, or shouldn’t, that our beloved shouldn’t change, that love shouldn’t change. As our children grow and transform and leave us, we become nostalgic for their baby days, because infants are uncomplicated and have basic, defined needs that we have a chance of meeting. When our love changes we suffer: we lose spouses, friends; we change jobs, towns, countries, and have to balance loss with gain very carefully. As a young person moving to another country, I was most excited about the gains, which took over in my mind; these days, I would have much more to lose in such a move. Even my wanderlust, which used to be unquenchable, has slowed down significantly lately. I’m content with traveling less. I am clinging on to my house, my place, my city, my family, for as long as I can, even as I know none of it will last forever. I will move out of this home in about 5-6 years when my daughter is in college, and I will probably move out of this city–where, I don’t know yet.

I’m thinking about changes because of the recent NCTE decision to “de-charter” CCCC, a 77-year institution, for reasons that are at least suspect (yes, some financial issues, but none that were that dire). CCCC was not exactly my intellectual home–I consider RSA (Rhetoric Society of America) more so, but it was the flagship organization in writing and composition, publishing exemplary work through its amazing journal; I participated in the 4Cs this year, as a matter of fact–little did I know it would be its last conference! I am still in shock over this. It made me think of other earthquakes I either survived or I was adjacent to – for example, my first academic employer (University of the Sciences) closing gates and being absorbed by my current one (St. Joseph’s) a few years ago. In retrospect, it was one of the best things to happen to me and the right path for that institution. Two years after that merger, another established Philadelphia higher ed institution, University of the Arts, closed abruptly as it became financially nonviable, leaving students, faculty, and staff in limbo with no back-up plan. It’s a fate that would have otherwise awaited U of the Sciences.

Of course, I can’t help but think that I live in a country I no longer recognize–one that has become hostile to immigrants and whose abrupt turn to fascism I was frankly not prepared for. After surviving Romanian communism, I honestly didn’t think I would get to live through such other cataclysmic political shifts, yet here we are. But perhaps it was only my clinging to the illusion of permanence–my yearning to live in non-interesting times, perhaps–that makes the current era unbearable, and deepens my suffering. No river is static and I need to relearn this lesson over and over again: Adapt, expect changes even where–or especially where–things look most stable.

This means I need to constantly rethink what I live for, and how; and what work is for, and why. Lucky me to have a sabbatical to ponder such questions at length. I feel time already slipping through my fingers (was it mine to hold in the first place?) and answers are elusive, as usual.

But again, I live mostly for the questions, rather than the answers.