Hard things

• This week I set a date to defend my doctoral dissertation (March 19, 2:00 pm – all are invited).  In an effort to get said dissertation finished in time to get copies to my committee members, I’ve been writing around the clock. When Lily wakes up to eat at 2:00 am, I type out a few sentences with my free hand and insert the relevant references.  When Tim drives our family anywhere, I format figures in the passenger seat while singing songs for the babies in the backseat.  Every spare second is spent writing. I have about 150 pages so far, with 50-75 more to come.  It is hard.  I am utterly exhausted, subsisting on between 3 and 5 hours of sleep per night.  But I can do hard things, said my mother.  Keep on keepin’ on, said Mr. Dylan.
  
• A good friend of ours was beaten, stabbed, and robbed the other night.  I am so sick about it.  He is going to be okay, but his family is frazzled (understandably, obviously).  They have two daughters that are the same ages as our little girls.  In my time at BU, my boss has been mugged (with minor injuries), a dear friend was violated (in a most-serious manner) in a nearby neighborhood, another friend was attacked at a bus stop, and now this.  We witness drug deals and drug busts on a regular basis at the bus stop near our school (we go to school at the city hospital, which is not in the safest neighborhood).  I don’t like to be scared of the world.  I haven’t been, really.  I moved to Thailand to take a job site unseen, and spent every weekend exploring one of the most dangerous cities in the world, often alone.  But now things are different – the stakes are higher.  I am feeling less and less comfortable bringing my girls into the city, and am looking forward to moving to a place where I feel comfortable running at night.  Maybe that place doesn’t exist anymore?
  
• I’ve been listening to Stephen Sondheim musicals while I’ve been writing.  This week it has been Sunday in the Park with George.  I’m not sure why, but the songs keep eliciting real tears… probably because I relate to both the work-obsessed, emotionally unavailable artist intent on getting his work just right, and to his attention-seeking lover.   And I’m so sad about my kids the last couple weeks, who show signs of feeling the effects of having over-stressed, over-worked parents.  We love our kids and family more than anything, so much more than our careers.  But deadlines and angry bosses and demanding attending physicians can be more compelling, even though they shouldn’t be, than small arms reaching out for us, two sets of beautiful blue eyes desperately begging us to be present.  The hardest part of writing my dissertation has been knowing that my kids are paying the price. 
  
• So.
  
• Changes are on the horizon.  I don’t know what lies in store for me and my career, but I do know that whatever it is, things will be different. I will have more time with my kids.  I will be present.  We will run through meadows and have picnics by the lake and bake cookies and build forts.  Every day.