Two weeks ago, I decided not to accept a position as a College Writing instructor at my alma mater, American University.
This was something I thought I'd never do. So much of my self-image these years is based on the idea that I am a writer, a thinker, a person who chooses the creative, honest path over the easier(?) path of a traditional 9-to-5 job.
And yet, when I was surprised by the job offer (a job I'd applied for a year ago, and been rejected), it felt like a revalation. I could have this job. I could do this work. I could be a professor and teach! And yet (once again), I felt sick rather than elated. I felt defeated rather than empowered.
I didn't know why I felt this way.
In all honesty, I'd decided to say "yes" to AU's wonderful, gratifying offer--Matthew had even picked up our dinner tab in anticipation of "having to do a lot more of this" when I took the serious academic pay cut--when I walked into Kramerbooks Bookstore & Cafe to meet a friend. There, instead of looking for a new novel, I found myself unable to do anything but think of how I "should" be looking at non-fiction, and how I "needed" to be thinking about how I might teach it, rather than simply reading the work for myself. I found myself very upset-almost shocked. In my current work situation, I have far less self-defined time, but I do have plenty of creative energy left over for my own fiction.
I tabled the decision for a day, and found that my desire to teach is to teach creative writing in a workshop program. Honestly, truly.
So I said "No."
It was the right decision. After much deliberation and somewhat heartsick self-evaluation, I came to the decision that College Writing is not what I want to teach. (How's that for a passive construction?) I don't want to teach College Writing right now. There. Difficult words to say.
I don't want to teach College Writing.
But who does that leave me to be??
