So Long, Bob  | |
| The Death of the Album? | |
| My Practice of Zen in the Office | |
| My Blank Pages | |
| Classical Confusion |
I DON'T HAVE ANY PROBLEMS by Russell BartholomeeAt the beginning of August, I was really worried about several things. At the top of my list was my job. I teach, and I had been teaching US Government to seniors, which I greatly enjoyed. But right before the school year started, I found out that there was a good chance I would have to teach a freshman level course instead, a prospect which did not make the coming year very appealing. I managed to work out a compromise, but I was still moping a bit about what my job situation had turned into. And then there were my finances. I can pay my bills every month, but it’s always tight, always a struggle. Every time a little extra money comes in, it seems like a car repair or other unexpected expense comes up and depletes the bonus. On top of that, I was not getting along well with a close family member, which weighed heavily. That was the beginning of August. Besides patching things up with that family member (which I did do, and for which I’m very grateful), nothing else has changed in my life at all. Bills are still a struggle to pay, I’m still not teaching what I most wanted to, and the daily grind of teaching, writing, and playing in a couple of bands hasn’t diminished one bit. But I know something today that I didn’t know a month ago: I don’t have any problems that matter. Not really. There’s a student in one of my classes who has problems. Very real ones. He’s from New Orleans, and he lives in Texas now, with his aunt. He was separated from his mother in the evacuation, and he hasn’t heard from her yet. But when I asked him today how he was doing, he said “I can’t complain. God helped me get away safely. I have a place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear, and people who love me all around. Lots of people have it worse than me.” And of course he’s right. And he puts me to shame. I can’t imagine—don’t want to imagine—what he’s had to go through in the last few weeks, and yet he doesn’t feel right complaining. As far as I’m concerned, he has every right to complain. I, on the other hand, do not. |
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