A FIGURATIVE 46er

There's a list of 50 (?) things students "must do" before they leave this university. One of them is to climb 46 Adirondack Mountain Peaks. Those who complete the task (and there are not many) receive the title. They're "46ers." I've never climbed a literal mountain in my life, but I'd argue that I deserve the title as well. My time at this university has been like climbing one high mountain after the other. Long, hard climbs. The descents were worse. I never climbed down the peaks. Sometimes I slipped, but sometimes I was pushed. Descents were painful, wounding. No broken bones, but what a broken heart! Each time, even though I thought I wouldn't, I recovered. Battle scars healed after a bit. Slights and betrayals forgiven. Ready to move ahead and get to work.

This time it's different. The events of this last semester ruined my relationship to this place. I lost respect for it. The funny thing is that absolutely nothing happened to me. Perhaps my response is cumulative, and spring semester just pushed me over the edge of that last peak. The ethical and moral questions, the degradations, manipulations and humiliations of the semester were just inconceivable to me. So the consequence is (not that it matters) that, for the very first time, I have lost all regard for the institution. All regard. I've considered leaving this place hundreds of times. I've applied for other jobs in other places, but each time I considered leaving, I wondered if I could. I'd remember the best moments of my time here and announce: "This is my place." I have lived here longer than I have lived anywhere in my adult life. I have worked here longer than I have worked any where in my life. My mother died here. I've been loyal, and there are times when I have loved this place. Now, I feel nothing, empty. I'm not angry or upset. I'm not wounded or hurt. My life is actually easier now that I hold no administrative responsibility. But the depth of the injustice is just too much for me to accept. Furthermore, I'm deeply disappointed in the players.

Detached is the word. From the place, and from many of the people. Detached. The remarkable aspect of it all is that the events and outcomes freed me. I can pass the torch. Stop carrying the load. Be me and breathe. I throw off the shackles of tokenism and move forward. But I've got to do it elsewhere. Here isn't the place. Truth be told, I just don't want to be here anymore.

And so, I look toward the future. Another job and maybe even another place. And I'm ready to go right now--this very minute. I've done my time. 20 years hard labor. Parole sounds better and better each day.