Another 4 hours of negotiating last night. (I am on our union’s negotiating team for our next teachers’ contract.) Let’s see… It has been eight, maybe ten 4 hour meetings already. And still many more to go. It’s a slow but vaguely edifying process. I’m not sure I would ever intentionally choose to be with this particular group of people, to spend 4 hours of mostly intense conversation— parsing words, pushing and probing for clarification, for reasons, for justifications, for rationale— brainstorming, looking for consensus, common ground, figuring out how to deal with its lack. It’s frustrating and invigorating, defeating and inspiring, confusing and enlightening.
When I came home last night, after 4 hours of negotiating — wiped out, exhausted, depleted — I discovered another egg on my walk to the house from the garage. This egg was more oblong than the others that have been mysteriously appearing in the composting garden, boldly white in the darkness, lit by the starry light from the solar lamps along the path.
Many births are mysterious, surprising, complex promises laid randomly at our feet. Others are more willful and deliberate, and take much more calculated intention. Both are filled with risk and responsibility.
I took a deep breath and continued into the house.