A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
I lifted the lid, shifting through my old textbooks, a stack of graded finance papers, and my original diploma from Ohio State. The paper was stiff, but the achievements listed there looked remarkably thin. It was a standard business degree, earned with average marks while I worked a thirty hour shift at the warehouse.
There were no letters from deans. There were no photographs of me standing with world class thinkers.
I sat on an upturned milk crate in the cold garage, holding my diploma in one hand and thinking of the silver frame inside. I had spent fifteen years believing my career was the central pillar of our family, the only high level intellectual labor that kept our lives moving forward.
I stared at the photograph of my wife standing beside world-class researchers, realizing I barely knew the person who cooked my meals.
The smell of toasted sourdough and strong coffee did not ease the sudden tightness in my chest when I walked into the kitchen at seven the next morning.
