I typically have a sense of a word, and then sometimes I look it up. So today’s vocab word is “rehabilitate” in both its denotative and connotative (cultural) forms.
Admittedly, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was getting at when I began this blog by declaring myself as a rehabilitating academic. It just sounded right. And as it turns out, it is right. When you look up the word, many (not all) definitions go beyond the ‘returning to a former status or condition’ part and also note that rehabilitation happens after a period of ____. This is where it varies according to the source of definition. It could be after a period of sickness or addiction (or enslavement to either), or it could be after a period of scorn or banishment or disfavor. Those aren’t the same, at least not from my vantage. What about after a period of simply wandering?
And by the way, in my case the “after” is not (yet?) relevant. I wander a lot. I literally seek out walking all the time these days; I can’t get enough of it.
More on walking: I was an only child and my mother stayed home with me. I remember when we (she) would do errands and I’d have to keep up with her. The rehabilitation of my preschool-age walking in this context involved my adaptation (to near running) to do so. And yes, precocious reader, I invite you to read the metaphor here: I never did keep up with my mother, and you know that I do not just mean on the sidewalk.
Beyond the is of it, the result of rehabilitation is often defined as good in some way. A productive, useful life, for example. Or better health. Or an enlightened well being. Maybe that’s why I chose the word in the first place, but something about this…it’s not enough. I am rehabilitating my naiveté, coping with a recognition that the world is full of human brutality. That sounds precocious, doesn’t it? Pablum. Disgusting pablum. Like the easy depiction of a surly myopic teen, all narcissistic and unable to see anything else in different ways.
I’m not that; I’m in my mid-40’s, and my vocation as a professor has involved exactly the opposite. I research and teach about different contexts from which the world is seen and understood.
In other words I’m at an age, it seems, where I shouldn’t be getting lost so easily in thickets.
And furthermore, why do I usher myself into thickets? Today, as I walked the dog, I did just that. Literally walked off the road down into brambles and burrs, creeper and vines. To put it simply, it sucked. I got scratched and pricked and confused. And I felt bad for my dog. But so be it because I’m sitting here now in front of a screen comfortably away from all that, or so I’d like to think. Maybe I am craving the jump into this violent world and don’t want to acknowledge it.