Let us speak about their ratio, shall we?
You can be the Big Fish in the Little Pond, or the Little Fish in the Big Pond, but stating that these are the only two scenarios speaks only for poor optics. We like the metaphors because it gives some illusion of choice in the whole matter. Yes, my share of the population is far greater in the Crescent than it was in the Apple, but that doesn't mean I'm not still a guy who falls in the three-figure category for budgeted rent. All politics is local. Think globally, act locally. The grass is always greener and I'd be a damned fool were I to believe I was any more consequential because I changed zip codes. We are all fish of imperceptibly different sizes swimming in one massive, sinuous and connected waterway just downriver from the petrochemical plant. The wealthy few have the latest scuba gear and are far too indifferent to bring along any laminated identification charts to tell us apart. Just so long as we don't slow down the turbines, this part of the water is ours.
I would also be mistaken to dismiss the metaphor outright. This Little Pond has not only smaller schools, but also fewer swimmers worth angling, if we allow ourselves a clearer look at the optics. Dripping fresh-off-the-boat in a new land with one of the industrial world's worst educational systems is not an entirely bad thing, if we're being selfishly honest about the whole thing. It's like all the outstanding marks in those audited gym classes suddenly counted toward my GPA upon transferring. There are still some ropes to master, a little of the Local Nuance, if you will, but I'm already starting a few body lengths closer to the roof. Being born, for a select few, is not without its privileges.
Still, it's not as if the same rules governing the Big Pond are applicable to this smaller body of water. My home of yore has a palate for Chilean sea bass and albacore; down here you'd be hard-pressed to find a place without catfish. To a certain extent, size does matter in both. But this pond down here is better suited to the three-eyed salamander, the earth-toned bottom-feeder, the mono-finned red snapper. The grosser the deformity, the least apt for the wholesome New England Sunday dinner table, the better suited one will be.
A rule change this far upstream ain't fair, but this is where I chose to spawn. Who knows what grotesqueries I've signed up for, what hideous manifestations lay in wait? Strange Happenings and strong currents all around this riparian zone and I've been advised not to drink the water. I'm just swimming in it instead.
You can be the Big Fish in the Little Pond, or the Little Fish in the Big Pond, but stating that these are the only two scenarios speaks only for poor optics. We like the metaphors because it gives some illusion of choice in the whole matter. Yes, my share of the population is far greater in the Crescent than it was in the Apple, but that doesn't mean I'm not still a guy who falls in the three-figure category for budgeted rent. All politics is local. Think globally, act locally. The grass is always greener and I'd be a damned fool were I to believe I was any more consequential because I changed zip codes. We are all fish of imperceptibly different sizes swimming in one massive, sinuous and connected waterway just downriver from the petrochemical plant. The wealthy few have the latest scuba gear and are far too indifferent to bring along any laminated identification charts to tell us apart. Just so long as we don't slow down the turbines, this part of the water is ours.
I would also be mistaken to dismiss the metaphor outright. This Little Pond has not only smaller schools, but also fewer swimmers worth angling, if we allow ourselves a clearer look at the optics. Dripping fresh-off-the-boat in a new land with one of the industrial world's worst educational systems is not an entirely bad thing, if we're being selfishly honest about the whole thing. It's like all the outstanding marks in those audited gym classes suddenly counted toward my GPA upon transferring. There are still some ropes to master, a little of the Local Nuance, if you will, but I'm already starting a few body lengths closer to the roof. Being born, for a select few, is not without its privileges.
Still, it's not as if the same rules governing the Big Pond are applicable to this smaller body of water. My home of yore has a palate for Chilean sea bass and albacore; down here you'd be hard-pressed to find a place without catfish. To a certain extent, size does matter in both. But this pond down here is better suited to the three-eyed salamander, the earth-toned bottom-feeder, the mono-finned red snapper. The grosser the deformity, the least apt for the wholesome New England Sunday dinner table, the better suited one will be.
A rule change this far upstream ain't fair, but this is where I chose to spawn. Who knows what grotesqueries I've signed up for, what hideous manifestations lay in wait? Strange Happenings and strong currents all around this riparian zone and I've been advised not to drink the water. I'm just swimming in it instead.
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