I took this summer to live in a perfectly undefined manner.
“So you’re looking for a job? What are you doing in the meantime? Are you traveling? Oooooh, you’ve graduated. Now what?” I’ve spent the last 2 months answering these Q’s. I am writing this down as some sort of answer to people who respond with looks reeking of “wtf” and pity when I respond with, “well, I’m taking some time. I think I’d like to X and I’m exploring opportunities there.” Maybe I’m writing this down for me.
A job, at its base, is a source of income. Income supplies: rent, booze, shampoo, water, heat, dinner, cable, and cupcakes. Thus, one needs income. I totally understand that. What I do not understand is this pull 22-year-old coeds feel come March of their senior year to make a decent selection “for the next year. For the next 40 years.” A solid beginning to a promising career. A secured position in the rat race. Something tasteful and appropriate with plenty of upward mobility and dental. What this option doesn’t allow for is possibility. The possibility that maybe a job could be more than an income or something to fall back on—maybe a job could be a way to channel your own personal talents and cares. Maybe that’s not always the case, but it could be…
As we grew from firefly catching-six-year-olds, to cargo-short-sporting-mall rats, to captain & coke-drinking-bunk-bed-hopping-college freshmen, one slice of advice remained reliable: you can achieve whatever you like. Your dreams can be limitless. Okay kids, I’m not particularly slow. I realize there are limits. As a skinny kid in northern Illinois, I wanted to be a hybrid of Kerri Strug, Julia Roberts, and Dolly Parton. I’m now 5’8”, have moderate stage fright, and am so intensely tone deaf I scare dogs when I hum and never sing in church. We all make downgrades, but somewhere between junior and senior year of college, (the summer where semester abroad memories, thesis topic questions, interview attire hunts and googling “what’s a 401k?” exist simultaneously) it became horribly uncool to have dream-like aspirations. (Unless the dreams fit well into a box labeled “peace corps.” Or into a time classified as, “ 6 mo. as a back packing freelancer.”)
Call me naive. Call me ridiculous. Call me unaware. Call me what you will. Remember what Tom Robbins says: “just because you’re naked doesn’t mean you’re sexy. Just because you’re cynical, doesn’t mean you’re cool.” I refuse to believe that a job needs to be merely an income or a bottom line punctuated with sarcasm. 45+ hours a week, people! You should be doing something that interests you. I just believe we should place a greater deal of emphasis on personal development and career exploration. And growing and exploring are not limited to the offices of college counselors and gap years spent traveling. Believe me, living in DC for four years provided me with plenty of cynicism, but when it comes to me and me alone I will choose enthusiasm as a personal philosophy, thank you very much. I’m sorry, but Bijou Phillips is cool, Warren Beatty is cool, any 8-year-old boy sprinting towards a slip-n-slide is cool— spending countless hours doing something you’re not passionate about just so you can make a joke at happy hour and buy new shoes is not actually cool. At all, really.
Boundaries are set when people agree to live within them. Realistic? I am realistic. Will I win an academy award? (As I predicted at age twelve via a beautifully descriptive short story.) Probably not Possibly. Will I write the next great American novel? Doubtful. Will I ever take the Hippocratic Oath? Absolutely not, pal (and you should thank your lucky stars and my 8th grade chemistry teacher for that one). I will, however, be happy. And if that’s all I can say when the day’s done, it was a solid day.
John Lennon said that “life is what happens when you’re making other plans.” Well here are the plans I hope my life happens around:
- To be happy always (at some level).
- To love. To love completely, fully and unconditionally. All over the place and outside of the lines.
- To have a job/ jobs that allows for grins, creativity, and the
occasionaldaily happy hour. - To go to sleep every night utterly exhausted. (That piece of advice is from the great, sweet Hannah Ellsworth.)
- And to keep moving (running, dancing, walking, swinging, twirling, swimming, skiing, and falling) until something makes me stop.
Do I have a big girl job this very instant? No. But I have an income, a resume, interests, and friends. What have I done since graduating? Well, I’ve seen two new states, become the physical manifestation of “murder on the dance floor,” learned a little HTML, found a recipe for a s’mores pie, memorized my favorite poem, fallen on my face, kissed a few boys, read four new books, re-read two classics, and finally started to write things down again.
I’m determined to live in my life. To have a front row seat to the show and watch it unfold it all its messy fabulousity. Smelling a Sunday afternoon, loving the day from the dirt to the clouds, dancing when my feet think it’s time— I’m going to do these things and I’m going to do them with a smile, a drink, and contentment.
Alright, I’m outtie. (Watching Clueless this weekend did wonders for me.)
xx, J
EDIT: This was written last night at 1am. I may or may not have been under the influence of the Mighty Ducks Trilogy, insomnia, Bombay Saph, and a Monday that was inching closer by the second.
