I'm 34. I'm 16 years out of high school. I'm 11 years out of college.
And I'm still asking the same questions. Who am I? Who do I want to be? What do I want to be when I grow up? My therapist asked me similar questions during our last session, and I didn't have an answer. I know what I don't want to do (because I didn't enjoy it the first time around). I don't want to work the night cops shift at a podunk newspaper, making $7 an hour and dodging lewd comments and suggestions from middle-aged detectives. I don't want to work in an office where supposed professionals throw office equipment at me and write scathing information about me then post it to the World Wide Web.
And, at the moment, I'm not real thrilled rewriting articles and press releases into paragraph-length bits for an employee newsletter. Or penning a perfectly appropriate and acceptable e-mail memo for a middle-level manager, only to have it come back to me looking like some eighth-grade English teacher went wacky with her red marker.
I've thought about it a lot lately. I'd really like to freelance half time, write a novel half time, be my own boss, have time to hit the gym and the yoga studio more than twice a week, take a cooking class, soak nightly in a hot tub, not spend 1.5 hours in the car commuting every day, host regular scrapbooking parties and bitch sessions with my friends, be available to go on daycare field trips with my son, take time to play fetch with my dog, and so on. I'd also like to NOT have a mental illness. Maybe that's as likely to happen as all the previous items in the list.
According to the Princeton Review, my degree -- communications -- is one of the top 10 most popular majors for college students. It's also the lowest paying. It's all about money. It's about more than money. It has nothing to do with money.
When do we figure it out? When will I get to a place where I say, "Yeah. This is it. This is what I want from life." So that when my life is at its end, my final thoughts won't involve one of the world's nastiest words.
Regret.
And I'm still asking the same questions. Who am I? Who do I want to be? What do I want to be when I grow up? My therapist asked me similar questions during our last session, and I didn't have an answer. I know what I don't want to do (because I didn't enjoy it the first time around). I don't want to work the night cops shift at a podunk newspaper, making $7 an hour and dodging lewd comments and suggestions from middle-aged detectives. I don't want to work in an office where supposed professionals throw office equipment at me and write scathing information about me then post it to the World Wide Web.
And, at the moment, I'm not real thrilled rewriting articles and press releases into paragraph-length bits for an employee newsletter. Or penning a perfectly appropriate and acceptable e-mail memo for a middle-level manager, only to have it come back to me looking like some eighth-grade English teacher went wacky with her red marker.
I've thought about it a lot lately. I'd really like to freelance half time, write a novel half time, be my own boss, have time to hit the gym and the yoga studio more than twice a week, take a cooking class, soak nightly in a hot tub, not spend 1.5 hours in the car commuting every day, host regular scrapbooking parties and bitch sessions with my friends, be available to go on daycare field trips with my son, take time to play fetch with my dog, and so on. I'd also like to NOT have a mental illness. Maybe that's as likely to happen as all the previous items in the list.
According to the Princeton Review, my degree -- communications -- is one of the top 10 most popular majors for college students. It's also the lowest paying. It's all about money. It's about more than money. It has nothing to do with money.
When do we figure it out? When will I get to a place where I say, "Yeah. This is it. This is what I want from life." So that when my life is at its end, my final thoughts won't involve one of the world's nastiest words.
Regret.
Comments
Sometimes I wish I was more scientifically and mathematically inclined. Because nursing is a hot field. Everywhere in the country needs nurses. It's a lot of money and you get the fulfillment of helping people on a daily basis. Alas - my brain nor my stomach are strong enough.