In the grand scheme of things, I realize my job is not my be-all end-all of existence. Or maybe it is. I don't know; there seems to be a lot of conflicting cultural perspectives on it, which have all carved out unrelenting but endlessly confusing channels in my brain - much like water dripping over stalactites over time, it's a drippy, bumpy mess up there. I am carved to believe that jobs don't matter. I am carved to believe that you are a fool to believe that jobs really don't matter.
I am also a lady, which means that both sides are true and are accompanied by intense lady-pressure. Sometimes from actual ladies (the kind who exist in the world outside my brain, saying and doing things), sometimes from pretend ladies (the ideal kind I constantly fret I'm supposed to be like, because they are much smarter, cooler, prettier, classier, more emotionally and mentally resilient than I, etc.). If my brain could talk, which I suppose it does if we can consider writing simply an act of its transcription:
Argument: Your job matters, woman!
"You are so lucky to have grown up in a time where you could have a career. Think about your mom! She was only a nurse because she had three options: be a nurse, a teacher, or a stay-at-home mom. You are lucky to have the option of a career because it means you are not necessarily dependent on a man for income, which means liberation and independence! Well okay, fine, this is just in theory. Of course American society does not support anyone's true liberation or independence, especially that of women; consider how much less you have been paid than every man you've ever worked with. Consider the expensive college degrees you had to buy in order to get your low-paying job. Consider how much you get ripped off at the auto shop because you were actively discouraged from taking shop class in high school. I digress! You are smart and the world needs you. That is why you work for non-profits. Of course what you do for 40 hours a week is important! It is very, very important! Do not feel bad about feeling entitled to move up and on in this world, especially at something you happen to rock at. Also: I think this is what 'leaning in' means?"
Instant-if-not-Simultaneous Counter-Argument: Your job does not matter, woman!
I was fascinated by New Age mysticism as a tween - crystals, auras, fairies in your backyard, past lives, etc. Thirty years later, I still find myself overly receptive to anyone who seems super chill and slightly mystical. I do yoga (do you do yoga? or does one just... yoga?).
Unfortunately there is a massive industry which realizes that I'm an extremely marketable demographic, and they've built it into this thing they call a "lifestyle," and what is very clear about having a clearly defined lifestyle is that there is no room for a career in it. Within the dreamspace of the modern woman's lifestyle, careers are actively discouraged, if not fully frowned upon. Consider: you simply cannot study the Bhagavad Gita AND work 40 hours a week AND detox diet AND prepare fresh smoothies AND wear adorable leggings. One of these things is not like the other! They are incompatible! While hemp smoothies might be tolerated in your workplace, I challenge you to find an office where my my pink lotus print spandex pants are welcome. A real office, I mean, not the corporate headquarters of a hot yoga studio chain.
So whenever I start thinking seriously about my career, updating my resume, tentatively sending out applications for jobs which pay more, offer better benefits, and promise upward career mobility - my soul (which is mostly purple and blue, if you are wondering) starts to keen:
"There is so much more to life than work. You are not going to look back from your deathbed and wish you had worked more! Ultimately, isn't it meaningless? Shouldn't you spend that wasted time polishing your resume in wiser ways - through meditation or a reiki session, perhaps? Calling a loved one and basking in the moment? Go paint a painting! Go write a poem! You are throwing your beautiful artistic soul into a Bartleby abyss. You are breaking my heart."
Is this just me? As I mentioned, I'm not the most emotionally resilient person around. I certainly hope it's abnormal, because it's stressful.
There's an activity I did in grad school (the second time) about figuring out my dream job, and it still strikes me as hilarious. Basically, you're supposed to free your mind of all expectations and describe your dream day. You're supposed to think about the environments you like, the sounds that soothe you, the level of human interaction you find tolerable. My results indicated I needed to be a bookish hermit, aka university-level scholar, who had leisure time and plentiful money, to publish poetry chapbooks, eat organic, and travel abroad extensively.*
I only bring it up because, wow, shocking; my dream career wound up sounding like it was lifted from the pages of Yoga Journal. I wanted to grow up to read important literature, drink tea, go hiking in pretty places, and wear cozy woolen socks. Crazy, I know, but streamlining database reports and procedures didn't work its way in there.
Lately I have lost a lot of interest in The Social Media, because I find that the lifestyle-specific pressure it exerts is so much more worse than anything I encountered as an actual child. In 1992, peer pressure looked like my friend Tara rubbing my leg, trying to catch me in the lie that I was grown-up enough to shave my legs (why did that matter so much to her? Oh, Tara). In 2017, it is a fucking Instagram feed full of women reading important literature, drinking tea, hiking in gorgeous places, and wearing cozy woolen socks - all at like, 1 pm on fucking Tuesdays. Precisely the time they are showing us how much they do not need or care about their careers. They are all living my dream.
But is it my dream? Isn't it the dream we're all fed? That somehow, we should all get to be Marie Antoinette, showing off how much we value style over substance? That your career doesn't really matter?
*At the time I warped this to justify my entry into a PhD program (which would have been my third fucking graduate degree, had I completed, which thank god I did not).
I am also a lady, which means that both sides are true and are accompanied by intense lady-pressure. Sometimes from actual ladies (the kind who exist in the world outside my brain, saying and doing things), sometimes from pretend ladies (the ideal kind I constantly fret I'm supposed to be like, because they are much smarter, cooler, prettier, classier, more emotionally and mentally resilient than I, etc.). If my brain could talk, which I suppose it does if we can consider writing simply an act of its transcription:
Argument: Your job matters, woman!
"You are so lucky to have grown up in a time where you could have a career. Think about your mom! She was only a nurse because she had three options: be a nurse, a teacher, or a stay-at-home mom. You are lucky to have the option of a career because it means you are not necessarily dependent on a man for income, which means liberation and independence! Well okay, fine, this is just in theory. Of course American society does not support anyone's true liberation or independence, especially that of women; consider how much less you have been paid than every man you've ever worked with. Consider the expensive college degrees you had to buy in order to get your low-paying job. Consider how much you get ripped off at the auto shop because you were actively discouraged from taking shop class in high school. I digress! You are smart and the world needs you. That is why you work for non-profits. Of course what you do for 40 hours a week is important! It is very, very important! Do not feel bad about feeling entitled to move up and on in this world, especially at something you happen to rock at. Also: I think this is what 'leaning in' means?"
Instant-if-not-Simultaneous Counter-Argument: Your job does not matter, woman!
I was fascinated by New Age mysticism as a tween - crystals, auras, fairies in your backyard, past lives, etc. Thirty years later, I still find myself overly receptive to anyone who seems super chill and slightly mystical. I do yoga (do you do yoga? or does one just... yoga?).
Unfortunately there is a massive industry which realizes that I'm an extremely marketable demographic, and they've built it into this thing they call a "lifestyle," and what is very clear about having a clearly defined lifestyle is that there is no room for a career in it. Within the dreamspace of the modern woman's lifestyle, careers are actively discouraged, if not fully frowned upon. Consider: you simply cannot study the Bhagavad Gita AND work 40 hours a week AND detox diet AND prepare fresh smoothies AND wear adorable leggings. One of these things is not like the other! They are incompatible! While hemp smoothies might be tolerated in your workplace, I challenge you to find an office where my my pink lotus print spandex pants are welcome. A real office, I mean, not the corporate headquarters of a hot yoga studio chain.
So whenever I start thinking seriously about my career, updating my resume, tentatively sending out applications for jobs which pay more, offer better benefits, and promise upward career mobility - my soul (which is mostly purple and blue, if you are wondering) starts to keen:
"There is so much more to life than work. You are not going to look back from your deathbed and wish you had worked more! Ultimately, isn't it meaningless? Shouldn't you spend that wasted time polishing your resume in wiser ways - through meditation or a reiki session, perhaps? Calling a loved one and basking in the moment? Go paint a painting! Go write a poem! You are throwing your beautiful artistic soul into a Bartleby abyss. You are breaking my heart."
Is this just me? As I mentioned, I'm not the most emotionally resilient person around. I certainly hope it's abnormal, because it's stressful.
There's an activity I did in grad school (the second time) about figuring out my dream job, and it still strikes me as hilarious. Basically, you're supposed to free your mind of all expectations and describe your dream day. You're supposed to think about the environments you like, the sounds that soothe you, the level of human interaction you find tolerable. My results indicated I needed to be a bookish hermit, aka university-level scholar, who had leisure time and plentiful money, to publish poetry chapbooks, eat organic, and travel abroad extensively.*
I only bring it up because, wow, shocking; my dream career wound up sounding like it was lifted from the pages of Yoga Journal. I wanted to grow up to read important literature, drink tea, go hiking in pretty places, and wear cozy woolen socks. Crazy, I know, but streamlining database reports and procedures didn't work its way in there.
Lately I have lost a lot of interest in The Social Media, because I find that the lifestyle-specific pressure it exerts is so much more worse than anything I encountered as an actual child. In 1992, peer pressure looked like my friend Tara rubbing my leg, trying to catch me in the lie that I was grown-up enough to shave my legs (why did that matter so much to her? Oh, Tara). In 2017, it is a fucking Instagram feed full of women reading important literature, drinking tea, hiking in gorgeous places, and wearing cozy woolen socks - all at like, 1 pm on fucking Tuesdays. Precisely the time they are showing us how much they do not need or care about their careers. They are all living my dream.
But is it my dream? Isn't it the dream we're all fed? That somehow, we should all get to be Marie Antoinette, showing off how much we value style over substance? That your career doesn't really matter?
*At the time I warped this to justify my entry into a PhD program (which would have been my third fucking graduate degree, had I completed, which thank god I did not).
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