Year One

One year ago I wrote:

Freshly popped out of the loins of (Insert Liberal Arts College here) English:Creative Writing.
  Current couch-surfer extraordinaire.  

Job applicant by day, writer by night.  

Ultimately, undecided.

These words came from a deep well of sarcasm, resentment, and fear.  But they were important.  Although I may have succumbed to the darkness that comes with repeated rejection, and had finally confronted the four year suspicion that my dream career may have roots stemming more from idealism than reality, these words represented the remnants of hope.  Hope which was now only a sprinkled dandruff, waiting to decide whether to cling to the edges of my mind, or simply drift away.

So, I drifted.  I explored.  I was elated when I discovered a new possibility.  

"I'm going to be a Journalist!... Kayak Guide!... Teacher!... Paralegal!... Zookeeper!... Nurse!... Geologist!"

I courted each of these options for a time.  I only flirted with some; these career fantasies lasting from a few hours to a few weeks. Others provided me with months of reprieve from career neurosis.  For a select few, I suppose there are still graduate programs awaiting my application. 

Each possibility was like a new drug, providing a high to bring me back from the blow of realizing, once again, this was not the path for me. 

Ironically, it took a real high to bring me back to reality. Why dally in a whirlwind of career romances when the lovely Lady Lorazepam is available in pharmacy's across the nation?

At this point I must clarify, this is not a blog about my drug addiction.  Like most twisted-minded creative writing student produced from a liberal arts institute, a part of me yearns for something as enchanting to write about as a drug addiction.  No such luck.

Alas, it only took me one dance with Lady Lorazepam to realize that my approach to adulthood needed to be revamped.

As much as I would love to do a blow-by-blow analysis of this drug induced epiphany, I recently watched a TED Talk from Adam Leipzig where, in essence, he summed up exactly what I was having such a hard time coming to terms with.

He says:

We call all agree "the unexamined life is not worth living." But if all you're doing is examining,  you're not living. 

Essentially, Socrates (via liberal arts philosophy requirements)  managed to mind-fuck me into uncertainty.

Well played, Sir.

The question is: what in the hell am I going to do for the next 30+ years to survive and thrive?

I always thought the answer was choosing the correct career path.  

 "Correct Career"= -Time + -Misery + $$$$$$$ 

But why am I, at the age of 23, examining how much my time and unhappiness is worth?  

Yes, partly because I'm cynical.  But also, because I haven't found something I want to do. 

I'm going to have many loves in my life, and I want my career to be one of them.  One can survive and thrive with very little money.  In fact, it's what I enjoy most.  So while the economic aspects of my destiny may be unclear right now, there are plenty of other elements I can prioritize.  

True, I am no longer freshly birthed and covered in liberal arts placenta, nor am I surfing on couches, or riding the tide of job applications and rejections, but I am writing again.

I am a waitress, a cat owner, a car owner, an occasional shmuck, a friend, daughter, sister, and roommate.  

But, I remain ultimately, undecided.  

And I suspect that is exactly what I am supposed to be.