I'm more of the 'dip a toe in the water first before cannonballing into the hot springs from Dante's Peak' kinda gal. So, when it comes to deciding WHAT THE HELL I WANT TO DO WITH MY LIFE, my resume is quite diverse. I tinker in something, don't love it, and move on.
My bachelor's degree is in fine art, with a minor in writing. The minor is mostly due to requirements of my choice of major (I had to choose a minor), but it is also my 'second choice', so to say. I flopped between a number of majors before making up my mind. Began in Animal Science in order to get into Biotechnology. Then I realized I am worse at math than Barbie. Switched to writing, which is what I have been told since I was young that I should be doing. I quickly grew bored of it, complete with my usual writer's block, and moved on to Political Science. Got out of that after a year of losing what little bit of rose left on my political glasses rubbed off, and went back to english. Floated there until I looked long and hard at the offerings of my university. I asked myself the big questions; if I could do ANYTHING, what do I want to do? I saw art classes. My first thought was, 'That isn't academics, that is just for fun!' Aha! If I could do ANYTHING, I wanted to do what was FUN.
So I did. Hands down, the best two years of my academic days. Best grades I had all through college. I had previously struggled to stay afloat in classes that couldn't hold my interest. But when I enjoyed and was interested in the subjects, the grades followed. English was a first choice because it has always been easy for me, not because I always enjoyed it. I just seem to have a knack for it, and am good at telling stories. Hell, sometimes I even enjoy that too! But, mostly, I have to be forced to write, either by a class or by a nagging story in my brain that wants to be told. I can't just sit down and stream bullshit without a plan, and I am terrible at planning...
My inability to plan, of course, comes back to my choice in major. Didn't quite think that one through. Sure, art is fun, but my original reason for avoiding it in college still held true; there is no future in it. It is fun. Yay. Hope you think waiting tables is fun too! That is why I originally chose a major in a budding field (science and technology) dealing with something I like (animals). Would it have been fun? Maybe. I like animals, I like computers, I like science and technology. But the reality is I wouldn't be getting paid to watch silly animal tricks on Youtube. I would be in a cubicle, or one scientist in a lab of hundreds, doing repetitive remedial tasks day in and day out. Is that better than doing repetitive, remedial tasks in a kitchen? The pay is better. But in terms of personal fulfillment... all things are equal. Both would have led to their own regrets about my collegiate choices. Damned either way, it seems. I chose the path of instant satisfaction, now I am back to where I started.
So where do I go now? I would love to get paid to tinker in someone's workshop, but that is no longer a reality for me. It isn't a realistic goal either. I technically paid THE UNIVERSITY to tinker around in their workshops, and they patted me on the head in return. I am told to just 'go ahead and do what you love.' Great, you have $35k to spot me for a workshop, a place to put the workshop, materials, and running cost to get me started? Just like writing, I sling some paint and get myself frustrated and disgusted, then abandon it for something else. So goes my life.
So here is my crossroads. I like stuff. Creative stuff. Yay, go me. I have nothing to show for it other than a few decent projects from university. My resume is a mish-mash of entry level jobs that never quite pay the bills and have only bought me time. I can blather on and on about my work ethic, my interests, what kind of shampoo I like, but it means nothing in the job world. What have I done with my life? Nothing. What do I want from life? Happiness. Everything. Nothing. World peace. Personal peace. Love. Art. Passion. Fun. But, mostly, happiness. Who cares? Not employers.
Make my own job, that is what M Monster keeps telling me. What job would that be? A courier for the clouds? Interstellar delivery driver? A server for the rich and famous on Parsonus 9? Cooking for Daleks? My head is in the clouds, and I can't get out. My happiness, my very soul of being, lies in imagination. Being everywhere but here. I can't write, I can't create, because I am too far away, floating and drifting. I suck at jobs that require me to be here, right now, because I always go somewhere I would rather be, in a time I would rather be. I float into places I don't want to be as well, and live with oogabs of regret, remorse, and pain. I can't let bad things go, and there is no room for good things to move in.
So here I am, spinning in circles, on my own cloud, on my own planet, in a solar system located in a galaxy far, far away, in the distant future a time long ago...
Is there any hope of every finding anyone else out here? Of finding my place, a sense of belonging, a home? Or am I going to be spinning these clouds for the rest of my life, laboring away for nothing in return?
At least I wrote something today, even if it was just another ridiculously fantastical and ramble-y blog post. I created something tangible... at least, as tangible as these things can get with me. Today was a good day.
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