(no subject)
One of my main troubles is that there are so many options and yet only one life to live. I wish I could then take that and say "So I am going to try all that I can!" but the fact is that the constraints of my life (of any life) depress me, so instead of spending the day trying all that I can, I spend the day upset, crying, depressed, unfulfilled.
A few years ago I was in this spot. I closed my eyes, spun the wheel, and landed on pastry. I got a pastry job, went to pastry school, learned a lot, worked my ass off, got a full-time job, couldn't hack it, realized it wasn't what I actually wanted, and returned to the safety of magazines. I took another step into safety with taking a full-time magazine job, then put myself on a professional trajectory by taking the job I have now. I'm glad I did it because it at least furthers me in some goal, regardless of whether that's the goal I "really" want.
How many lives will I take a stab at before I die? I've given up on finding the "really" goal, the "this is what I was meant to do" goal. I don't think I was "meant" to do any one thing; it's arrogant for me to think that, actually, as I'm mildly gifted in a variety of areas but not so profoundly gifted in any one area as to make that the "meant" choice. But there may be other lives for me to try.
Or are there? Is my thinking that some sort of delusion? I had a fight with R and during it I thought impetuously, "FINE, we'll break up, I'll go to law school, and I'll be a New York City assistant district attorney. FINE." Fact is, that will never happen; I am too old, too unconnected, not quite dedicated enough, perhaps not smart enough, to enter that hugely competitive arena. This is not me being down on myself; it is, as far as I am concerned, fact. I wonder if these thoughts of "other" lives are watered-down versions of that ridiculous thought. I'll go to law school, realize that isn't what I want to do, go back to freelancing and travel around the world, tire of that and go back into magazines, be 50 and be in the same professional spot I'm in now. I'll die a "crazy old cat lady" without the cats or cultural endearment confered upon crazy old cat ladies. And someone who knows me now with whom I'll lose touch will hear of me and think, "How deluded of her to think she could really try another life. How privileged, how naive."
I've spent the past week and a half living a life that is different than my regular routine. It's shaken me up. As hard as it is to spend three and a half days deliberating in a room with eleven of my peers, it was so different, it was thrilling. I've always been thrilled by the law; those of you who read the Little Pink piece know that the media law class I took in college excited me. What I didn't put in there was that that wasn't the first class that excited me; it was the only class that excited me. I went to college for five years and only had one class that fascinated me enough to make me do all of the extra suggested reading-hell, all of the required reading, as I'm good at skimming and faking-and it was because of how invigorating I found the language, technicalities, and intent of the law. Spending a week in the judicial system, in a minor but essential role, did the same. I felt more mentally acute and excited than I have for a while-certainly more engaged than I feel by magazines. I don't know how much of that is essentially the glamour aspect of the law: I got to do the fun part, the part at the end where all that matters is a verdict*, in the ever-exciting field of criminal law. It was a vacation. And still: I loved it. Even the "boring" parts were exciting to me. The matters of law that the judge explained during his charge were the most fascinating part of all to me. I ate it up. I think I fell into the default role of clarifying certain legal matters to other jurors because I was the foreperson, but it's a role I likely would have filled anyway (I was not the alpha juror in other aspects).
Is this an indication that the law is indeed a path I should pursue? It's been on my mind intermittently for, um, 18 years; it's been on my mind more seriously since taking that media law class in 1997. But is that an indication of a bored mind, or an indication that this really is something I want to pursue? How much of this yearning is another, more "serious" version of closing my eyes and spinning the wheel in a hope of breaking out of my cycle of dysthymia and depression? How much of it is because I am genuinely enthralled by the law? Do I need this change, another career change, a different kind of change altogether? [ETA: How much of this is me doing the same thing I'm doing in regards to writing: Being around words all the time but not writing them means that I am exhausted by words and then have a reason to not write anything besides journal entries, table of contents lines, or briefs?] How much of this is a sign of desperation: Please help me, I'm unhappy?
*We didn't reach one. We were still deliberating but it was clear we were going to forever be deadlocked; one of the jurors didn't show yesterday morning, forcing a mistrial. On February 28, during jury selection, she notified the judge before she was selected that she was the maid of honor in a wedding in Jamaica on March 10; he assured her it would be over by then. It wasn't, and though he instructed her to bring in her ticket and she did, he didn't even address the issue. She apparently decided to go to the wedding anyway.
A few years ago I was in this spot. I closed my eyes, spun the wheel, and landed on pastry. I got a pastry job, went to pastry school, learned a lot, worked my ass off, got a full-time job, couldn't hack it, realized it wasn't what I actually wanted, and returned to the safety of magazines. I took another step into safety with taking a full-time magazine job, then put myself on a professional trajectory by taking the job I have now. I'm glad I did it because it at least furthers me in some goal, regardless of whether that's the goal I "really" want.
How many lives will I take a stab at before I die? I've given up on finding the "really" goal, the "this is what I was meant to do" goal. I don't think I was "meant" to do any one thing; it's arrogant for me to think that, actually, as I'm mildly gifted in a variety of areas but not so profoundly gifted in any one area as to make that the "meant" choice. But there may be other lives for me to try.
Or are there? Is my thinking that some sort of delusion? I had a fight with R and during it I thought impetuously, "FINE, we'll break up, I'll go to law school, and I'll be a New York City assistant district attorney. FINE." Fact is, that will never happen; I am too old, too unconnected, not quite dedicated enough, perhaps not smart enough, to enter that hugely competitive arena. This is not me being down on myself; it is, as far as I am concerned, fact. I wonder if these thoughts of "other" lives are watered-down versions of that ridiculous thought. I'll go to law school, realize that isn't what I want to do, go back to freelancing and travel around the world, tire of that and go back into magazines, be 50 and be in the same professional spot I'm in now. I'll die a "crazy old cat lady" without the cats or cultural endearment confered upon crazy old cat ladies. And someone who knows me now with whom I'll lose touch will hear of me and think, "How deluded of her to think she could really try another life. How privileged, how naive."
I've spent the past week and a half living a life that is different than my regular routine. It's shaken me up. As hard as it is to spend three and a half days deliberating in a room with eleven of my peers, it was so different, it was thrilling. I've always been thrilled by the law; those of you who read the Little Pink piece know that the media law class I took in college excited me. What I didn't put in there was that that wasn't the first class that excited me; it was the only class that excited me. I went to college for five years and only had one class that fascinated me enough to make me do all of the extra suggested reading-hell, all of the required reading, as I'm good at skimming and faking-and it was because of how invigorating I found the language, technicalities, and intent of the law. Spending a week in the judicial system, in a minor but essential role, did the same. I felt more mentally acute and excited than I have for a while-certainly more engaged than I feel by magazines. I don't know how much of that is essentially the glamour aspect of the law: I got to do the fun part, the part at the end where all that matters is a verdict*, in the ever-exciting field of criminal law. It was a vacation. And still: I loved it. Even the "boring" parts were exciting to me. The matters of law that the judge explained during his charge were the most fascinating part of all to me. I ate it up. I think I fell into the default role of clarifying certain legal matters to other jurors because I was the foreperson, but it's a role I likely would have filled anyway (I was not the alpha juror in other aspects).
Is this an indication that the law is indeed a path I should pursue? It's been on my mind intermittently for, um, 18 years; it's been on my mind more seriously since taking that media law class in 1997. But is that an indication of a bored mind, or an indication that this really is something I want to pursue? How much of this yearning is another, more "serious" version of closing my eyes and spinning the wheel in a hope of breaking out of my cycle of dysthymia and depression? How much of it is because I am genuinely enthralled by the law? Do I need this change, another career change, a different kind of change altogether? [ETA: How much of this is me doing the same thing I'm doing in regards to writing: Being around words all the time but not writing them means that I am exhausted by words and then have a reason to not write anything besides journal entries, table of contents lines, or briefs?] How much of this is a sign of desperation: Please help me, I'm unhappy?
*We didn't reach one. We were still deliberating but it was clear we were going to forever be deadlocked; one of the jurors didn't show yesterday morning, forcing a mistrial. On February 28, during jury selection, she notified the judge before she was selected that she was the maid of honor in a wedding in Jamaica on March 10; he assured her it would be over by then. It wasn't, and though he instructed her to bring in her ticket and she did, he didn't even address the issue. She apparently decided to go to the wedding anyway.