I tried to write this post from at least six
different angles before finally throwing in the towel, which also happens to be
the same as throwing my mother under the bus. (Sorry, Mom. Good thing you don’t
read my blog—probably.)
When I was in kindergarten, my mother dressed me up
as a lawyer for career day—complete with a little briefcase and everything. My
skirt suit matched what she wore that day. What I wanted to wear was my red cowgirl boots and a fabulous dress with a
tutu and carry around paints because I was going to be a cowgirl, artist,
singer when I grew up. Ambitious.
My concept of what I wanted to be slowly morphed
into one big question mark by the time I hit sixth grade. My father saw this as
an opportunity to influence me toward what he believed was the wave of the
future. It began with software developer or computer sciences, but when I
showed an almost degenerative ability in that area, he switched to bioethicist or
diabetes counselor for old people. Maybe a computer science specialist,
bioethicist, diabetic gerontology counselor. I think we know where I got my
ambition.
Whenever my mother would overhear one of our
conversations, she would smile knowingly and condescendingly. Silly of us to
even discuss what my options were.
What a monumental waste of time. She knew what I was destined for, but she
would bide her time until I came to the inevitable conclusion myself.
English is what I ultimately wanted to major in in
college. I love reading books, so I should do what I love. Not so, said both my
parents (Father could betray me at the worst moments!). A college education was
for studying something you couldn’t do on your own and preparing for a real
occupation. What in the world did I think I could do with an English degree
they asked, their voices husky with laughter.
Joke’s on them. My first job was book editor.
Although I think the argument was a draw since I didn’t major in English and was still able to land an
English-centric job. But in my diary I counted it Buttercup 1, Parents 0.
Obviously I couldn’t count on them for any sort of occupational advice in the
future. (That didn’t stop me, because who wants to be responsible for a
decision that big? It’s easier to just blame your parents if it goes horribly
wrong!)
However, the company I worked for was not ideal in
many ways, and soon after my second year I started looking for a way out. I
moved back home due to a confluence of forces and considered everything from
working two part-time retail jobs to going back to school. This is when my
mother preyed on my weak mental state. Why didn’t I study for the GRE? In fact,
she’d even pay for the test if I also
agreed to take the LSAT.
Folks, my parents cast long shadows. They’re both
lawyers and are wickedly awesome and adult and involved and responsible and
intimidating. My mother, for example, worked for the DA’s office straight out
of law school prosecuting criminal drug cases and never lost a case. Then she was recruited to do the same thing by
the US Attorney General’s office—so on the federal level. She could have been a
high profile judge or something by now, but she decided for her family’s sake
she’d confine her awesomeness to her and Dad’s law firm and running the women’s
ministry at church and starting a band program in our school and serving on
city committees about things like LCD signage and ethics in law practice and on
and on it goes.
So part of my lifelong reticence to pursue law could
be rooted in not wanting to compete with that shadow. But what played an even
larger part in my decision was that my parents worked so hard all the time. We
were never on a vacation that my parents weren’t also working. My brothers and
I were in daycare from the time we were toddlers, and when we were too old for
that, we had to be involved in extracurriculars because my parents worked all
day and then some. If my mom had to pick us up from school or an
extracurricular, she was always late.
It was just a question of how late.
If it was under half an hour, she was practically on time.
Now—this isn’t some sob story. We had family
dinners, my parents were involved in school and homework, we went on vacations
together that were awesome, and my
parents never missed a single game, debate match, or play. My brothers and I
have never felt neglected or abandoned. In almost every way, my parents were
exemplary in their roles of mother and father. But that didn’t leave any other
time for my parents—no personal time that wasn’t either filled with work or
kids or both. And it was a strain to fit it all in.
And, to be concise, law just doesn’t appeal to me.
When I took the LSAT as a way to get my GRE paid
for, I studied really hard because I can’t not take tests and studying
seriously. This was a mistake. Not only did it get my mother’s hopes up, but it
also confused my poor mind into thinking “So we’re into law now? Guess I should
plan out a career trajectory.” And that’s what I did. Which is how I ended up
thinking I should totally be a jury selector or a mediator. What you’ll no
doubt notice is that neither of those
involve being an actual lawyer.
I did well on the LSAT. When I finished, my father
took me out for a celebratory dinner of fried fat at Chili’s, where I confided
to him that I wasn’t sold on being a lawyer. But how would I ever tell my
mother?
“Buttercup, honey, I don’t understand what you think
your mother will do to you if you don’t pursue law. She’s never been able to
restrain herself with you and your brothers. If you decide to pursue
psychology, she’ll jump on the bandwagon. Just show her you’ve done some research
know what you’re talking about and she’ll start helping you plan the future you
choose in no time flat.”
(In case you can’t read his tone from the “honey” he
threw in, his voice was filled with paternal patronization. He clearly didn’t
think there was any reason at all to believe that disappointing my mother was
something to be feared. I find this surprising considering how many years he’s
been married to her.)
The night after the LSAT, the nightmares began.
Horrible dreams where I was either swallowing my teeth or my teeth fell out or
my teeth broke while I was eating something. Every night.
And then I stopped working on my law school applications
and started researching non-law careers instead. The dreams stopped. Obviously,
my subconscious did not want to go to
law school. Now to tell my mother.
I did as my dad suggested, gathering up loads of
information about current job market trends and job stability projections and
salary averages and gave her a binder of information.
“What’s this?”
“Just some research I’ve been doing on possible
careers.”
She smiled. “What type of law, you mean?” She opened
the binder.
“No. I don’t think—” Her smile was gone and she was
arching her eyebrows in disappointed disbelief. “I don’t think I’m going to law
school probably. Maybe. I don’t know!”
I squawked and ran away.
A couple days later, my parents and I were eating
dinner. My mother’s lips had been perpetually pursed since my super mature,
confident confrontation with her about my future. Staring at her dinner plate,
she asked me, “So which law schools have you applied to so far?”
My father and I paused, exchanging a worried glance.
Surely I had made it clear that I didn’t intend on attending law school.
“Mom, I’m not going to law school. I’m going to take
the GRE and do something else. Probably something in psychology. Did you read
all that information I printed f—”
She threw her napkin down, scooted back her chair,
and cut me to pieces with her ice blue glare. “Well don’t expect me to take any
part of it. Clearly you can’t make up your mind or stick to decisions you’ve
made. I don’t even want to hear about it since it probably won’t happen anyway.”
She stood up and stomped away in her ridiculous house slipper/sandals.
I was too stunned to even tell my father “I told you
so.” I never pass up an opportunity to tell my genius parents I told you so.
Eventually, after a few minutes of silence, I turned to him and said, “Uhm. Did
you expect that?”
He laughed. Laughed.
Clearly he didn’t understand what had happened. My mother had disowned me. Over
not going into the profession she had chosen for me probably when I was first
born but definitely by the time I was in kindergarten. Even in my worst
imaginings she hadn’t reacted that way.
“Well, we’ll just have to work on her,” he said. As
if it would be as simple as that. Cha right.
It has been two years since I took the LSAT and crushed
my mother’s dreams (she eventually started talking to me again), and I finally
took the GRE this August. I took it blind because I couldn’t be bothered to
brush up on math. Which is why I scored somewhere in the 30th
percentile. Taking grad schools by storm and totally proving my mother wrong.
Right.
The problem with this is that I won’t be able to get
into a program until Fall 2014. I’ve decided to take courses that will count
toward my program as an unclassified student which is way more expensive, but I
can’t stand the idea of putting my future off for two more semesters. However,
the program I was/am going to apply for is changing in 2014 and might take
longer to finish, and some of the classes I asked to get into have refused me.
Which makes me just want to study professional writing and give altruism the
middle finger.
This place feels very familiar. In undergrad I had wanted
to study English but ended up majoring in social sciences because that’s what
my parents suggested. (I actually ended up majoring in the same thing my mother
majored in—surprise, surprise.)
I told my mother I was thinking about just studying
professional writing because I scored super high in verbal on the GRE and
they’d probably be thrilled to have me instead of apathetic like the psyc
program was.
“And what job can you get with that?”
I sighed dramatically as I’m wont to do with this
line of adult questioning. It’s so tiringly practical. I much prefer to dream
about the types of things I might do one day given enough time to practice my
trade and maybe a little help from God. Like be the next J.K. Rowling or George
R.R. Martin. How I feed myself or pay my insurance during that practice time
will just work itself out.
“Well, I could maybe just teach adjunct and write
and edit freelance…”
Her eyebrows raised as if she was surprised that I
was capable of such stupidity, but her eyes were coolly disdainful. She knew
full well I was capable of that level of stupidity. So this was going well.
“Buttercup. You need a full-time job with benefits.
Without one, you’ll end up poor and homeless.”
I laughed. She didn’t. Okay, so that was a serious
argument.
“Mom, I will not end up homeless if I don’t have a
job that pays benefits. Plenty of people have jobs that don’t pay benefits and
they have a place to sleep—some are even above the poverty line.”
“Name one person.”
I seriously didn’t think I would have to because
there are so many careers that are contract based. And yet, every single one of
those careers completely flew from my mind. But thank God I listen to NPR.
“All of the support staff in D.C.” She looked
doubtful. “It’s true. They all have to go on Obama Care.”
She rolled her
eyes and went back to reading her book. I waited a minute or so for a
response. Maybe she was just thinking.
“Are…are you mad because I won the argument?”
She snorted. Won the argument. As if! “I’m not going
to talk to you when you’re not even making sense.”
What???
“Uhm…”
Still not looking up, she said, “We’re not going to
have a conversation about this.”
I got up to leave the room and said over my shoulder
(I think I’ve already proven what a scaredy cat I can be), “So that’s a no on
you supporting my decision.”
“What decision? You don’t even understand the
opportunities or consequences tied to your proposed change in plans.”
Lawyered.
The thing is, she’s right. But how could I possibly
know all the consequences and opportunities attached to any decision or course of action? This is what paralyzes our
generation, I believe. Our Baby Boomer parents are financially supportive, but
they aren’t very supportive of our dreams. Sure, when we were young they were
all, “You can be/do anything you want to be/do!” But then we grow up and
they’re all, “I didn’t raise you to be a humanties major!”
I am not concerned with fulfilling my parents’
dream(s) for me—obviously, since I’m not a lawyer nor a bioethicist, computer
scientist, counselor to diabetic oldsters. But I do want their approval of my career choice I eventually land on. I
want them to be proud of me. I want my cake and to eat it too.
Add to this my mother’s argument, which is exactly
why I hadn’t chosen another career. I had thought editing books was it. But I was wrong, and the
possibility that I can choose wrong again terrifies me. It’s a type of failure.
And since I cannot know all the opportunities and consequences attached to my
decision, I find it impossible to fully commit to a decision.
Giving rise to the Peter Pan Generation—the other
name professional condescenders call the Millennial generation. It’s not that
we don’t want to be hardworking professionals. It’s that there are forces in
our lives that try to talk us out of making the decision we want. Which delays
it for a while. And that is why we’re almost 30 or already in our early 30's and
still trying to figure it all out. Perhaps what our generation is missing is
the fire in the belly that makes us defy all other opinions and all obstacles
and all self-doubts.
Why do you think our generation is finding it so
difficult to decide what career to follow? Or, if the career has been chosen,
actually pursuing that career?
