I need something to tell people. Anything will do. Really, anything—crocodile farmer, sperm whale fisherperson, letter opener to the obscenely wealthy. See? I wasn’t kidding when I said anything.
I need something to tell the relatives, friends, coworkers and random strangers who sweetly inquire, “And what are you doing next year?” If I have a list of possible futures already conjured up, I can reply confidently to their question with, “Well, Great-Aunt Edna, I’ve discovered, after four years of university, that my true calling lies in the field of nesting-doll creation.”
And while I recognize I’ll be telling a blatant lie, it will be for the questioners’ own good because it will save them the time and effort of consoling me if I were to give a truthful reply to their generic query.
The real answer would be, “Well, Great-Aunt Edna, I’ve discovered after eight years of elementary school, four years of high school, four years of university and countless part-time jobs and volunteer positions, that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing after I receive my diploma in early June and as of right now and for the foreseeable future I am option-less, jobless and hopeless.” If the poor soul forced to endure that response had not already wandered off during that mini rant, then they will quickly do so after hastily assuring me that “something will come up.”
As selfless as this seems, however, I would ultimately be compiling this list in order to calm myself. As someone used to having a plan, a list, a direction, getting ready to graduate in April sans firm plans for the future has been more than a little disconcerting (read: terrifying).
I am determined to find a career in a field that I am ionate about and eager to devote my time and energy to. But this might be more than a tad idealistic as both financial and deadline constraints are closing in on my window of possibilities.
Searching for a direction is frustrating if only because the sheer number of possible paths to follow is often juxtaposed against the seeming impossibility of beating out the who-knows-how-many other applicants also wanting space on that narrow path of choice.
Poorly designed roadways aside, I’m slowly coming to with the cloud of uncertainty that seems to plague more than a few graduating students. I’ll continue to source out options and continue to apply, all the while cognizant that perhaps I have yet to settle on a specific job, internship or graduate program for fear of applying and being rejected. Regardless (and in blissful denial of the debt it will incur), I am committed to pursuing a graduate program in line with my interests and hoping that I will find the right fit in the career world.
While I don’t have a job waiting for me at the end of April, I am coming into the real world with a much more defined sense of myself—my interests, ions, strengths and limitations. In the meantime I can continue to lie about my plans: what sounds better—macramé artist or haberdasher?
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