Ambitions

I think I was fifteen years old when I realized that I had no future. I was supposed to be planning for a career, which was supposed to consist of Doing What I Love and Getting Paid for it. I looked at all of the things I loved, and none of them were likely to make me any money. Which meant that there was no job for me, and I was Doomed. It was my dad, who does have a job doing what he loves, who told me it was okay. Despite all of the advice to the contrary, some people lived happy and fulfilling lives despite not loving their job. Some people had jobs during the day, and had fun at night, and if I defined myself by the things I did outside of work, that was a fine way to be. Which meant that, at fifteen years old or so, I aspired to be a waitress when I grew up, or maybe a secretary.

So when I went to college at 17, I didn't have any plans beyond making friends, writing poetry, and drinking. Which I did. But somehow, in between the sestinas and the drinking, I acquired other ambitions. The summer before my Junior year, I got an internship at a local press. I started making plans to apply for an internship the next year at Random House. But then my best friend started making plans to backpack through Europe that summer, and that sounded like a lot more fun. I didn't apply for the internship. I bought tickets to Paris. Soon after, I stopped reading and writing, except for class assignments, and I did my best to avoid the kinds of classes that made me do them. I went back to my original plan, and after graduation, I got a job at a photo store.

I didn't go to grad school to get a job, because everyone knows you can't get a job with an art degree. I went to grad school because I wanted to spend more time making photographs. But during those three years, ambition seeped in again. I was going to be a famous artist. I was going to teach. I was going to succeed in my chosen path. And when all my letters of application and cirriculum vitaes and show applications turned up nothing, I plotted alternate routes. I would find other ways to teach, bide my time, rebuild my portfolio, and reapply. This job at the University was a perfect place to rebuild.

And yet, I am finding, like I did before, just how feeble these ambitions are. If I were biding my time and building up plans to get a teaching position, to build plans for a tenure-track position, I would be doing it right now. I'd be spending every week making work, I'd be sending my work out every month, I'd be writing syllabi and pitching it to the school, and if they wouldn't let me teach, I'd go to the community colleges and community art centers. I'm not doing any of this. I don't want to be doing any of this. I am realizing that even if I did those things, if I made myself do the work, I would be gaining the opportunity to keep doing that work. I would be gaining a committee looking over my shoulder to count the lines on my CV, and a stack of theory to read and retain, and a job that doesn't end at the door, but permeates my life, for the rest of my life. I am realizing, finally, that I don't want that. I never have.

When given the choice, I always choose the path with the most knitting and dancing and Xbox playing and napping on the grass in my backyard. Those are the things that matter to me, that I will make sacrifices to keep. My ambition is a life filled with those things.