This fantasy is so intense, I finally had to confess it to Jim; I was afraid he’d look at my internet search history and see that “affordable Cape Cod mansions” was all I ever really use my computer for. He thought this was a nice idea, and a dream he would certainly share in, but it was obvious to him that it was so unobtainable there was really no point in having an entire laptop devoted to the cause.
Jim gave me a dose of reality, by explaining that the $6.4 million harbor home I had my eyes on was perhaps just a bit outside our price range. So I chose to reframe my goal. I decided that the large lake an hour from where we currently live must certainly have homes for sale that are slightly more affordable.
And indeed I found some. I made Jim and the girls crowd around my laptop to flip through pictures of lake cottages overlooking an expansive aquatic horizon. Still not believing that Jim was as invested in this dream as I was, I made a call to a realtor and set up a series of house showings. While in the second house of the day, our oldest looked up at me and said, “What are we even doing here?” To which Jim responded, “This is your mother’s goal: to work so hard, she can finally relax.”
I’ve noticed that most of my issues as a highly ambitious and intensely motivated individual were based on the idea that there was, in fact, A Golden Ticket. A single achievement, a status, or a title, in which I would finally feel satisfied.
On the day of my dissertation defense—which was a highly emotional and surreal experience—I emerged from the room, kissed my husband and declared: “I’m done. Not just with school, but with having to go after something big. I’ve proved everything and anything I’ve ever needed to prove to myself. And I can finally relax.”
My husband hugged me proudly, with tears in his eyes, and said, “Oh, Meg. That’s great of you to say. But I’m going to put a clock on that. Let’s see how long you can go.” Two weeks later I announced I would be writing a book.
Many of the meetings I have with students, current or prospective, pivot around the idea that a Golden Ticket exists. Current students are sometimes convinced that if they don’t take the policy course that is offered in the spring, then they won’t be able to go after the particular job they have their eye on. As if their entire career rests on one course. As if hiring managers dig deep down into transcripts and review course syllabi.
Prospective students always ask what they can do with the degree once they earn it. I often reply, “Not a damn thing. Or, everything. Your call.” The degree, sadly, is not a Golden Ticket. I cannot guarantee anyone anything. I can assure them they will have a good experience, and that they will learn a lot, but their diploma will not be a one-stop ticket on a train to success.
This is a helluva recruitment strategy.
Even my children live in a world where the streets are paved with Golden Tickets. My oldest believes that if she can just have one piece of left-over Halloween candy after dinner, she will be happy. Or, as she convinces us, if she gets one piece tonight she won’t whine about one tomorrow. Or, more threateningly, if we give her one right now, she won’t throw an epic fit at bedtime.
My youngest follows a similar line of thought—perhaps genetic, but probably environmental—that if we give her just one blanket, she will lie down and go to sleep. But then later she’s convinced it’s a stuffed animal that she needs. And yet, the stuffed animal also needs a blanket. And what about a glass of water? One more song?
Each girl living in a world they construct, and convince us of, where there’s one thing that will solve the problem. Tame the beast.
But, as is almost always the case, that beast is within us.
We all find ourselves searching for the thing that’s going to fix it all. How often do I say things at home like, “If I can just get the house clean enough, I can relax.” Or, “If I just do better at meal planning, cooking each night won’t be as stressful.” Or, more ridiculously, “If I just get to a point in my career and life that I’m satisfied, I can buy a mansion on the beach and relax.”
See, the problem with my beach house idea, a problem Jim has always recognized but is too kind to point out, is that a person like me will never be satisfied in life and work. There is no end point. No satisfaction point. No one thing that will ultimately be good enough, lasting enough, or satisfying enough. In fact, the only person who would be able to reach that point in their career is an apathetic and lazy person. And how is an apathetic and lazy person ever going to work hard enough to buy a beach house?
So it goes.
I remind my students that there’s no single class that will make or break the entire degree program. And there’s no degree program that will make or break an entire career. All anything ever is and ever will be is an investment in ourselves. A declaration of what we care about, what interests us, and on what we choose to devote our time.
My daughters are never going to eat enough candy to feel satisfied. Sick to their stomachs, maybe, but no single Fun Size Snickers is ever going to make Lowery go to bed without a fight. And no single blanket, book or bunny is going to make London feel comforted enough to just lie the hell down and go to sleep.
And a beach house on Cape Cod would never truly satisfy me. I mean, I have a really good idea for how I would decorate the look-out perch, and what I would do with the fifth bedroom, but then I know I’d run around saying, “If I can just get all 5,000 square feet of it clean, I can go relax at the beach today.”
And when I look back at all the decisions I’ve made, goals I’ve achieved, the people I’ve had in my life, it will be clear to see there was no single thing that defines it all.
But instead, it will be an entire life experience that’s just the ticket.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.