Honk honk
How should I spend my life? That is a question.
My superior and I were sitting alfresco in the relatively emptied food court of the university campus, taking advantage of the school holidays for a peaceful lunch outdoors. I spooned the watery porridge doused in braised sauce and clipped a piece of duck between my chopsticks. Already a slow eater by nature, I dropped to 0.75x my original pace, trying to chew thoughtfully (both literally and metaphorically) on what Dane was saying between his large mouthfuls of rice.
“It comes down to this then — where do you see yourself in ten years? You’d have to start planning for that.” He was saying kindly and eagerly, and I thought to myself how strange and comforting it was to hear this at an appraisal rather than a job interview.
Dane had his heart in the right place, and I couldn’t have asked for a better boss. After affirming a reasonable job well done the past year, he was drawing up potential plans for me in the coming months. Unfortunately, they were not as exciting for me as either of us had hoped. I was under-utilized, and Dane was making it clear(er) that regardless of whether I moved with these potential plans or not, I would continue to be so. And he didn’t want that for me. And I was touched.
Unless I enjoyed cruising like this as some of the other semi-retired or older folks did, he was saying, he hoped that I would begin to look for something bigger for myself, even if it might be somewhere else.
I felt the sincerity behind his unspoken words. He knew I was not flying here; I was just a sitting goose that had barely begun. I had to begin somewhere somehow and fly this comfortable nest if I intended to do things. I knew that full well and hearing this from Dane, who from the beginning had the best intentions in wanting to grow young people, pushed me again to reconsider all the thoughts that had been roosting in me for months.
Where did I see myself in ten years? Heck, I couldn’t even see myself in the next three months, much less ten years. But that is a poor excuse, and I would have to come around from the fear of projecting a little into the long term to work it out backwards, at least to a reasonably realistic extent.
I had lost all motivation to work by the time I had my first sip of after-lunch coffee. It was yet another slow day and I drink mindlessly, reading and scrolling and switching tabs once again to familiar islands of the news, of calls for conference papers, and religious and literary articles. I absorb it all like a sponge, getting lost in one or two pieces, then envying how people could write such gems. I switch too quickly mid-read, trying to sense which realm spoke to me the most and whether I could see myself fit more fully into these worlds.
Have I done enough? Am I looking at the right places? Contemplating the right things? How will I ever know?
These questions could never be well-answered, so I try to reassure myself however I can, pulling out a fresh virtual sheet to trace my recent trajectory up to this point.
You took a year to try, I remind myself, to really lean into this place and position, to see how far it could take you if you really applied yourself. And what did you learn? That despite your best efforts in self-learning and administration, in team days and office bonding events, there was only so much you could take from here. Just because. It is no one’s fault; it is what it is.
Was it all wasted then? No. No, it was necessary. It was necessary and it was good to get a better understanding of everything, of this place, and of yourself. And there is a conclusion. You must leave.
The next question you explored was “where to?”, and you trialed several courses accordingly.
You applied rigorously to several call for papers, ranging from religious to literary and Victorian studies, just to keep the academic brain warm and to see if studying (again) might be a possibility. You didn’t get accepted into all the calls (rejected once), but you did scrap together something for a conference in June (accepted once). What did you learn from this? Honestly, not a lot. Not enough. This was a bit of a miss, and you’re not sure whether it’s because of the topic or yourself or it was just an off season or all the above.
You also applied for and was interviewed for a position you were really excited about, even if you were less sure about it afterwards as you counted the cost. Throwing a cover letter together, updating your resume to apply over the weekend and getting the call back almost immediately after for an interview from late May to mid-June is applaudable.
And I do so applaud myself for having tried at all, to snatch at “the dream”, even though I would shrink from it afterwards and feel the relief of the rejection, that nothing would change for me after all just yet. We did a good deal of updating ourselves with the interview prep and the paperwork, all of which would be in good stead somehow. We also heard more from the industry of interest (no matter how bleak) and gained more information. Still a win.
What is there next to trial?
You must write. You must write.
But what? Write what?
I had a plan. I had titles and content and schedules to upload things.
But I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if this is important to write about, if it does indeed build up and value add to anyone, or if it will only enforce divisive lines that don’t ultimately matter. Would I just be creating an echo chamber of writings for myself? Would I sway myself into extremities? Conversely, if I treaded carefully, would I be able to write from a place of conviction?
Am I qualified?
It’s just a project, I try to psych myself, a writing project, a portfolio, perhaps some steppingstone for somewhere else.
Is this how I should spend my life, even in pockets of projects? In this particular pocket of a project?
But then what other choice do I have?
I have to begin somewhere.
So I suppose. Here I go?
