A brief essay on my future
You know, I really don’t know what I want to do with my life. When I try to think about my future, I just imagine myself, standing there, looking much older than I am right now. I am not doing anything. I’m just standing there with an interchangeable background still. What is my job? What is my life like? Am I happy? God, I hope I am. Because with the way adolescence is treating me, you’d think I will never be happy. But maybe I chose my future so particularly that I am forced to be happy. Maybe my future ends up good and easy going. But how do I get there? I don’t know. I don’t even know what I am doing tomorrow, let alone with my life.
I’d like to do a lot of things. Getting an idea for a future goal really isn’t my problem. I have wanted to be a psychologist for a long time now. But I don’t know if I am so committed to nine years of college for a doctorate. Then there is writing. I’ve always been good at that yet somehow I manage to fail English class because I hate doing homework. If I hate homework I don’t know if nine years of school is a good idea. But with writing, you see, there is all these deadlines and learning about Victorian literature and French philosophy. I just want to write, and get paid. So, then, there is this totally different idea of becoming a filmmaker. Ever since I was a little kid, I loved making movies and recording things. I recorded over my great aunt’s birthday film just to practice bootlegging in my grandparent’s living room. I know, and yes, I got in trouble. But no matter how much I love the art of film, and trust me, I watch a lot of movies, my mother doesn’t see it as a practical idea to land myself some money and a stable career.
I can’t go to medical school because I will throw up if you talk about veins or how we have a heartbeat. My science teacher literally had to stop giving her lecture during class because she thought I was going to vomit. She asked me if I wanted to leave the room while she talked about blood. I can stand the idea of blood, when being described in a literal sense. I am good at describing with the written word. But novelist isn’t really in the best interest, as said before. So journalist? Well, I don’t really care much for current news. I don’t really care much for people either, so becoming a sales person is also out of the option. I’d just be very cynical and rude all the time. “Buy this or I will stab you”. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t become a sales person. Or waitress; I don’t have much hospitality.
I couldn’t be an artist. I mean sure, yes, that one time in Studio in Art I drew a really good picture. But I don’t care very much for art. I like photography, but I hate photographers. What with their hipster attitude and putting everyday things in black and white just to give it a meaning. They’re always trying to find some kind of meaning. I couldn’t be an artist. I would look at an apple and be like “That is a nicely drawn apple” and someone would come up and try to tell me that it is the “Fruit of the world and the heart of God”. Speaking of apples, I’m not very good at transitions. Nevertheless, I couldn’t become a chief. I burned my hand one time on the top of an oven while taking out a casserole and because of that very traumatic event, I make all my friends take food out of the oven now. You can give me the thickest mitts ever and I’d find a way to manipulate someone into taking those already burnt cookies out for me. So there are two more paths I cannot take.
Let’s just get all sports out of the picture right now. I can barely walk up stairs. Do you really expect me to go work out when there is a perfectly good couch right there? I don’t really like most sports, anyway. The sports I enjoy, I am not very good at. Well, I am not very good at any sport and that right there is exactly my point. I’m not going to become an athlete. I don’t have very much will power. “Hmm I could go for a jog but oh look some Oreos are all alone why don’t I bring them some joy”. I also couldn’t be a physical therapist. As I said before, I am not a people person and touching these same people, who are sweaty, nonetheless, and making them move in all sorts of positions really isn’t what I want to spend my life doing. I don’t even like shaking hands with people. When I was younger, I would wipe my hand off after people gave peace in church. The catholic school teachers didn’t like that very much. But then I moved into public school where sweaty hands are the norm.
I really couldn’t be a teacher. No offense to teachers, but unless your life is exactly like every cliché movie where the teacher with the troubled past reaches out to troubled kids and you all live happily ever after, I don’t want to become part of a schooling system. If I was an English teacher I would hate the novels they made the kids read and make them do writing tasks, because, hey, I like writing. If I was a history teacher all I would be doing was looking out for the kid like me who actually thought of an easier way Hitler could have gotten rid of all the Jews. Putting this disturbing fact aside, I couldn’t be a science teacher because most sciences either disgust or bore me. I like some aspects of science, but there is usually math involved. And if I was a math teacher, well let’s just say that this would only be occurring if we were in a place called hell. Hopefully I could somehow defend my way out of that situation.
I’m a good arguer. I think so at least. Why? Do you have proof I am not? I’d like to talk to your lawyer. No. I can’t become any part of our government and that includes lawyers and attorneys and tax officials. I don’t want to study law and learn laws and read Latin. For a while, back in Middle School, I wanted to become a lawyer. But then I read all the courses you have to take, and how long it takes and the bar exam and I got completely overwhelmed. I also, like many others, don’t really care to work in the government. Don’t worry I won’t be holding a sign at a rally, explaining the corruptness of it. I’ll just be standing with my background still, wondering what in god’s name I’m doing with my life. Perhaps a lawyer can explain it to me.
And then there is always the option of going to a four year college and working in a cubicle and hating my life. But I can’t sit still during a three hour exam let alone spend eight hours a day doing paper work. I can’t hear phrases like “The copier is jammed” or “Open Microsoft Excel and make a new template”. I refuse to sit at a computer screen and read memos and listen to that sound a fax machine makes. Do people even send faxes anymore? I can’t hear Cisco phones ring and padded feet on carpet. I just couldn’t. I would lose my mind. I would be the one to set the office on fire and watch outside, sipping from my foam cup filled with coffee, as ashes and soot fall onto my well-pressed blazer.
So, what do I do? Who do I become? Standing in front of a background still, if that is even a thing, is that even a real thing? Did I make that up? The point is I can’t stand in front of some random city, while people busy by. I can’t just stand somewhere, like an open field, in everyday clothing, in an everyday mood, ready for the world. I don’t know what I want to do. I can’t go and ask my future self “Hey, does everything work out? What are you doing? How is your life? Are you happy?” because that’s not how the world works. I hope I end up happy and free yet contempt with my finite and confined life. It seems like a hard thing to accomplish now and days. I don’t know what I want to do.
I know that, at the very least, I want to change. I want to become a better person than I was and that I am. But how do I get there? By seeing the world and traveling places, or by simply opening my eyes in the small town I am in? Do I talk to more people, or do I shut myself out and somehow hope that my mind finds the answer with solitude? You see, there is no true answer. Life is paradoxical. You find a way to make your life work, or you don’t and that results in other people’s lives working and that results in your life working. Maybe you are meant to help people. Maybe you are meant to help yourself.
Some people go through life thinking every plan is made out for them. That they have a destiny, that everything will work out for them if they simply do one thing: let it. You see, I don’t know what I am going to do with my life. But I know I am not going to wait around for this so called destiny to come and grant me every wish like to find love and meaning and happiness. Life is paradoxical.
In order to let destiny happen, I believe, you must first choose what happens to you. And your choice will lead to your fate, to your true destiny. But your fate is the one that made you choose. But, you must choose for yourself. You are in charge for your future. And it is funny, really, that I still don’t even know what I am going to do tomorrow. Because that is just it. You don’t know- at least, I don’t.