There are more than a few things that make me angry. But I won't bore you with a lengthy list of pet peeves. I'll just zero in on one, in particular. And this one is a biggie: It's the idea of marrying a career that one perceives to be beneath one's capabilities. I continuously beat myself up, debating the wisdom of immersing myself into a career that exploits one dominant skill set that I know is a gift to have (because no one else wants to do it), but which bores me to death. We all have done it, though, at one point or another: Settled for a less-than-stellar job or career because it was convenient -- and not without its tangible rewards, if the truth be told! Just nothing that I envisioned myself doing when I was preparing to graduate high school, or contemplating a future of adventure, bathing in a feeling of ultimate control over my own set course of destiny.
So what gives? Why do we do it? Settle, that is? Quite simply because most of we who are in the workforce are not blue bloods, having family endowments that enable us to do exactly what we want to do, when we want to do it...Our bills and familial obligations and modest friends and family connections dictate that this job or the other job is appropriate for us. And we quietly acquiesce. You get where I'm going with this...
And the trade-off for us? Untapped potential.
At this point, I could easily slip into a sad, monotone diatribe about how "stuck" one would be under these circumstances. I have, however, come face-to-face with the inevitable "Truth" about my own grievances. The truth is, my parents were right. They were always right about these sorts of things about the haves and the have nots, and what the realities of these states were. I could choose to either whine about something like this and wallow in a pigsty of self-pity, or I could summon up all of the self-confidence I could "fake" (yes, I said "fake"), and spend my energies doing something that put my talents to work. I could write the next chapter of my novel, if I wanted to, instead of working on my latest manual for the job. (Then I could work on the manual.)
The point? Sure I'm talented enough to write the directions to a process in language that is user-friendly and easy-to-understand. And that was how I was rewarded for my talent by being assigned the task in the first place. But anything that is worth working for, seems to me to have a life of its own, fueled by the passion that brings it to life in the first place. So it is not the technical writing that is the point; it is the act of writing in the first place. It's how a person can spend time blogging on seemingly "nothing" when they could just as easily be working on a report or the next phase of a major project or initiative.
The other day I watched part of the Kennedy Honors television broadcast this year, and found myself listening, with great intensity, to the words that Caroline Kennedy uttered about the purpose of the awards. It went on about appreciating the contribution that the artist makes to the American culture. And, to be honest, I found myself surprised that they would be so blatant as to discuss such a frivolous occupation as "the arts" and call it as "essential" to the American culture as that of the teacher, the fireman, the doctor, the scientist, and the lawyer. I was almost repulsed ("envious" is probably a better word for it) that these individuals, who got to pretend all day long, and play, and be "free" as a bird, and vulnerable - the idyllic picture of American royalty - would "need" still more recognition for their "work!" (So, the Emmy's, the Academy Awards, the Golden Globe Awards were just not enough, right????)
Don't get me wrong: I LOVE Meryl Streep. Yo-yo Ma does not know that I am forever connected and transformed by his work with the cello. The same with Neil Diamond, Barbara Cook, and Sonny Rollins. I have "mad" respect for each of them.
But there is a part of my Generation X constitution that makes me feel more than just a little cheated, that I have not had the time to devote to writing my single all-American novel that would revel Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird." Or that I haven't had the time to spend hours and hours on-end immersing myself musically, rehearsing arias by Mozart for all of the hours of work I've spent straightening out messes that people who simply don't want to put forth the effort to do the work create: out of sheer LAZINESS! It fuels, probably more than anything else, my smoldering resentment concerning my "situation" more than just a little bit.
Without getting political, I will say that the working-class man or woman does, in fact, possess more control over their destinies than may appear on face-value. For all the diary-keeping that I may do, or commiserating with friends, if I do not break my pattern of conditioned servitude, I will not feed my appetite for the creative, "original thought." Then the inhibition to my own destiny becomes my self, my own inability to prevent entropy by "using my limbs" - the extensions of my self in the form of my talents, the thing I do as naturally as the act of breathing. It is my own doing, then, that prevents that novel from being completed. It is my own fault that the dream of being a journalist, and having a "voice" lies still dormant.
Nothing worth anything happens without real effort. Just as a boulder cannot be moved without a force greater than the mass acts upon it. So it is with the prospect of realizing our personal dreams and aspirations.The only place that a person can hope to truly stand out is in his or her mind. It is the only place that the playing field is truly level, where the competitor knows the competition more intimately than he or she cares to admit and can use that knowledge to his or her advantage: strengths, triumphs, and, more importantly, weaknesses and shortcomings...
So: what is it that YOU want? And, more importantly, what are you doing to work towards accomplishing it? Nothing much, you answer? Maybe you should start...Happy New Year.
