Friday, July 8, 2011


I'm almost finished reading Bossypants by Tina Fey. In a nutshell, it's an autobiography detailing all the awkward moments that led up to her becoming one of the most well known female comedians of our time. It's hardly the first book that's made me feel something, but it's certainly the first one that's made me feel this particular feeling: just the faintest whisper of a missed calling in life; of a career I could have loved.

You probably don't realize how significant this is because you probably don't know me that well. Let me fill you in. I've never wanted a career. At all. I "tried on a few hats" if you will during my three and a half years of college, switching majors from nursing (because I thought maybe I could make money) to music (because I thought maybe I could get famous) to elementary education (because I thought maybe I'd enjoy being permanently sticky) to...nothing. I felt I would never be motivated enough to succeed in and/or enjoy any career, so I decided I might as well be done with it and go get a job and maybe a really good looking husband while I was at it. (In my mind at least, the difference between a career and a job is that a career would bring with it some defining sense of self; e.g., I am a doctor; I am a lawyer; I am a professional bubblewrap popper. A job would just be a place I went on weekdays so I could afford to buy things like two dogs and maybe a car; e.g., I am just an aimless kid who happens to spend a lot of time answering phones at a top-secret non-profit I'm not allowed to tell you about.)

Anyway, back to how I was coveting Tina Fey's career. Certainly not her career as an actress, because I can tell you right now, I have neither the face nor the mental capacity for acting. But considering the possibility of writing for a TV show actually caused me a small amount of physical pain. I think the French call it a pang, but then again they also put mayonnaise on everything so I don't know who to trust anymore.*

It's funny, because I've never considered myself a writer. I sort of still don't, because the last time I checked, people whose blogs are primarily about how pissed they are at their dog for jumping the fence don't get to call themselves real writers. In fact, up until the last year or so, if you'd asked me what my strengths were I probably would have mentioned singing, bubble spinning and being impossible to remember the second time around. (That last one might seem at first glance like the dignity-crushing opposite of a strength, but I know it's gonna come in handy someday when I'm running from the law.) Writing wouldn't even have crossed my mind. Now though, it doesn't carry the gut-wrenching, day-ruining, due-tomorrow-and-I-haven't-read-the-assignment woes of my high school and college days; I actually think it's fun. And I sort of think I'm good at it. And forty-two people on Facebook agree with me!

So what happens next? Do I go back to school? Finish my bachelor's degree and try to blaze a new and exciting career path?

Spoiler alert: I don't.

Wow, I can actually hear your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment, but hear me out. I certainly am not judging anyone else or in any way suggesting that everyone should adopt this mentality, but for myself, I think I've reached a point in my life at which it's time to accept the fact that I didn't finish college and get on with my life. I'm sure my life goals, dreams and plans will continue to shift and change, and I just don't have the energy or vault full of family gold to head back to school every time that happens.

So for now, my plan looks a little something like this: Keep showering at least 1.5 times per week; keep being grateful that anyone takes the time to read the nonsense I post online; and keep trying to make you spit out your drink.

*It's not just the French, and I know exactly who to trust.

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