This column was only ever, sort of, about hair. But apologies, yet again, if you were expecting a gender theory to explain it all. So here it is: The Last Hairy Woman Column, And It’s Not About Hair (getting away with two headlines).
I’ve started to think about the world outside of college -- the “real world.” Sometimes, like tonight, I take walks through Somerville just to catch a glimpse of someone living a “real” life.
This is sort of a bizarre line to draw, between the inside/college/summer camp/“unreal world” and the outside/non-college/adult/“real world.” Supposedly, they are very different. Mostly because in the “real world” you have a job. Job, job, job, job, job. Sometimes this word strings itself across my thoughts like a spiderweb. When I try to swipe, it grows and thickens, instead of falling away. Stubborn, physics-defying spiderwebs.
The last time I visited my Academic Dean, she repeated the word “career” as if it held mythical powers or profound wisdom. Maybe that’s her career -- to make the word "career" sound exciting. However, instead of the awe-inspiring feeling I should have taken away, it left me resentful and semi-nauseated (not nauseous, which, according to Google, means that others find you nauseating).
When I told my Dean I wanted be a raft guide again this summer, her response was to literally scoff. I was struck by her disdain for what I assume she perceived as manual labor. “How about you focus on a career!” she trilled. “Something with transferable skills -- like organization or managing people.” My jaw nearly dropped. She had obviously never been on a rafting trip.
But “straight through” philosophy is not new. At each stage of my life there has been a chorus chanting the next step. Right now it’s career, career, career, where the vocabulary operates with terms like internship, marketable skills and networking. A few years ago it was college, college, college; themes included extracurriculars, SAT scores and volunteer work. Before that, it was high school, high school, high school, featuring all the activities your parents chose for you, SSAT scores and your sixth grade report card.
The message is the same -- mine your identity, your intellect, your hobbies, yourselves. Turn it into something they recognize -- the cover of the brochure, the alumni report, the admission’s page, the profit margin, the endowment.
Now, I’m not so sure which came first, the identity or the resumé, or if they grew together into one big, uncertain, institution-pandering mess.
“Just be yourself, Emma!” The rest will work itself out. The girl in the photo (see column #1) smiles, looking off into the distance. Does she think about her “self” as something simple and unmoving like the photo she’s in? Oh, sorry, it’s a gif.
Perhaps, I’m wondering when I’m going to get to work through those questions. The one about how to extract SAT scores from my identity and replace it with ANYTHING ELSE. Or find that pesky internalized message about individualism and instead learn how to actually rely on people. I’m afraid that the idea of a career has become so central to our “education” that we do not stop to consider why we want the lives we do and who we become in the process.
