Ack! Ack! Ack!
I've been given a surprise afternoon off work - thank you, God of Precip - which of course means that I'm dressed in pajamas, drinking a latte, and considering chilling some mini-bottles of Pinot Grigio leftover from a barbeque we had in September. Free time. I really make it count!
What I should be doing today is freaking out productively (i.e. getting some work done in preparation for a very looming deadline) as opposed to freaking out counterproductively, which is what I was doing for much of the morning. The mania du jour: grad school. I have no idea what brought this on, but here's what happened:
Tracy [on the phone to Friend, immediately after Friend picks up]: Don't I seem like someone who should have an advanced degree?
Friend: Um...hi?
Tracy: Hi. Sorry. Don't I seem like a person who should have, like, a Master's?
Friend: Yeah, er, what? I mean, I'm sure you can get one.
Tracy: Getting one is not the same as having one. I should have one.
Friend: Is this about...? What is this about?
I didn't know what it was about. We talked in circles until she made me hang up and take deep breaths. Oh my god, oh my god/calm down, calm down. That's all we accomplished. I've been stewing ever since.
In my original life plan, Plan A1, I didn't need a graduate education. That was because I was going to be a movie star. The money thing was therefore implicit, and the respect thing I would get simply by being less drugged out than my Hollywood peers. Plan A1 was amended to Plan A2 when I realized I was too pale and bookish ever to take Los Angeles by storm. Plan A2: become an Olympian. The A-plans were generally pretty bold.
As I matured, I learned more about my own strengths and weaknesses, the pitfalls of money and fame, and the gleaming promise of the Stafford Loan. The B-plans were centered around involving myself in art, theater, and writing in an Ivy League setting. I would stay for as many degrees as it would take to become an authentically frizzy-haired, glasses-wearing NPR listener. Unfortunately, I got scared and ditched the arts in favor of the more practical and parent-friendly C-plans.
C1-5: Architecture, psychology, architecture, psychology, architecture. Graduation. Work. Major freak-out. Then, D1: pouring/fetching. Not terribly practical, or parent-friendly. Look how that worked out. Telling the whole story would exhaust me.
So, now I'm in the early E-plans, having left both the design and restaurant industries behind. I'm happy enough, and probably better off than I've been on any of the plans that came before. BUT - nothing I ever wanted I actually got, and that, I think, is why I'm freaking out. What if I'd stuck with it, any of it? Disregarding A1 and 2 (did I mention I was five and twelve when I came up with those?), I bet I could've made some dreams come true. Any combination of publication, gallery shows, applause, rolled up sheets of heavy paper, funny hats, and big-name universities (oh, the respect!) would have been quite satisfying. I know it's irrational even to be thinking the words "too late" at twenty-five, but then, being irrational is the essence of freaking out, isn't it?
Yep, I'm definitely gonna chill that wine.
What I should be doing today is freaking out productively (i.e. getting some work done in preparation for a very looming deadline) as opposed to freaking out counterproductively, which is what I was doing for much of the morning. The mania du jour: grad school. I have no idea what brought this on, but here's what happened:
Tracy [on the phone to Friend, immediately after Friend picks up]: Don't I seem like someone who should have an advanced degree?
Friend: Um...hi?
Tracy: Hi. Sorry. Don't I seem like a person who should have, like, a Master's?
Friend: Yeah, er, what? I mean, I'm sure you can get one.
Tracy: Getting one is not the same as having one. I should have one.
Friend: Is this about...? What is this about?
I didn't know what it was about. We talked in circles until she made me hang up and take deep breaths. Oh my god, oh my god/calm down, calm down. That's all we accomplished. I've been stewing ever since.
In my original life plan, Plan A1, I didn't need a graduate education. That was because I was going to be a movie star. The money thing was therefore implicit, and the respect thing I would get simply by being less drugged out than my Hollywood peers. Plan A1 was amended to Plan A2 when I realized I was too pale and bookish ever to take Los Angeles by storm. Plan A2: become an Olympian. The A-plans were generally pretty bold.
As I matured, I learned more about my own strengths and weaknesses, the pitfalls of money and fame, and the gleaming promise of the Stafford Loan. The B-plans were centered around involving myself in art, theater, and writing in an Ivy League setting. I would stay for as many degrees as it would take to become an authentically frizzy-haired, glasses-wearing NPR listener. Unfortunately, I got scared and ditched the arts in favor of the more practical and parent-friendly C-plans.
C1-5: Architecture, psychology, architecture, psychology, architecture. Graduation. Work. Major freak-out. Then, D1: pouring/fetching. Not terribly practical, or parent-friendly. Look how that worked out. Telling the whole story would exhaust me.
So, now I'm in the early E-plans, having left both the design and restaurant industries behind. I'm happy enough, and probably better off than I've been on any of the plans that came before. BUT - nothing I ever wanted I actually got, and that, I think, is why I'm freaking out. What if I'd stuck with it, any of it? Disregarding A1 and 2 (did I mention I was five and twelve when I came up with those?), I bet I could've made some dreams come true. Any combination of publication, gallery shows, applause, rolled up sheets of heavy paper, funny hats, and big-name universities (oh, the respect!) would have been quite satisfying. I know it's irrational even to be thinking the words "too late" at twenty-five, but then, being irrational is the essence of freaking out, isn't it?
Yep, I'm definitely gonna chill that wine.
posted by Tracy at 3:06 PM
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