I wrote in my journal for the first time in a couple of months,
and I made two lists: HOW I FEEL NOW and HOW I WANT TO FEEL.
The second list was the most revealing, I think:
- good about what myself in the work I’m doing
- like I’m working toward something meaningful
And I read over that list and felt both happy that I could articulate it and sad because then the inevitable questions began: doing what, though? And that’s always the most difficult one to answer. I have friends who went to school for a thing and now, it’s the most amazing situation, because they are doing that thing. Their goals have been reached. I’m so proud and happy for them and at the same time jealous of this sacred knowledge: they know what they want.
I work in a store. I do not work on commission, thankfully, and I get to talk about fancy skincare and fragrances and products I enjoy, and I love to work with people, but it’s not what I want to be doing. It isn’t exciting. It is rarely meaningful. I helped a 50 year old woman put on a lipstick the other day and she had the worst breath I’ve ever encountered and the entire time I was almost laughing in her face to keep from crying at my life.
The worst part is that the store is locatedon Penn’s campus and students come in and want a cleanser and I take their cash and count it and give them a receipt and they go back out to their protected academic bubble and then I pull my hair out becausewhat the fuck am I doing.
And I guess that’s what I think I should be doing. But…student loans! And fear of failure! And fear of everything anyone has ever told me about graduate school!
This has become an extension of everything I just wrote in my journal. I’m just frustrated, you know? I feel like Zac Efron singing to his reflection in High School Musical 2.