anthurium

Negative definitions are problematic, because they reify binaries; things should be defined by what they are, rather than by what they are not. Nevertheless, it’s pretty clear that I am not one of those people who divides their to-do list into projects and action items. Actually, I don’t have a to-do list. I don’t have a five-year plan either. I suppose I’m in one of those pesky transitional phases, but I suspect that almost everyone is experiencing at least a minor upheaval of expectations these days.

I graduated from college last semester. I’m about to go through with the commencement bit, but frankly, I’m not looking forward to it.

I thought I would feel amazing when I finally finished college. Instead, I feel bitter and exhausted.

I paid my way through school by working full-time. I didn’t take out any loans. I received no scholarships. My parents chipped in three grand for my first semester, and I paid for the rest myself.

I have a degree in Women’s Studies. Officially, the title is “Bachelor of Arts in Independent Studies: Gender and Media Studies.” I harbored no illusions that my degree would get my a job. I chose Women’s Studies because learning about feminism felt like coming home. I wanted to dedicate my life to writing, but I thought that having something to write about was the most important way to make my words matter.

School was there for me, for better or for worse. Papers, presentations, and projects loomed in the background during adult identity crises, bouts of insomnia, failed relationships, promotions, thyroid surgery, and eight different moves. I dropped out a couple of times, but never gave up my dogged pursuit of a degree. I told myself it would all be worth it.

I’m not sure why I thought there would be a grand moment of triumph at the end. That only happens in movies. All I have now are questions.

Was it really necessary to finish my degree, if maybe an eighth of what I learned was personally or professionally relevant? It’s nice that our culture has recognized me as a Person of Modest Intelligence and Moderate Economic Privilege. I guess.

I’m glad I didn’t take out loans, especially since I happened to graduate into the worst economic recession in the past half century. Working my way through school was almost impossible. I couldn’t do it again.

Now that it’s over, nobody seems to understand my ambivalence. Aren’t I excited about graduating? What am I going to do with my life? For now, I’ll be continuing to sell the highest quality natural and organic products, so piss off and stop asking.

While I was growing up, my parents were quite insistent that I go to college, since neither of them had done so. Education was presented as a magic key through which one gained wealth, love, and happiness. My tumultuous and crappy adolescence was dismissed summarily with promises that college would be different. It was, but not in any of the ways I expected. The illusory dangling carrot never materialized, never transformed me into someone who feels like a real adult.

The dichotomous role of education in our culture is problematic, and not oft-addressed outside of radical communities. Anyone who has spent much time in school knows that education has very little to do with learning. Why not call it what it is, a system for maintaining privilege? If our culture valued knowledge for its own sake, the structure of pedagogy would be radically different.

Is there really a hierarchy of learning? If not, why do we pretend like there is? I’m good at writing papers, doing research, taking tests, but I’m not sure how well those actvities truly measure academic achievement.

Why should anyone have to go into crippling debt or forego sleep for years to study something they love? The American Dream is a fucking myth, period, end of story. The next time I hear that bootstrap cliche mouthed by some fuck-faced dillhole, I’m going to plunge those bootstraps into the depths of his intestinal tract.

So, what do I do with my life, now that the first tier of my educational goals has been achieved?

I could go to graduate school, but somehow, I don’t think that more school is necessarily the answer. Do I really need to engage in further intellectual masturbation at my own expense? Do I really need to subsidize an institution of higher education with cheap labor, especially since I loathe teaching?

I worked for the same company throughout my college career. I still work there. It’s moderately progressive, not radical. I could try to find work that aligns with my values better, but I don’t know if that would make a difference in my overall level of happiness. The nature of capitalism is such that even with work one might enjoy, the enjoyment is diluted by the act of receiving monetary compensation. Sometimes, the best a radical can do is to engage in work that is tolerable, if not terribly fulfilling.

I want to shift my focus away from work and economic activities as a measure of success and achievement. I have relationships with a loving partner, an amazing community, and two punkass cats. I blog, bake, dance, crochet, make photographs, and occasionally paint. Why should I feel like I haven’t done enough with my life thus far, at the ripe old age of 25?

Dismantling the patriarchy is an overwhelming task. Nobody can spend every waking minute of hir life fighting oppression I must remember that spontaneous eruptions of joy and startling shifts in perspective rarely appear on cue during scheduled Hallmark milestones. I’m still learning new techniques for fighting the forces that have colonized my imagination. I’m still trying to make my words matter. I know that I’ll never attain a goal and think, this is it, I have nowhere to go from here. I’ll never be complete, content, finished. I’ll always be a work in progress. We are all caterpillars, and no grand personal metamorphosis will suddenly transform us into butterflies.

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