I feel like a big coward today. I feel like a big coward because I get freaked out when I try to polish my resume, or when I flip through an LSAT book, or when I think about the impending mountain of rejections, or worse, no response at all.
Reading an older post from
PilgrimGirl's blog, I felt humbled that I balk at what are simple tasks compared to what she's gone (and going) through. I'm ashamed of my fear.
But I still don't make any moves. It's easier, simpler, less taxing, to sit still.
Believe me: I wish I didn't think this way. I wish I didn't agonize over every little detail and feeling and impulse. I wish I was content to wake up, go to my 9 to 5 job, come home, watch tv or read, go to bed, and do the same thing over again the next day, and the next, and the next. But this feeling that I need
more than that has been going on long enough that I know it's not just something I can "get over" and "get a real job." You can chalk it up to being immature, spoiled, self-centered, or selfish, but I know those explanations don't apply here. I'm driven by the impulse to create. I am, dare I proclaim it, an artist.
Artists are branded with a lot of stereoptypes in this country. Artists are "weird, lazy, flaky people who just don't want to do an honest day's work." Artists are "immature, impotent, homos." Artists are "crazy and broke." Artists are "just avoiding the realities of life." Maybe there have been artists who fall into those categories because, in one way or another, they've been told that being an artist isn't acceptable.
Our loved ones might not say it out loud, but if someone pursuing an artistic life, one that wasn't completely financially stable, decided to go get an MBA, you can bet that their loved ones would breathe a sigh of relief. The motivation for the relief is concern for the artist's well-being, but the message still comes through: art is not a "real job."
There's no reason why an artist can't have a full-time job. A lot of artists do. A full-time job can keep one sane. But they're still an artist who happens to have a full-time job. They're chasing that
something, or, rather, letting creativity flow through them. They have somewhere to turn to let it out. They're not toiling in a day job that has become their life, sticking a cap on their creative well. The job is a means to an end.
Bringing it back around to me, I understand that full-time can balance with creativity. I just can't seem to shake the fear that when I interview for these day jobs they'll see right through me. They'll see that I'm not willing to give them all of me, or even the illusion of all of me. Companies seem to be a little insulted when they sense that you're not their priority, no matter how low-level the job.
So I guess what I'm saying is, "I'm awesome. Hire me and I'll be great, as long as you don't expect more of me than the body who occupies space in your office building between the hours of 9 to 5. So gimme a job."
(Yes, I'm being silly. Somewhat.)
(I blabbed a lot today.)
Labels: classism is alive and kicking, daily, doocing, photos, soapbox riot, the most stylish person you know, we make art because we fart
