Apparently one of the side effects of graduating college is whiplash. Within six credits of attaining my B.A. in Art History I suddenly find myself overwhelmed by "well-meaning" family and friends questioning my next move. Everywhere I turn I am deflecting a spray of curiosity that is rapidly turning into a pain in the neck, literally. It's becoming increasingly difficult to politely maneuver my way through the "friendly" fire of said interrogations. Euphemisms only get me so far in explaining my "transitional" phase. "I'm currently working on a project to expand my knowledge of human social interactions in public settings involving libations" ("I'm working at a bar until further notice so bug off") doesn't work as often as I'd like it to. I wind up spending more time steeped in pragmatics and semantics than I do developing a career, and to what end? If it was really as easy as typing "Being Awesome" in the Craigslist job search bar, I would obviously already be very rich and very successful. (Side note: I actually tried that and some of the results were 1. Telemarketer, 2. Valet Parker, and 3. Mobile Group Piano Teacher) But it's not and a little trip down memory lane should serve as a thoughtful reminder, o ye judgers, of your own trials post-college and pre-adulthood. If you come to my bar, maybe we can commiserate over a beer.
I don't want to get all sappy and rousing with a proclamation of self-love, but I feel it's appropriate in ending this post to mention that I believe in myself and my process and I'm getting closer every day. It's about the journey, folks, not the destination. So bug off (no euphemisms necessary here).
Salutations,
Stacy
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