School column.
Usually I don't bother posting my college newspaper columns, but I thought this one might be worth sharing. My editor very wisely pointed out that this one could have easily crossed over into "sappy" territory, but I managed to avoid it. Phew...
That's all I have to say right now except for two minor things: First, I returned both books (see yesterday's post) and have one of them on reserve at the library. Second, I've been reading Douglas Adams voraciously the past couple of days and am only now realizing how much he shaped my life. I used to do a damned good Douglas Adams impression (in my writing) and I'm not sure what happened, but I sure as hell intend to try to recapture it.
There are three people I am very angry at for dying: Freddie Mercury, Douglas Adams and my father. I want to shake them all and scream "How dare you leave me here all alone?" I had the tremendous honor of meeting Douglas Adams and I am the proud owner of an autographed set of the Hitchhiker's Trilogy (yes, all five books). If someone offered me a million dollars for them, I'd tell them to take a hike, pardon the pun.
NON-TRADITIONAL VALUES
Recently I had the privilege of engaging in heart-to-heart conversations with two Normandale students—both half my age—who are genuinely struggling with the question that plagues everyone at least once, and more likely hundreds of times, during their lives:
What do I want to do with my life?
One of these people is a young lady who exudes utter joy at being alive and I envy her for it. She is a devout conservative Republican who is frustrated by the leftward bent of her classmates and thus wants to educate herself and others about all things political. She is considering a major in political science, but is hesitant because her parents aren’t crazy about the idea.
The other student is a young man who completely wowed me during his compulsory first-day-of-the-semester classroom introduction. Whereas most of the class—including me—gave halting presentations, avoiding eye contact at all costs, this young man had a genuine presence and commanded attention. Not surprisingly, he wants to be an actor. However, he’s struggling with an emotional tug-of-war, balancing what he wants to do with what is expected of him.
My advice to both of these young people, as well as to everyone who is reading this column, is simple:
Do what makes you happy.
This may seem like a Pollyannaish view, particularly from someone with a proven track record of cynicism. In fact, the advice may seem ridiculous. After all, who would do anything that makes them unhappy?
Most people, that’s who. The office towers comprising the Minneapolis and St. Paul skylines are stuffed full of thousands of people who wake up each and every day to the remaining vestiges of their souls being sucked out with a sound akin to the last quarter-inch of bath water spiraling down the drain. These are people who were very likely lured into their careers by promises of security, visions of dollar signs or simply a desire to not rock the boat.
As a person who has been downsized (actually, it’s called “right-sizing” now, but the most accurate word is “fired”) due to restructuring, let me assure you that there is nothing remotely resembling security in the business world. Human Resources people will assure you during employee orientation that you are an invaluable member of the team. And you are, at least until the figure at the bottom of the Excel spreadsheet column representing you turns red, at which point you will be summarily downsized, right-sized, or whatever the H.R. folks happen to be calling it that particular week.
Regarding dollar signs, during my tenure in Corporate America many was the time I stood at the urinal alongside executives who grossed in a day what I earned in a month. Despite the difference in our salaries, we had one thing in common: A look of abject misery on our faces at the prospect of wasting another 8, 10 or 12 hours per day on activities that meant little to us and even less in the great scheme of things.
But what of rocking the boat? I realize it’s hard to depart from the path that mom and dad have envisioned for you since you were a child. Perhaps neither parent is a college graduate and they simply want you to have access to a fine education and ultimately a “secure” career.
Look, I spent nearly 40 years doing everything within my power to rock my dad’s boat. There were times I successfully capsized him. Last year he passed away, and despite the fact that we butted heads for the duration of our relationship, I know one thing: He was proud of me, and he would have remained so had I been a corporate CEO or a dishwasher. But he was particularly proud of me because his terminally dissatisfied son was finally taking steps to—gasp—be happy. I may not have been what he wanted me to be, but I was discovering what I needed to be, and that meant more to him than any multi-hyphenated title on my business card ever would have.
Do what makes you happy. If the prospect of a career in political science starts your heart palpitating, that’s a sign. If, despite two years at Normandale completing the transfer curriculum, you find yourself wanting to wait tables in Manhattan and audition for acting roles, I implore you to do it. If being cooped up in an office tower dreaming up inventive terms for firing people is your bag, pursue a career in Human Resources and have a ball, and prepare to appreciate the irony when you’re the one down/right/whatever-sized.
Half of my life is over and I wasted a great deal of it being miserable. If that sounds like your idea of a good time, have at it and good luck, and when you turn 40 and realize you’re a miserable sod I won’t even bother to say “I told you so.” I’ll be too busy having the time of my life.
That's all I have to say right now except for two minor things: First, I returned both books (see yesterday's post) and have one of them on reserve at the library. Second, I've been reading Douglas Adams voraciously the past couple of days and am only now realizing how much he shaped my life. I used to do a damned good Douglas Adams impression (in my writing) and I'm not sure what happened, but I sure as hell intend to try to recapture it.
There are three people I am very angry at for dying: Freddie Mercury, Douglas Adams and my father. I want to shake them all and scream "How dare you leave me here all alone?" I had the tremendous honor of meeting Douglas Adams and I am the proud owner of an autographed set of the Hitchhiker's Trilogy (yes, all five books). If someone offered me a million dollars for them, I'd tell them to take a hike, pardon the pun.
NON-TRADITIONAL VALUES
Recently I had the privilege of engaging in heart-to-heart conversations with two Normandale students—both half my age—who are genuinely struggling with the question that plagues everyone at least once, and more likely hundreds of times, during their lives:
What do I want to do with my life?
One of these people is a young lady who exudes utter joy at being alive and I envy her for it. She is a devout conservative Republican who is frustrated by the leftward bent of her classmates and thus wants to educate herself and others about all things political. She is considering a major in political science, but is hesitant because her parents aren’t crazy about the idea.
The other student is a young man who completely wowed me during his compulsory first-day-of-the-semester classroom introduction. Whereas most of the class—including me—gave halting presentations, avoiding eye contact at all costs, this young man had a genuine presence and commanded attention. Not surprisingly, he wants to be an actor. However, he’s struggling with an emotional tug-of-war, balancing what he wants to do with what is expected of him.
My advice to both of these young people, as well as to everyone who is reading this column, is simple:
Do what makes you happy.
This may seem like a Pollyannaish view, particularly from someone with a proven track record of cynicism. In fact, the advice may seem ridiculous. After all, who would do anything that makes them unhappy?
Most people, that’s who. The office towers comprising the Minneapolis and St. Paul skylines are stuffed full of thousands of people who wake up each and every day to the remaining vestiges of their souls being sucked out with a sound akin to the last quarter-inch of bath water spiraling down the drain. These are people who were very likely lured into their careers by promises of security, visions of dollar signs or simply a desire to not rock the boat.
As a person who has been downsized (actually, it’s called “right-sizing” now, but the most accurate word is “fired”) due to restructuring, let me assure you that there is nothing remotely resembling security in the business world. Human Resources people will assure you during employee orientation that you are an invaluable member of the team. And you are, at least until the figure at the bottom of the Excel spreadsheet column representing you turns red, at which point you will be summarily downsized, right-sized, or whatever the H.R. folks happen to be calling it that particular week.
Regarding dollar signs, during my tenure in Corporate America many was the time I stood at the urinal alongside executives who grossed in a day what I earned in a month. Despite the difference in our salaries, we had one thing in common: A look of abject misery on our faces at the prospect of wasting another 8, 10 or 12 hours per day on activities that meant little to us and even less in the great scheme of things.
But what of rocking the boat? I realize it’s hard to depart from the path that mom and dad have envisioned for you since you were a child. Perhaps neither parent is a college graduate and they simply want you to have access to a fine education and ultimately a “secure” career.
Look, I spent nearly 40 years doing everything within my power to rock my dad’s boat. There were times I successfully capsized him. Last year he passed away, and despite the fact that we butted heads for the duration of our relationship, I know one thing: He was proud of me, and he would have remained so had I been a corporate CEO or a dishwasher. But he was particularly proud of me because his terminally dissatisfied son was finally taking steps to—gasp—be happy. I may not have been what he wanted me to be, but I was discovering what I needed to be, and that meant more to him than any multi-hyphenated title on my business card ever would have.
Do what makes you happy. If the prospect of a career in political science starts your heart palpitating, that’s a sign. If, despite two years at Normandale completing the transfer curriculum, you find yourself wanting to wait tables in Manhattan and audition for acting roles, I implore you to do it. If being cooped up in an office tower dreaming up inventive terms for firing people is your bag, pursue a career in Human Resources and have a ball, and prepare to appreciate the irony when you’re the one down/right/whatever-sized.
Half of my life is over and I wasted a great deal of it being miserable. If that sounds like your idea of a good time, have at it and good luck, and when you turn 40 and realize you’re a miserable sod I won’t even bother to say “I told you so.” I’ll be too busy having the time of my life.
posted by Admin Worm at 9:52 AM
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