There are a few jobs to put in applications for this week, but I’m not expecting much. This process sucks, and I am sure Joe is thoroughly sick of talking with me about it. I think that if I don’t find anything by September, I will seriously consider just taking the huge chance and moving to DC with no job. And then make job hunting my full time job, and also, probably try to get temp work at the same time, but with the lousy economy, that seems unlikely to pan out. This is all probably just speculation; I don’t think I have the guts to make such a move. I don’t have to move to DC. My emergency fund is supposed to be just that – emergency funds, should I lose my job, not luxury money to play with because I can’t stand suburbia another second.

Joe is trying to get me to think of it in terms of time as a valuable resource, as in, I feel like I’m wasting away my time here, and if DC is what I really want to do, I should just do it, and worry about rebuilding an emergency fund later. But I know myself. I am responsible about these things, perhaps to a fault, and perhaps out of fear. I am a Hobbesian. I value security, perhaps over all other things.

And I always do the safe thing. Always.

“…and Crocodile,” Keith said when midnight hit.

Last year was Year of The Terrapin. This year, we’ve settled on the Crocodile. Please don’t ask, the explanation makes plenty of sense, but I don’t need any one else to give me that Look, the one that says “….ooookay” and makes me feel awkward.

I mentioned that the world might end tomorrow (because the date is a palindrome and that apparently means something doom-y) Of course I don’t take that seriously, but the world ending is not something I ever worry about. Because if the world ended, then it would be over! And I’d be dead! So it’s not something to worry about.

And we discussed some of our petty, judgmental thoughts. And I watched more West Wing. And ate junk food around 12:45. And thought, in the vaguest of terms about what I want from this year, and I guess, from this decade.

Because if you asked me what I wanted from the year, or decade when 1999 turned into 2000, I have no clue. I could go retrieve my journals from my parents attic, but the one for those days most likely just details the phone conversation I had with The Ex, late in the morning of the first day of 2000.

]]> http://rachelnotrebecca.com/2010/01/01/for-the-sake-of-posterity/feed/ 1 http://rachelnotrebecca.com/2009/08/30/whats-the-future/ http://rachelnotrebecca.com/2009/08/30/whats-the-future/#comments Sun, 30 Aug 2009 17:20:51 +0000 Rachel Not Rebecca http://rachelnotrebecca.com/?p=5183 About a year ago, I thought I would be maybe, possibly applying for Law School this fall. It quickly became clear that my head was in no way clear enough to begin the process. And also, um…I’m not sure I want to go to Law School. I have moments where it seems like a great idea, but also moments where I think “why the hell would I want to go to Law School?” 

The problem is that Law School has begun to seem like an inevitable instead of a want. 

Originally, I was going to go to Law School right after college. This Plan was in place fall of my junior year of college when I was still with The Ex and still thinking I would marry him. And then I broke up with him and wound up in Grad School by way of New York City instead.

I feel like no matter what I do, it’s a “delay” to whatever I want to do or am supposed to do. Let’s say I find another job in NYC and move back there, like I think I want to. Well then I’m putting off law school/moving to DC (where I might actually USE my MA degree) and “settling” in the career realm just to live in NYC. And I’m going to have to go to law school eventually, and I’m not getting any younger.

Or lets say I move to DC for a Dream Job. Then I’m still putting off Law School and I’m not living in NYC, and how am I ever going to the opportunity to live a charmed life in NYC again if I can’t find a way to live there? And I’m going to have to go to law school eventually, and I’m not getting any younger.

Or lets say I apply to law school next fall, for Fall 2011 admissions. The job market is terrible right now. Who’s to say it would be any better when I graduate? And where would I even GO to school? It’s not like I’m Top 10, or maybe even Top 20 material. Rutgers-Newark is the school that actually makes sense to me, because I plan to stay in the region and it’s super cheap (relatively speaking) then any other school in the area. But Rutgers Newark is something like 89th in the rankings.

(If my 16 years old self could see my 26 year old self obsessing over law school rankings, she’d be REALLY MAD)

I don’t know why I just can’t get it together and make A Plan. I feel like I’m wasting my time blogging about it on a Sunday morning when I could be taking a practice LSAT test, and then I’m annoyed that I’m in suburban Jersey, because if I were still living in Astoria, I’d have somewhere to go this morning, and damnit, I just want to live in NYC again, why does that have to seem so far out of the realm of possibility right now?

I don’t know where to go from here, but I feel like no matter what I do it’s going to come down to a choice between happiness and what I’m “supposed” to do, and that the overachiever inside of me will not let me settle down until I suck it up and commit myself to three years of potential misery with no guarantee of potential happiness.

September 2010 – Apply for Law School (possibly MA at the same time, but def. apply places where getting an MA in Int’l Relations as part of a dual-degree is possible.)

September 2011- Start Law School

Potentially enter MA program

Summer 2015 (yikes) Finish dual degree program (they are four years and enormous debt.

That’s all I have so far.

However, on 09/09/09, things have the potential to be different.

Keithers and I have a pact to remind each other of that for the next 13 months.

Anyway, my high school friend Joe, who’ve I just recently gotten back in touch with due to the fact that we work across the street from each other and saw each other on the bus all the time when I was briefly commuting from Jersey, agreed to be my date for the black tie event I had to attend for work. He agreed with no begging on my part, just a “Sure, when do I need to be there?” Because old friends are awesome.

I called Lisa up, who i haven’t spoken to in forever, just to tell her about this agreement, and she told me that “This entire ordeal with you being a grown up is too surreal and upsets my always tenuous equilibrium. In addition to Joe’s capacity for predictable decorum, he has also grown up a bit and no longer is our “little Joe.”

Which I relayed to Joe, and he was like “yeah, that’s pretty much accurate.” But for the record, the evening went very well. Joe was exactly the perfect date. He kept me talking throughout whenever it was just the two of us standing around, because anyone from staff was either a) important enough to be schmoozing with donors b) had to work the front door. (I am still not sure why my presence was required…whatever)

He kept me talking which prevented me from wringing my hands, biting my nails, or looking overly awkward. There was massive amount of delicious sushi. I drank too much wine, but that had no ill effects, because we were seated with the scientists, not staff for some reason. This was actually a pretty good situation, as Joe was a physics major in college, and chatted up the science people. I am completely floored by Joe’s ability to seamlessly socialize with various individuals at the table. He kept me from being a nervous wreck. Joe has known me for nearly a decade and thus is familiar with my particular brand of neurosis and was able to balance it well. Ladies, Joe is a total catch, my new mission is to find him a girlfriend.

So the evening went very well and thank god it is over, but also being a grown up is fucking scary. I really think I’m still pretty clueless on the ‘life plan’ level. My job is stable and I like it, and it’s a pretty cool organization (this was just confirmed to me tenfold because of the presentations on Sunday. My organization funds some really awesome work and I should be proud to be a small part of it)

I’m just…I don’t know right now. I feel okay about my job, but I’m not sure where I can go from it in the long run. I know I’ve only been there for two months, but I’m already thinking along the lines of that there is nowhere to really go from where I am and that’s…frustrating. I have my expensive education and it’s like if I ever want to do more than what I’m doing now I’m going to have to go elsewhere.

I may ultimately want something else, even though I should be perfectly grateful with what I’ve got, job and apartment wise, because for another example of how much of a jerk I am, right now I am back at Freeze Peach in the Ditmars area, and as amazingly awesome as my apartment is the location will never be Ditmars….

Most people would say I”m in a better location now, more transportation options, etc, but Ditmars is home. Ditmars feels right. I don’t think my new location ever will feel quite right, and that makes me sad because it is an AWESOME apartment, but I think I’d take back my humble abode on 21st Avenue too.

As I suspected I would, I miss my previous life as an Astorian.  I don’t know what’s next, and I ALWAYS know what’s next. So I”m trying to take a deep breath and go to bed early tonight, because god damnit, I’m a smart girl and I’ll figure this the hell out.

Besides my distrust/discomfort with perfectly weathered days such as this one, I’m afraid I also have to ignore Bono’s plantative suggestion because I am spending the whole day inside with my fascist boyfriend. It’s not as enjoyable as it sounds. I DO have on a very pretty colored tank top — it’s all about the little things. Plus, I need to look really cute to make up for the fact that I’m Jewish — my fascist boyfriend lets that go because I have a German last name, and lets face it, how many other chicks are going to defend him. Oh wow — way too close to my MO for comfort, anyway, back to the real purpose of this entry: procrastination!

Other than that, I got nothing. The only subject I can talk about is all my final papers, and progress (or non-progress) I’m making on said final papers.

Oh, and Hans Blix is speaking here today, so I’m going to go see him. It may be relevant to my thesis. And there may be free food.

Last night was the MAPSS dinner. They sat us by precept group. I got to talk to my precepter a lot. Last quarter I was very anti-him, but I have, as I mentioned, done a total 180, and he is awesome, and I am so lucky to be in this group.

We made toasts. We bonded. We did a little bit of sharing TMI. (I told the “how I got into political theory because of a boy” story.)

Sarah, who is apparently right about everything, joined our table later on in the evening. She has predicted that I’m going to get a PhD, wind up in academia, etc based on the way I talk about things. (She also predicted the conclusions of this weekend. Cough) That would solve the problem about what the hell I’m going to do with my life, but we’ll see. No Plan. Did you know political theorists are being phased out? And only about 6% of jobs in political science go to theorists, and most of those are for nonsense like “Logic” and “Game Theory.”

We went to the pub afterwards and I had good-good conversations with people I hadn’t talked to much before. I talked to one girl about NYC and how we both want to move back there, etc. I talked to a girl in my building about how we stop working at 10 PM (we live in the stupid central time zone, shut up) to watch the Daily Show.

Life is bizarre and good, and awesome. I will still say in a heartbeat that I miss New York, and I miss Astoria, and I miss the life I had there. And I still want to be done with this program and have some certainty about what the hell I’m doing next year. But, since I’ve been told I need to learn how to live in the present and not worry so much about the future, I’m going to really try to just enjoy this, for this.

And also, I’ve done all this talk lately about “Abandoning The Plan.” I’m probably not applying for PhD programs after this is over. It’s a struggle for me just to complete this program because I don’t care about it; my heart isn’t into it. In hindsight, I chalk it up to one more thing I thought I was “supposed” to do, and realize I was definitely on to something when I bawled and insisted I did not want to go when I found out I got in here.

Another stark reminder that I should listen to my instincts, at all times.

I drove home that night, not thinking further ahead than my headlights dancing on the nearly deserted Northway, but being fully aware that I was racing away from everything I knew.

I got home and Xina was on the phone. “Hold on,” she told the caller. “My housemate just broke up with her boyfriend…wait, what?” She looked at me, and after assessing that I was okay said “My friend Keith wants to know if you’re hot.”

Proof that life would go on. Not as usual, but it would go on.

And suddenly, I didn’t want any part of my life anymore.

I blew off my midterms and threw away my LSAT review book. I became a procrastinator. I changed my concentration and ditched the internship I had lined up in D.C. I started writing essays. I stayed up too late, and drank too much coffee, and smoked too many Clove cigarettes. I fell hard and fast for HWSNBN.

I jumped ship. I burned bridges. I abandoned The Plan.

I went on long drives on the back roads of what Albany area radio dubs “The North Country,” listening to music I didn’t used to listen to, trying to quell the panic. The only thing I dreamt of was escape from Skidmore and from college in general. I saw the sun rise more mornings that spring than all the times in the rest of my life combined.

I spent that summer serving lattes and walking around with a lump in my throat. It wasn’t until I returned to school for my final semester in the fall, wasn’t until after I spent the first Senior Night in Fain C, it wasn’t until that night that the Red Sox beat the Yankees in Game 7, that I got sick of it all, and started to make a New Plan.

In the months leading up to my December graduation, I made all sorts of plans. I looked into History PhD programs and got my TESOL. I applied for a few jobs. Plans to teach English in Europe were eventually dismissed, but grad school ambitions stuck around. After I graduated in December, I temped for awhile, figuring out what I was going to do for a year in the real world.

I decided, contrary to The Plan, to go to my graduation ceremony in May. At the government department reception, I listened to my Political Theory professor tell my parents wonderful things about my capacity as an academic. They had no idea of my glowing reputation – hell, I had no idea I had such a glowing reputation — they were very proud of me. Feeding on the good will I must have earned from those praises, I told my parents I intended to find a job in New York, and move there.  Truth be told, I was moving there for HWSNBN.

Less than two months later, I had a job, an apartment, and no HWSNBN (that’s another story) and a few months after that I began my grad school applications – political theory, not history.

My year in the real world was the best year of my life, chock full of experiences I wouldn’t trade for anything. I made friends, and I dated, and I revealed in the romanticism of being a 20-something single chick in New York City, and being free to do anything.

But that was part of The Plan, you see; the New Plan, the one where I learned to be a social butterfly, killing time until I got to the Ivory Tower. Whenever I lost my step, I was reminded of The Plan. At my birthday party, after everyone had gone home, CK and I continued to gulp beer and bond, and I lamented at my bad luck in the love life arena. “Rachel,” he said, in all of his tipsy conviction. “You are going to the University of Chicago. The University of Chicago.” He let that sink in.. “Fuck everything and everyone else. Seriously. Fuck. Everyone. Else.”

So no matter what happened, it was all leading up to grad school, there was still A Plan in place.

And here I am, halfway through my one year accelerated MA program at U Chicago, not the program I wanted to land in, the program that became, in my mind, the next step of The Plan towards a PhD program.

The Plan that might not even apply anymore. 

I’ve never been comfortable with abandoning The Plan. I’m extraordinarily stubborn and exceedingly romantic, and I will stick with something until every avenue of hope is exhausted. I will fight tooth and nail to get what I want. I will makes the most untenable of situations work.  Brent tells me my incredible drive is one of my best features. For every situation, I have A Plan.

And three years ago I abandoned The Plan. The world didn’t end. I survived. I stopped coasting and started living.

Right now, I kind of feel as if I’ve just been going along with a lot of things, because they’re part of The Plan. I was doing what I needed to do to get into a PhD program, because the PhD program was always The Plan, and U Chicago was a mere detour to getting there. Somewhere in the three years since I last abandoned The Plan, this Plan became absolute.

I’m thinking it’s about time to abandon The Plan.

In the same way that falling in love can completely change your plans and stop you in your tracks, falling out of love has a similar effect. It’s been grueling, coming to the recognition that I don’t want this. It terrifying to get what you want and then realize you don’t want it. It doesn’t make me happy and I don’t want to settle.

I have no idea what I’ll do if I don’t go into academia. I don’t remember having other Plans. But maybe its time to stop being such a Hobbesian and realize that I’m going to be 24 years old, with a Masters degree, and plenty of time to live instead of Plan.

So I quote myself, writing a few months after I had abandoned The Plan, back when U Chicago wasn’t in my vocabulary, when New York City was still a skyline, when I didn’t think beyond the evening’s cup of black coffee:

“I’ll graduate. I’ll do what I have to do to feed myself. I will write my life story one day at a time. It will be a damn good one.”

Sometimes, I have to remind myself that at the end of this program, I am going to be twenty-four years old, with an MA from the University of Chicago, and another full year’s experience at a research assistant. And that’s really damn good.

And my professor from last quarter, who is one of the most prominent experts on Carl Schmitt in the entire world of academia, is looking at my thesis proposal this week, and will most likely be my advisor. He said my proposed thesis is “provacative.” That is also really damn good.

And, so long as I can keep on task, I will finish in June, instead of August. Graduation date is about six months from today. That is also really damn good.