Call it the “Quarter-Life Crisis” or just the result of getting pigeonholed into a career that has nothing to do with your degree. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very thankful to be employed in this economy. It just so happens that something I started doing as a college work-study has become my career at 27. I have worn many hats in my admittedly short time in the work force. I did a stint as a Clear Channel DJ. I worked tech support in Atlanta during the late 90s Information Technology boom. I even had an ill-fated attempt at teaching high school. My foray into the title of “Mr. Crosby” ended abruptly on September 11th, 2001 when my principle came in to do my first formal review. Honestly, my kids where fairly well behaved considering they all believed we were under an aerial attack and would soon fall prey to dropping planes. After that very traumatic day, I awoke to find that September 12th arrived without any further disasters, other than receiving my walking papers.
This recent bout is not my first crisis of career faith. After that lay off, I set out to find my “calling”. Until that day came, I believed teaching was what I was putt on this earth to do. The fall of 2001 found me 25, in debt to my ears and unable to find a job doing anything. I did briefly go back into radio to pay a few bills, but it didn’t take me long to realize that minimum wage and the overnight shift are more often than not the fate of America’s disc jockeys. Howard Stern I was not. I was, however, armed with a very tattered copy of “What Color Is My Parachute?” I started working through the workbook hoping to find the long elusive secret. Instead I found out I am an INFP. Basically, it meant that I was an idealist and a healer. Sort of like a chubby and unmotivated Gandhi.
Eventually, unemployment got the best of me and I found a job doing the very thing I left a few months earlier to start teaching. Honestly, I think I had a lot of promise as a teacher, but we live in the type of community where there would be no escaping a firing from appearing on my “permanent record”. Even with whatever explanation I could offer, teaching was not in the cards (believe me, I tried). So I was back to square one without any further understanding of my mission, calling or Holy Grail. I was thrilled to be employed. Nothing makes you appreciate the value of hard work like not having a job for a while.
Occasionally, I’ll do a Google search for “what should I do with my life?” Sometimes, the inquiry leads to a book or an intriguing article. Yet they are always penned by people as misguided as myself. Then, I feel a ping of guilt for even questioning my path. By the time my parent’s generation hit 27, they had children, a mortgage and sometimes two jobs. Me questioning my career calling met with little input or empathy from my parents. I work indoors, I have only one job and I get benefits. Where is the problem? Maybe I’m just the product of a generation of spoiled brats, or maybe I think I am “a beautiful and unique snowflake.” In reality I’m just another cog in the machine of civilized society.
The typical advice I receive from my elders usually goes something like “relax and enjoy your 20s.” That sounds great in theory, but this is my last chance to really sort out these personal conflicts, because something tells me at 30, if you haven’t already taken care of it yourself, some divine force hands you a wife, some children and a mortgage and you are then forced to accept your situation, because the family now depends on you. Good-bye grad school or backpacking in Europe or working in the Peace Corps. At that point, the adult title becomes very real and very permanent.
So maybe my generation is the crybaby tail end of Generation X (a title we never asked for by the way). Maybe we are afraid of buzzwords like commitment or responsibility. The truth is probably more balanced. I think my generation has tried to learn lessons from our parents. We are the first generation that hasn’t jumped feet first into marrying right out of college and taking an office job with the in-law’s company. Perhaps that was a better approach, because at least they were done with the responsibility of raising children in their 40s and were still young enough to enjoy convertibles and singles bars. Maybe this whole career thing is just a scam. Maybe we are not meant to enjoy what we do. After all, we do get paid to show up every morning.
Aside from the occasional irate customer, I’m pretty content doing what I do. Yet, I also feel like I’m just waiting to find that something more. I need an inner purpose. I need something that drives me. I have asked friends and family “what should I be?” I’ve prayed about it. I’ve asked virtual strangers what they think. I even started a masters degree to see if I could “fake it until I make it” in Information Systems. Yet, each morning, I have to get up and look in the mirror and ask myself “who are you?” Hopefully, someday, I will get an answer back.
This recent bout is not my first crisis of career faith. After that lay off, I set out to find my “calling”. Until that day came, I believed teaching was what I was putt on this earth to do. The fall of 2001 found me 25, in debt to my ears and unable to find a job doing anything. I did briefly go back into radio to pay a few bills, but it didn’t take me long to realize that minimum wage and the overnight shift are more often than not the fate of America’s disc jockeys. Howard Stern I was not. I was, however, armed with a very tattered copy of “What Color Is My Parachute?” I started working through the workbook hoping to find the long elusive secret. Instead I found out I am an INFP. Basically, it meant that I was an idealist and a healer. Sort of like a chubby and unmotivated Gandhi.
Eventually, unemployment got the best of me and I found a job doing the very thing I left a few months earlier to start teaching. Honestly, I think I had a lot of promise as a teacher, but we live in the type of community where there would be no escaping a firing from appearing on my “permanent record”. Even with whatever explanation I could offer, teaching was not in the cards (believe me, I tried). So I was back to square one without any further understanding of my mission, calling or Holy Grail. I was thrilled to be employed. Nothing makes you appreciate the value of hard work like not having a job for a while.
Occasionally, I’ll do a Google search for “what should I do with my life?” Sometimes, the inquiry leads to a book or an intriguing article. Yet they are always penned by people as misguided as myself. Then, I feel a ping of guilt for even questioning my path. By the time my parent’s generation hit 27, they had children, a mortgage and sometimes two jobs. Me questioning my career calling met with little input or empathy from my parents. I work indoors, I have only one job and I get benefits. Where is the problem? Maybe I’m just the product of a generation of spoiled brats, or maybe I think I am “a beautiful and unique snowflake.” In reality I’m just another cog in the machine of civilized society.
The typical advice I receive from my elders usually goes something like “relax and enjoy your 20s.” That sounds great in theory, but this is my last chance to really sort out these personal conflicts, because something tells me at 30, if you haven’t already taken care of it yourself, some divine force hands you a wife, some children and a mortgage and you are then forced to accept your situation, because the family now depends on you. Good-bye grad school or backpacking in Europe or working in the Peace Corps. At that point, the adult title becomes very real and very permanent.
So maybe my generation is the crybaby tail end of Generation X (a title we never asked for by the way). Maybe we are afraid of buzzwords like commitment or responsibility. The truth is probably more balanced. I think my generation has tried to learn lessons from our parents. We are the first generation that hasn’t jumped feet first into marrying right out of college and taking an office job with the in-law’s company. Perhaps that was a better approach, because at least they were done with the responsibility of raising children in their 40s and were still young enough to enjoy convertibles and singles bars. Maybe this whole career thing is just a scam. Maybe we are not meant to enjoy what we do. After all, we do get paid to show up every morning.
Aside from the occasional irate customer, I’m pretty content doing what I do. Yet, I also feel like I’m just waiting to find that something more. I need an inner purpose. I need something that drives me. I have asked friends and family “what should I be?” I’ve prayed about it. I’ve asked virtual strangers what they think. I even started a masters degree to see if I could “fake it until I make it” in Information Systems. Yet, each morning, I have to get up and look in the mirror and ask myself “who are you?” Hopefully, someday, I will get an answer back.
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