I shift my shaaaaape!

"Shape Shifter" by Local Natives is stuck in my head, but the song that really has stuck with me is "Who Knows, Who Cares" by the same group. Their beautiful vocals sing about how things change and you cannot really stop them; instead, you can only really depend on those circumstances to change. I am a bit of a personal control freak (for others I can be more lenient), and the thing that worries me is my transition to graduate school. Yep! I'm on my way to grad school--not law school, nor office job of some sort--grad school. That is very exciting and, in writing this, I feel a distinct sense of accomplishment for having made it period. (and really when I say made it, I mean that I am lucky to have made it) So far, I've been living like a impoverished intern, deciding between food and filling my car with gas. Next stop is grad school into the far blue yonder. And that next stop is coming up quickly. I am a bit afraid of the change--normally I see change as another sort of adventure--but for some reason, I am constantly chickening out. I have done the desk job thing, and I can't stand the lack of creativity it takes to punch numbers and talk about people's families while peering between pots of flowers resting on plywood covered desks. I need a job where I can think critically or do some research. That was my favorite part: researching for my job so that I could impart some knowledge to some 11 year olds I had to teach. In spite of my obvious distaste for the office life, sometimes I feel as if academia might become the same thing. I feel as if I am not ready for more paperwork, and that I may possibly stifle myself yet again. I think though that am verging on the brink of being nit-picky. You can only find self-fulfillment through so many ways, and everything becomes boring every once in awhile. Still, like I told a friend of mine, sometimes I just want to chuck it all, get a one-way ticket to somewhere in Southeast Asia, get some crazy local job, live and wander, and come back to America with grim mouth set in place by experiences and deep eyes hiding a view of life developed by a maturity cultivated by living alone. I don't know why, but I feel like what I am going to do very soon is somewhat limiting. Even though academia create stuff for journals, they have to kiss up to publishers and the big wigs who determine what cultural theories are in style. When and if I get a job in a professorial position, I'll have to teach to students who don't care about what I am passionate about, and I will have to write papers that don't offend certain academic dignitaries, do interest the right people, and do help me get tenure. Does it sound like I am ungrateful? If you asked me what I would want to do if money were no option, I would tell you that I would want to write. But I am not a good writer. It takes a lot to build up a repertoire of things to write about, and, unless I run away to Asia, I have no dark history or memory to build upon and write about the human condition. Maybe I am just nervous about putting myself into one category: that of the academic. It used to excite me to think that I could wear tweed and chat about my favorite post-Imperialist author. Now, I wonder if that will be enough. How can I know unless I go out there and begin my degree plan? I guess that that is a truth. I can't stand what I deem the mundane talk, and I barely talk as it is. Perhaps this will be a nice safe zone. A woman I worked with this summer who was around my age talked about how she aims to get married and teach little kids. To me, I cannot understand it. When people say, "well, blah-blah, I'll do this, and then I'll get married, settle down and have kids," I get wide-eyed inside and wonder "that's it?" Is it stupid to think that? Am I heartless or just not adult enough yet to think about having babies and jazz. It's just weird. I feel like a neophyte when it comes to grad school and the same for having kids. What's left? Maybe I am just hitting adult puberty and need to calm down until it's all over and I can finally settle into the "next thing." "Who knows, Who Cares" Local Natives serenades. Maybe I just need to let it go too.

-JChoked