Tomorrow, at approximately 10am I will have inhabited this earth for 30 years. Thirty is a milestone to be sure and when people hit milestones they like to look back at all of life's accomplishments and be thankful for the opportunities they've had thus far. I'm not going to be a total emo and say that I'm not thankful for anything in my life because it's simply not true. In fact, I've sucked the marrow of life many times and have relished in opportunity and friendship. But how did I get here? A Bachelor's and an MA later, and tomorrow, on my 30th year of life I'm still working a job that makes me work Thanksgiving. It's not the worst, and I'm being especially cathartic, but on the eve of my birth, I ponder back 10 years and realize that this is not where I wanted to be at 30.
Twenty is a big year--you have an entire decade to make it into somebody, create a family, and maybe--if your lucky--purchase your first home. I always knew I'd get married at a later age, but I fully expected that by the age of thirty I would have at least secured myself into an adult, serious relationship. I more than expected to be in a stable career with at least five years into a secured pension and 401K plan. Yet, here I am. Thirty. I've dreaded it. I have pushed back tears over it as I realize I have no career, no husband, and no 401k, but instead a lot of school debt, and no real promise of ever making into my chosen career.
Another ten years looms in front of me--will things be different in another decade when I sit down in front of a computer to blog the years that brought me to 40? I don't know. Time is fleeting, and I want to be more than I am, but the dreams of family, career success, and economic security scare me so much that I have silently pushed them from my mind and replaced those thoughts with constant forced feelings of appal towards commitment, children, and people who settle into careers.
So thirty is the new twenty you say? I guess I stand on the brink of another set of expectations--another set of hopefulness that will drive the days of the next decade. Tomorrow is always another day, and thirty just another year on this planet of my existance. Maybe thirty will be suprising, maybe in this next set of years I will get to leave the chair behind the computer screen and find real joy and purpose somwhere. And so...this is 30.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Post Grad School Career Blues
Every morning I wake up to, and snooze away a minimum of three alarms for approximately an hour and half. I like to be dreadfully prepared for the impending torture of rolling out of bed at 7am to go to my first job of the day. My first thought is always something like: "what am I really doing with my life, and why in God's name did I get a Master's degree in English." Yup. Every morning starts with this drudgery as I slug through the motions of entering into another mundane day of passing the hours to earn that mediocre pay check that drops straight into my bottomless bucket of lifetime school debt.
So maybe I should start looking for that "real job--" you know, the one that if I'm lucky enough to get contracted in as a full-time regular employee for a minimum of another decade of my life then my student loans will be graciously forgiven by our oh so loving government? Yeah. That's the job I need. There are only so many of them, and with the drastic decline in education jobs and the ever so hefty increase of academic prostitution through adjunct positions, the blood wrenching fight to the death over full-time professorship wages war on the state of sanity and survival of our kind. They might as well put us on a reality show and watch as we put on our dance and song to a room full of lazy, self-entitled students just waiting to rip apart our professor reviews, and lay bid to which of us they think can most likely survive the world of academia.
You've got to keep an open mind if you want to stay in the teaching profession. You're certainly not going to make a lot of money, and to be frank, none of us every really chose this career for the money, but you do have to be willing to make the move if you want to get the job. Keep in mind, with the median salary nationwide at about 40k, the struggle to move, pay for new license, that by the way may require yet more testing, and lose state funded retirement, the options from the start are largely against you. But it's not just budget cuts and an unwillingness for employers to pay for health insurance that's going to make it hard to find that nice ailing job that promises to one day forgive your student debt--it's Affirmative Action--AKA Unequal Opportunity Employment.
I've broadened my search for a job in teaching, academia, and university/college life to a sprawling nationwide endeavor. I'll move--I get it. I may need to spread my little Charleston wings and fly to new parts in order to get one of these coveted positions. As with finding any job, finding a teaching job--not even the perfect teaching job anymore--is entirely strenuous and lengthy. But a new set of questions have plagued my process.
Am I a minority?--"hmmmm, let me think. Does that 1/32nd Cherokee blood count here? If I check yes, will someone come after me and card me?"
Did you grow up in a low socio-economic environment?--"Well, I was middle class. I was always taken care of and had my needs met, but I never got big extras like a fully paid tuition. So , I guess no. No, I wasn't under privileged."
Were you the first generation of college graduates in your family? "Damn. No. I can't get any of these questions right. How could I have not grown up in poverty?!"
womp. womp. womp. "I'm sorry Ms. Lightner, while you do appear to be a qualified candidate, our institution is trying to increase the number of professional minorities and those coming from a low socio-economic status in order that we might better match the demographics of our school and bridge that ever, nagging achievement gap. We do appreciate your desire and passion to teach urban children and adults, but you're just too white, middle class for us."
I will be the first to proclaim it to anyone that cares, that I love my urban, diverse population of students, and I'm pretty sure they love me too. Teaching is never an easy task, no matter the demographic--but it's something about city school students that makes them vulnerable towards learning--there is a realness in them that I have never found in any other classroom, and I'm pretty sure I'd ask for these students over a class full of rich, self-indulged hipsters any day. Far be it for some educational coorporation to disuade passionate teachers from applying to jobs because they don't meet an asthetic and class restriction.
But as I come home at 8:45 pm from my second job--an arm full of papers and annotated bibliographies, I question whether I will ever get the joy of doing this job full-time. Being there for that crazy urban demographic, despite my incontestable whiteness, is what makes the bottomless bucket of student debt worth it. Yet alas, I'll climb into my bed and fall asleep checking my student's sources to make sure they are fully legit, and I'll get up the next morning, just as all mornings before them and wonder why I got that damn English degree.
So maybe I should start looking for that "real job--" you know, the one that if I'm lucky enough to get contracted in as a full-time regular employee for a minimum of another decade of my life then my student loans will be graciously forgiven by our oh so loving government? Yeah. That's the job I need. There are only so many of them, and with the drastic decline in education jobs and the ever so hefty increase of academic prostitution through adjunct positions, the blood wrenching fight to the death over full-time professorship wages war on the state of sanity and survival of our kind. They might as well put us on a reality show and watch as we put on our dance and song to a room full of lazy, self-entitled students just waiting to rip apart our professor reviews, and lay bid to which of us they think can most likely survive the world of academia.
You've got to keep an open mind if you want to stay in the teaching profession. You're certainly not going to make a lot of money, and to be frank, none of us every really chose this career for the money, but you do have to be willing to make the move if you want to get the job. Keep in mind, with the median salary nationwide at about 40k, the struggle to move, pay for new license, that by the way may require yet more testing, and lose state funded retirement, the options from the start are largely against you. But it's not just budget cuts and an unwillingness for employers to pay for health insurance that's going to make it hard to find that nice ailing job that promises to one day forgive your student debt--it's Affirmative Action--AKA Unequal Opportunity Employment.
I've broadened my search for a job in teaching, academia, and university/college life to a sprawling nationwide endeavor. I'll move--I get it. I may need to spread my little Charleston wings and fly to new parts in order to get one of these coveted positions. As with finding any job, finding a teaching job--not even the perfect teaching job anymore--is entirely strenuous and lengthy. But a new set of questions have plagued my process.
Am I a minority?--"hmmmm, let me think. Does that 1/32nd Cherokee blood count here? If I check yes, will someone come after me and card me?"
Did you grow up in a low socio-economic environment?--"Well, I was middle class. I was always taken care of and had my needs met, but I never got big extras like a fully paid tuition. So , I guess no. No, I wasn't under privileged."
Were you the first generation of college graduates in your family? "Damn. No. I can't get any of these questions right. How could I have not grown up in poverty?!"
womp. womp. womp. "I'm sorry Ms. Lightner, while you do appear to be a qualified candidate, our institution is trying to increase the number of professional minorities and those coming from a low socio-economic status in order that we might better match the demographics of our school and bridge that ever, nagging achievement gap. We do appreciate your desire and passion to teach urban children and adults, but you're just too white, middle class for us."
I will be the first to proclaim it to anyone that cares, that I love my urban, diverse population of students, and I'm pretty sure they love me too. Teaching is never an easy task, no matter the demographic--but it's something about city school students that makes them vulnerable towards learning--there is a realness in them that I have never found in any other classroom, and I'm pretty sure I'd ask for these students over a class full of rich, self-indulged hipsters any day. Far be it for some educational coorporation to disuade passionate teachers from applying to jobs because they don't meet an asthetic and class restriction.
But as I come home at 8:45 pm from my second job--an arm full of papers and annotated bibliographies, I question whether I will ever get the joy of doing this job full-time. Being there for that crazy urban demographic, despite my incontestable whiteness, is what makes the bottomless bucket of student debt worth it. Yet alas, I'll climb into my bed and fall asleep checking my student's sources to make sure they are fully legit, and I'll get up the next morning, just as all mornings before them and wonder why I got that damn English degree.
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