I’d hoped to begin this column by showcasing my clever wit and impressive vocabulary, but I put it off for too long. Hi, my name is Andrew, and I’m a procrastinator.
Waiting until the last fraction of a second to get things done has been my modus operandi since before I can remember. I even put off my own birth for nearly two weeks before I gave in and put my mother out of her nine-month-plus misery. Now, I’m 22, a senior in college, and things haven’t really changed. I rarely clean my room until the last glimpse of floor has disappeared beneath mountains of dirty jeans and half-read magazines. A number of LTD drivers around southeast Eugene probably think I enjoy spending my free time chasing after buses, when really I’m just incapable of arriving to the stop on time. What can I say? I work best under pressure.
I’ve also mastered the ultimate act of procrastination: putting off my future. And if the general consensus of the collegiate community is to be believed, in doing so, I’ve failed college. It’s true, or it might as well be. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up – a capital sin in the world of academia. Sure, I’ve got a Moleskine journal full of ideas and, I’d like to think, some marketable skills to show for my stint as a college student. I’ve worked hard, and in the search for my calling in life, I think I’m getting warmer. But I’m not going to grad school, and unless James Franco announces he’s hiring for the position of personal assistant/sex slave, I don’t have my dream job lined up just yet.
With all the stress this is causing me as I approach graduation, I’d like to know: Since when has the term “higher education” been code for “race to find the perfect job and decide what you’re going to do for the rest of your life”?
I’m a journalism student, which I’m sure has something to do with the pressure being put on me (and, I assume, many of you) by professors, employers, parents, even peers. It’s a competitive field, one where your ability to whore yourself out to potential employers is often more important than your ability to write.
What’s worse, I feel as though I’m being turned against my friends and peers, taught to view them as opponents I must outwit rather than resources from which I can learn. Three of my housemates (who happen to be three of my closest friends) are also in their senior year at the journalism school and, sometimes, when we’re all commiserating over the number of internship applications we’ve filled out this week, I can’t help but feel a sense of competition over who knows the most influential people or has the most published clips. I have no problem with seeking out connections or working my way up the job ladder, but when I start brainstorming ways I can one-up my best friends, something is wrong.
And it’s not just those of us in the J-school feeling the crunch. New York Times best-selling author Alexandra Robbins wrote “Quarterlife Crisis: The Unique Challenges of Life in Your Twenties,” to document the struggles people face between college graduation and their thirties. Across the country, Robbins found twentysomethings being thrust into a world that urges them to find out exactly what they want to do and, more importantly, to land the right job, as soon as possible.
Now, I’m not naive, and I’m trying my best not to whine. I’m all for becoming a self-sufficient adult; I even hope to be one someday. I’m not, however, for the idea of being rushed into a nine-to-five job immediately after graduation and becoming a cog in the corporate machine before I’ve had a chance to breathe and get my bearings. Call me an idealist, but the message that success – at the college level or beyond – is defined by the job you land is a pill I’m not prepared to swallow.
I’d like to propose a novel idea: Maybe it’s OK not to have the next 20 years planned out. Or the next 10. I’d even settle for the next five. Don’t get me wrong: It’s certainly wise to think about and prepare for the future, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with knowing what you want and going after it. I’m not advocating dropping out of school to sell arts and crafts on street corners, nor am I promoting being in one’s early twenties without a thought about what might make oneself happy.
Students should simply put things in perspective and realize they still have the vast majority of their lives ahead of them. I’d say that’s plenty of time to figure things out. As for me, after graduation I plan on traveling until the loan collectors track me down. But I’ll probably keep a pen and the editor of National Geographic’s e-mail address handy, just in case.
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