Education vs. Career (BEDS 020)

My stance on university has always remained the same: take courses you're interested in, and find a job later. Education first, career second. I haven't failed to notice, though, the value society puts in the career you have after.

I'm not naive enough to believe that wanting a good job is not a motivating factor for attending university. In fact, if I'm being completely, 100% honest, it's a big reason I reapplied. It's a common reason, and an extremely valid one. If you want to be a lawyer because of the big, fat paycheck you'll get, I applaud you! (Mostly because I find law extremely dull and confusing, and I would never, ever, pursue it.)

But I hate--hate--when the topic turns to what I'm going to do after school. I hate that so many people view the lack of an intended career path as a downfall, a weakness, a liability. I resent all of the condescending thoughts that my degree is useless, or that the courses I'm taking will not benefit my future.

This year, I decided to take Japanese. It had no relation to any of my major requirements. The credit probably wasn't going to do me many favours on my transcript. But I took it in my first year, I liked it, I was good at it. I wanted to increase my conversational skills in the language, so I registered for the course.

Of course, I ended up dropping it after the first class, but that's another story entirely.

When I first started my degree, I hated it. The courses in my major were too broad, too general, too....bleh. I had no interest, so I dropped out. But the longer I'm here, the more narrowed the classes get, the more I like them. The more I'm interested. The more I actually care about what I'm learning, as opposed to the piece of paper I'm going to get afterwards.

I may have been prompted back into university with the possibility of a better job, but I stick around because I am invested.

The things we discuss in class are things that pique my interest. I'm taking a course in Canadian comics, with books on the syllabus that I'm genuinely excited to read. I'm taking a popular literature and film class, and on the very first day we screened Inside Out. (Even more impressively, I managed not to cry.) I'm taking a class about fairy tales--FAIRY TALES. If that's not the literal most perfect class for me, I don't know what is.

Even though school stresses me out, and I breathe a sigh of relief every time a break comes along, I am genuinely happy to be here. I am genuinely excited about what I'm studying, about (some of) the papers I'm assigned to write. And that's how it should be.

Sometimes you need a degree to do what you really want to do--but, as I've said before, I have never been one of those people. So right now, all I care about is being challenged, thinking critically, and being exposed to new perspectives that I wouldn't have seen otherwise.

At least that way, I'll have some pride in the piece of paper I get at the end of it all, instead of disappointment from not getting the career I set my mind on.

Until later,

- Justyne

The Creative Process

Sometimes, I envy the people who want to be lawyers. Or the people who want to be doctors. Or the people who are happy studying business or economics or science or something else that can lead them to getting well respected jobs and earning crap tons of cash. I envy the people who were never told, "Oh, neat, you want to be a CEO! But what else?"

When it comes to a job like that, there is no "what else". You go to school, you make connections, you get a job. The process is simple. "Simple" doesn't necessarily mean "easy", of course--if it was easy then everyone would do it. What I mean is that, generally, there's a certain set path for achieving these things--it's not concrete, and people vary from it all the time, but nobody is ever left on the front step of their high school the day after graduation without a clue as to where to go next. 

That's how I felt for a long time--heck, I still feel that way sometimes. Like someone dropped me in the middle of a forest and told me to find my own way back--sure, I'll get there eventually. I just have no clue how, because, hello, you didn't think to give me a map, asshole.

In just about every author interview I've read / watched / listened to, there is at least--at least--one question asked about their process. "What's a typical day in your life?" "Where do you get your ideas?" "What's your process like?" I can't blame people for asking these questions--I want to know, too. Last year, when I was struggling to figure out exactly where I should be, what role I should play, how to go about this incredibly complex career path, I spent a lot of time reading author bios. I'd pick books off my shelf and read the "About the Author" blurb at the back, I'd visit official author websites and blogs, I'd scour over those very same interviews I just mentioned.

You know what I was looking for? A manual. A master plan, a grand "How To", a sign so I could tell whether my approach was right or incredibly wrong. I like to follow instructions, but that's pretty damn hard when I have no instructions to follow.

But the thing is, there really isn't one, and trying to find one will just confuse you even more. This profession has no required credentials, but for every writer who didn't go to school there's another who did and insists that it's valuable. There's no real "right" way to craft your stories; some people who preach the act of writing every day, and there are some who scoff at the idea entirely. Even publication itself isn't simple--you can get a literary agent, or represent yourself; you can publish with a professional publishing house, or do it yourself online; self publishing can be done exclusively online or through an independent printing press....IT'S JUST TOO MUCH.

I'm willing to bet that just about every author behind every book that's sitting on your shelf right now got to where they are in a drastically different way. It's super intimidating, and scary, because how the hell am I supposed to know if I'm doing it right?

But that's the beauty of it, too. It brings a certain excitement to the table, because the possibilities are literally endless. It's overhwelming, sometimes, the amount of decisions I have to make and the number of options I have on the table in front of me. But if my biggest problem is that I have too many options, I think I'm doing pretty good.

I mean, people are still expecting a "realistic" career choice out of you, so what have you really got to lose, anyhow?

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Love, You

When she turned fourteen, a letter arrived for her in the mail. There was no address, either for the sender or recipient; how it arrived successfully, she wasn’t sure. But there was no mistake about the name that was written neatly on the envelope—the contents inside were for her.

She thought that the handwriting seemed familiar.

She didn’t open it, not at first. She dismissed its existence, diverting her attention to the more exciting packages wrapped in brightly coloured paper. It wasn’t until the sun had gone down, and the special day was all but over, when she found it again, abandoned on the floor. She tore the envelope open, not giving much care for its contents...until she unfolded the paper inside.

One letter, not half a page long, written neatly on a piece of lined paper torn out of a notebook. The curves in the writing mimicked hers exactly—she herself had written this letter.

Or would write it, eventually.

Smile, it said. Be brave. Be fearless. Don’t check that mirror in your locker; you look fine. Don’t worry about that boy that sits two desks over from you in math; he isn’t worth your time.

And, finally, you are you. You are as perfect as you ever will be and ever have been. Your best qualities are infinitely better than your worst flaws.

Do not fear yourself; embrace yourself.

Love, You.

She went to bed with a smile that night, the mysterious letter taking precedence in her mind over the most extravagant of birthday presents that year.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Letters to Myself - 30 (BEDS #19)

Dear 30-year-old self,

This letter, unlike the others, is not about reassuring myself. This letter, unlike the others, will not tell you of the great things to come and warn you of things that might be better to avoid. Because this letter is not a rhetorical letter--it's a letter that you will see, someday. Because you are me, and if I know myself like I think I do, I'm sure I'll end up rummaging through old internet posts eventually.

You will find this. And you will read this. And although you probably don't want to listen to the words of naive, probably cringe-worthy, 20-year-old you, I think you should. I mean, you won't listen to anyone else, anyway. Who knows any of this better than us?

I don't know where you are. Maybe you're married, starting a family. Maybe you're single and alone with 20 cats. (God, I hope it's not the second one. I don't even like cats that much.) Maybe you're a published, successful author...and maybe you're not.

I don't like to acknowledge the possibility of our failure, but denying it doesn't make it any less plausible. It might happen, as sad as that idea is, and you'll probably want to give up.

Please don't.

Maybe you're considering switching career paths--heading for something that pays better. Maybe you already have, and your writing as already long since started collecting dust in the corner.

Please don't.

I'm sorry if my lack of progress at age 20 helped contribute to our lack of success at age 30. I'm sorry if you're second guessing the decisions that I'm making now.

But I'm not sorry it happened.

I'm not sorry I left school, I'm not sorry that I spent so much time focusing on the positives and convincing myself that yes, this is possible. Because even if, at age 30, you are not where I envision you to be, it still is possible. It's as possible at age 30 as it was at age 20 as it will be at age 40 or 50 or 72. There are no time constraints.

So if you have given up, or you are still considering it, just remember...you still have time. You can still do this. I believe in you, and since I'm you, you really believe in yourself...right? (I'm sorry, this whole talking-to-myself deal has really mixed up the pronouns in my head.)

I'm leaving this up to you, now. So if not for yourself, do it for me. And if not for me, do it for the 9-year-old us--the one who still exists in another time and place, lying in bed and dreaming of seeing her name in print someday.

Do it for her, okay?

Love,

20-year-old Justyne

Letters to Myself - 17 (BEDS #18)

Apologies for being absent the last few days--I got sick and haven't been feeling well. Now that I'm back, though, the challenge continues!

~~

Dear 17-year-old self,

I wish I could tell you not to take English. I wish I could tell you to focus on something, anything else. I wish I could tell you that the misery that ensued from enrolling in that program was not worth it...but it was.

You met a really, really awesome person from taking that class. You met lots of really, really awesome people from attending university completely. So yes, the class sucks, and yes, you may hate it. But even so, I do not regret it one bit. If I had not taken that class, I would not have been at that school, and that year remains one of my favourites. That place remains one of my favourites.

Instead, I will tell you this: don't stress over your future.

You might panic, sometimes. You might feel like you're lost, and have no idea where you're supposed to be headed. You might feel like you have no idea what you're supposed to do with the rest of your life.

I'm here to slap you upside the head (figuratively speaking), because you do know these things. You've known them since you were nine years old--why should they change now that you're reaching "adulthood"?

(Speaking of which, I feel like I should mention that, at least by age 20, you will never feel like an adult. By age 20, you will feel more like a five year old than you did when you were actually five years old. I have embraced it, and you should, too.)

My point is, you know where your passion lies. Don't doubt it. Whenever you feel stressed or worried about the future, take a breath and start writing.

Lord knows how much we would have gotten done if we had.

Love,

20-year-old Justyne

Fears and Definitions

Hey there! How've you been? I haven't seen you in ages! Come on in, have a seat! Can I get you anything? A drink? A snack? A long overdue blog post, perhaps?

I realize that I've been MIA for the past couple of months, and I apologize for that. I've been...struggling, to say the least. I haven't forgotten about blogging; I've just been having trouble finding the right things to say. Or maybe, more like afraid...of voicing what's been on my mind lately.

Do you ever feel that way? Feel scared to tell people what your biggest dream is--especially when it's not the most "realistic" career plan around? Do you ever feel silly talking about your hopes and dreams for the future?

I've felt that way for a while now. Writing is incredibly important to me; it's my passion, the dream that I've held dear since the fourth grade. When I start to tell people about my writing, and what I want to do with it, I feel...kind of raw. Open. Exposed.

My writing is not a secret. This blog is proof of that. I don't go out of my way to keep it hidden. But as I've gotten older, I find myself more and more reluctant to tell people about my writing. It's like I'm afraid of what they'll think about my career path; like I'm afraid that they'll tear my dreams down, say that they're not "realistic enough". That I need to pick something else. Most people assume that I don't want to go back to school because I'm unsure of what job I want, and it's gotten to the point that I neglect to correct them; I just let them think what they want to think.

It's...easier that way, I guess.

I know what I want to do. I know what I want to accomplish. I've known these things since I was nine, and they've never once changed. I'm tired of feeling self-conscious about my dreams because of what others might think of them, and I'm tired of feeling worthless because I'm not living up to my so-called "potential".

And most importantly, I'm tired of feeling like I'll let everyone down if I don't make the right decision.

But see, here's the thing about that: Despite what anyone says, regardless of their profession or age or the amount of experience under their belt, nobody can tell you what the right decision is. Only you can do that. And even though it may feel like everyone around you--your family, your friends, your teachers--are pressuring you to go in another direction...

They will support you.

In the end, it doesn't matter how "normal" or "realistic" your job is. It doesn't matter whether or not you have a degree. It doesn't matter if you need one or two or three extra jobs to help pay the bills. All that matters is that you're happy, and you're doing the thing that you love.

I'm still afraid sometimes. Afraid that no one will like my work. Afraid that maybe it won't turn out like I want it to.

But I'm even more afraid that if I give in--if I return to university, work towards a degree I don't really want and get a "smart" job that I don't really care for--that I'll lose everything. My passion. My dreams. My writing.

You can't define yourself based on the amount of money you make. You can't define yourself based on the career you have, or the size of your house, or how old and run-down your computer is. I think that, if you could only define a person with one thing...it would be their passion for what they love.

I will write. Because regardless of how much money I'm making--if I'm making any at all--it's who I am. I am a writer, and I won't let myself be defined by anything else.

What defines you?


Until later,

- Justyne

An Epiphany of Sorts

Stop checking your calendars, I realize that it's not Friday. Consider this a bonus post for not forming an angry mob and chasing me away from the internet yet. I appreciate you for putting up with my lack of blogging skills.

So buckle up, readers. This post is gonna be long.

I've been in sort of a slump lately. And by "lately," I really mean the last two or three years or so.

I've been writing less. I've been stressing lots. About The Future (dun dun dun), mostly. I realize I'm only in my first year of university, but I just haven't figured out what I want to do with my life yet. (And before you mention writing, just calm your hormones for a second. I'll get to that shortly.) Nothing in university has really caught my attention thus far. Every time I think I've figured it out--English teacher, copy editor, homeless hobo in a magical flying cardboard box--I go and change my mind. (Although I'm still hoping that magical cardboard box thing will work out, that would be pretty freaking awesome.) 

I'm also frustrated. Very frustrated. Mostly with myself.

I had a lengthy conversation with my dad on the phone last night, mostly talking about The Future (dun dun dun). The main topic of discussion was whether or not I should take the year off from university next year (see the reasons above). His main concern was that I would end up playing Sims all the time, instead of doing something productive.

I'm not saying that this isn't true. In fact, this is probably the most likely of any scenario I could possibly come up with.

But that's what really frustrates me.

When did I get so lazy? Seriously! I've always procrastinated, but never this bad. I used to write literally all the time. I used to do productive things in my free time--something that often seems like a foreign concept to me now. When did all of this change?

So I started thinking. I've spent most of today thinking, to be honest. I thought back to when I spent all of my time writing. I thought about how it felt to write--how I felt then, and how I feel now in comparison, when I'm hardly writing at all.

I still love writing. That much hasn't changed. I love writing as much as I did when I was nine years old and first started putting words to paper.

But that's not the real issue here.

So I thought about what's different. I thought about when it changed--when I stopped writing so much, and, most importantly, I thought about why.

Because that, my dear readers, is the million dollar question.

So after all these hours of thinking--in the shower, in my bed, on the couch while watching television--I think I've figured it out. My problem, you see, is that I've been thinking too "realistically."

And that is a problem that can apply to everybody--not just writers.

I was confident when I was a kid. I thought that there was nothing that I couldn't do. I was so sure that I would be published before I even graduated high school; that I would become a famous author, that everyone would read and love my writing. I was so sure that everything would work out.

I lost sight of that. I started doubting myself. I started doubting my abilities as a writer. I got too caught up in the money aspect:

"Writing isn't the easiest industry to enter." 

"You can't make a living off of it right away." 

"You need a back-up plan."

I'm not saying that these things aren't true. What I'm saying is that I got so caught up in these things--in my so-called "back-up plan"--that it became my only plan. I forgot about writing altogether.

I don't want that.

This is why I've been in a slump--why I keep changing my mind, flipping directions, unsure of every little decision I make.

Newsflash: no industry is easy to enter. No job is easy to get. There is no career on this planet in which you can walk on up and say, "I want this job" and the employer replies with, "lol okay."

It just doesn't work that way. There's work involved. There are degrees to earn, resumes to build, experience to...well, experience.

Writing is the same way.

A back-up plan is just that--a back-up plan. Something you turn to when your original plan doesn't work out. My problem is that I was so consumed with my back-up plan--with the negative "what-if's"--that I lost sight of what I truly wanted. I've been focusing all of my time and money and worries into a career that my heart's just not in. I gave up on writing; written it off as impossible before I even gave it a chance.

I can't even begin to describe how wrong that is.

I am capable. I've written a 50k+ novel in 30 days. I spent months writing a 200+ page novel when I was in the 8th grade. I had an entire freaking book series planned out when I was 9 years old. People enjoy reading my work, and I enjoy writing it. That is what truly matters.

I need to take back that confidence I had when I was a kid. I need to re-focus my attention on what I want--what I've always wanted. I need to believe that I can do this--because I can. I know I can.

And so can you.

Who knows, maybe I'm just delusional. Maybe it's the optimist in me. But no matter what I end up doing next year--taking a year off and staying at home, travelling the world, becoming a homeless hobo with a magical box (seriously, though, somebody hook me up with that)--I'll be writing. I'll be doing what I love.

So to all of you high school students out there, being pressured to choose what you want to do for the rest of your life--don't worry about it. Take your time. University will always be there, if you need it. Focus on what you love.

Because here's the secret: if you love your work, it doesn't seem like work. My dad taught me that.

(Actually, no, I knew that way before he told me on the phone last night. But he tried, I'll give him that.)

The future doesn't seem so scary now, does it?

Maybe this will inspire you. Maybe it won't. But if you only take one thing away from this post, let it be this:

It should never be, "What if I can't?" It should always, always be, "I can. And I will."

Thanks for your time, guys.

Until later,

- Justyne