I am going back to school for my MBA. In case you’re counting, this will be my third degree. Please, don’t judge me too critically. I admit it, I crave intellectual pursuits the way athletes jones for endorphin rushes; the way Rosie O’Donnell craves delicious pie. But I’m not an escapist and I’m not bored.
Okay, I’m a little bored. More than that, however, I’m a realist.
See, for a long time all I wanted to do was teach. I had visions of myself surrounded by volumes of books, wicked smart and overzealous students, and amid classrooms with flickering fluorescent lights. I wanted to wear tired-looking tweed jackets, drink bourbon from a flask in my desk, and have an illicit relationship with a student who wore red cowboy boots. I imagined that my idiosyncrasies and professional missteps would be overlooked because of my sheer brilliance. Of course my misadventures would be the stuff of legends. And when I died, my longtime and, until then, secret lover would release the Great American Novel based upon yours truly.
Okay, so what happened? Let me put it to you this way: I have no less than three friends who are in debt up to their ears for culinary degrees that have gone unused. Also, as much as I love Michael Chabon’s “Wonder Boys,” I am capable of discerning truth from fiction. Which brings me to my next point: The truth, especially my version, has always been better than fiction. And finally, I have realized that what I want to do is not necessarily what I should do. Said another way: Desire may trump talent in the arena of motivation, but it cannot disguise a lack of ability. I may teach one day, but that day is not any time soon and it will certainly not be as a Wonder Boy. Instead, my reality is alarmingly familiar.
My grandfather, a man with two master’s degrees, worked for a company called Republic Aviation, which was acquired by Fairchild Aircraft. For thirty years he was their accountant, which included numerous trips to London and Stockholm, each would culminate in gifts and stories. As an adult, I realize now that his stories had little if any basis in reality, but even now his story about being imprisoned in the Tower of London for photographing the Queens Jewels makes my sides hurt.
The best gift he ever gave me sticks with me to this day. He said, “People will judge you by your handshake. Make sure it’s firm.” I get more compliments on my “look-you-in-your-eye-and-deliver-a-firm-handshake” introduction than you can imagine. All that is, more or less, beside the point. The point is I work for the world’s third-largest defense contractor, which includes [most of] a company formerly known as Fairchild Aircraft.
Life doesn’t believe in a status quo. My present gobbled up my grandfather’s past. So, what choice do I have but to embrace this reality? I’m good at business, is that the worst thing ever? Maybe my dreams of teaching poetry have to take a backseat to necessity. Maybe those dreams are just dreams. Or maybe some day I’ll teach. Maybe not. Who knows? Who cares?
It’s entirely too easy to claim, “I may be poor, but I’m doing what I love” and just settle. Just ride the status quo out to the horizon and disappear. I know these people. These are the people only a few steps away from selling designer knockoff sunglasses to Washington DC tourists. These are the people, who if you gave them a coat, tie and spiffy haircut, would be responsible for the current economic meltdown. These are blind, empty, shallow people hiding from themselves.
Me? I’m imperfect, admittedly. Yet, this is one time when motivation and talent agree, which is an opportunity NOT to be missed. It’s time stop trying to make the world bend to my will and follow this paradigm-shifting and personal philosophy-challenging path.
The countdown clock just cannot tick fast enough.