I was the guy who went to college and realized his dream job within the second year of undergraduate. I was 21 years old, my daughter was a year and a half at the time and I became incredibly focused on attaining my degree. While most people my age were drowning their passions and direction in Jager bombs and warm natty ices, I thought I had figured it out. I had my title.
My fire was lit when I attended my first history class at my local Jr. College and the plan was in enacted. I was going to become a college teacher in the Jr. College system. I raced through undergraduate, ran right through graduate school and at 25, became an associate professor at the same Jr. College that inspired me to take this leap of faith. The money didn't matter, the work load didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was that I accomplished what I wanted and I was supposedly living my dream. I quit my waiting job and officially got what I wanted.
The reality, was much more sinister. I realized I could not pay my bills, my work load was incredible (new found respect for all teachers and professors out there in the world, it is not as easy as it looks) and the college population did not share my passion for learning as I expected. But I couldn't stop. I was focused, this was in the plan, this was how it was supposed to be laid out and I did it. People envied me for knowing what I wanted, going and getting what I wanted and not giving up until I got what I wanted. I worked 3 days a week in construction while I taught at night or mid day two days a week and was a bartender at a summer seasonal job to make ends meet. When people asked though, I was a history teacher at a local Jr. college. I had the title. I had to continue. For everyone. For me.
I remained in the college ranks as a rank and file associate professor for 5 years. Each semester, I did not know if I had the the contract for the next semester and I did not know how many classes I would be teaching (by law, I could only teach three, but could be two or one). It didn't matter, because I had the title. I rationalized, justified and remained steadfast in my determination that things would get better. Then... It did. Budget cuts, outside forces, getting married, having another child at the age of 30 pushed me out of my dream job. I no longer had the title, I no longer had the dream, I no longer had the enslaving mentality that I NEEDED to keep going.
But then, I had no title. I continued to work construction, bar tending, and sold all my history books that I had read over the last 10 years (about $4,000 worth in used fashion and still going). Actually I made a lot more money concentrating all my efforts on my supplementary income then I did with my dream job. Yet, I was sick, I was depressed, I drank jager bombs and natty ice (j.k.). In my 30s, I became everything I was envied by throughout my 20s.
Now I am looking for my new title. I am asking the questions, what do I like, who am I, what are my values, what do I want to do, what job represents me. Because without a title that represents you, you are incomplete, you are a loser, you don't have a "real job."
Maybe I need to be asking different questions....
