As a kid, it was my dream to either own an ice cream shop, draw world-famous cartoons, or work at Dunkin’ Donuts (I was a big fan of their donuts). I thought these were noble careers, and my relatives seemed to adore my ambition as I rambled on about ice cream flavors and comic strips at family reunions and holiday parties. I don’t think they’d find this as cute anymore now that I’m an adult, but since I have no idea what I want to do with my life, all of those options are still on the table for me.
My lack of direction in life has become increasingly terrifying as I creep closer towards my college graduation. I’m 21 years old, and in a year I’ll be graduating into an economy suffocating at the hands of the COVID-19 pandemic with nothing to show for my hard work except for a degree in English. I bounce between different career aspirations every other day; some days, graduate school seems enticing, but other days I wonder if working as a freelance writer or getting a corporate job in copywriting is my best bet at a successful life. But what if I’m not competitive enough to get one of those jobs? Maybe I should learn to code, or even get an internship for a publishing press so that I have some concrete skills to show off on my resume. I get into these rabbit holes nearly every day, spending hours at a time applying for uninteresting jobs and taking boring classes so that I feel like I have a better shot at being a “successful” adult.
On one particularly anxious night, after spending hours obsessively researching graduate programs for everything from Library Science to Urban Planning, I talked for hours with my roommate about my fears of not finding a career path that interests me, of getting stuck into some soul-sucking corporate gig that I’m not passionate about. How could I ever be happy with my life? She shrugged me off, and in a very matter-of-fact tone responded “I dunno, I just want a garden. That’s a lot more important to me than whatever I do for money.”
What struck me the most about this response is that it challenges everything I believe about what it means to be successful. Whenever I consider success, I’m always thinking about money. After all, isn’t that how we’re raised to think? The ‘American Dream’ is all about getting a job you love, one that gives you enough money to have a nice car and a house, maybe raise some kids too. What else would a successful life look like? Is it possible to be successful without landing an incredible job or making six figures?
Remodeling my definition of success has been a difficult process, largely because – as an American – I’ve been spoon-fed for my entire life the notion that economic productivity is what makes living worthwhile. But at the end of the day, all that being successful really means is accomplishing some personal aim or purpose. Sure, we need jobs (not necessarily careers, though), in order to feed ourselves and put a roof over our heads. There’s no denying that. But jobs aren’t the only things that can make us happy, and we don’t have to rely on them for personal fulfillment. What about our friends and families? What about art, music, going outside, whatever it is you do in your freetime? There has to be something outside of work that can make our lives worth living. Why am I worried about finding the perfect job when things like hiking, writing, and spending time with my family bring me so much more joy than any career I’ll ever have? And honestly, having the time and energy for these things will make nearly any job worthwhile.
Finding a career that I love would be a dream come true, but I’m coming to realize that I shouldn’t depend on my job to make me happy or successful. If people like my roommate can be happy with a small garden, then what’s stopping me?