Today I taught my second-to-last on-ground class of the semester (or maybe ever? Who knows). I was leading a discussion about how people respond to natural disasters, trying to get my students to consider the economic, political, social, etc. effects of unpredictable, high-impact events like volcanic eruptions.
In one of the scenarios we examined, the (imaginary) owner of an (imaginary) sandwich shop was explaining how a small nearby eruption had hurt his business. Here's a paraphrase of the off-topic discussion that ensued:
Student: Who cares about a sandwich shop? Maybe he should have tried owning a real business.
Me: ...That IS a real business. Think about all of the restaurants and cafes you've been to. Those are all real businesses. This person could have a business degree. Maybe he's making six figures a year. Who knows?
Student: Yeah, but a sandwich shop is just so... sad. That person could have done so many other things with his life.
And then several other people nodded in agreement.
I was flummoxed. To me, owning your own business means creativity, hard work, persistence, frustration, and careful money management. It's a meaningful and important responsibility. I don't approach the cashier at a store and think, "Your life sucks, and that's why you work at a deli."
On the other hand, I could kind of see where they're coming from. When I was in college, I thought I was going to be the most special of the special snowflakes. I was going to graduate, attend grad school, get a great job that I loved, spend my career moving up in rank and salary, make a difference, change the world, maybe appear on Oprah, and retire with a healthy bank account. Why wouldn't I think that way? That's what everyone tells kids they can and should do. Nobody ever says, "Wouldn't it be so cool if you grew up and made turkey club sandwiches for cranky tourists?"
Just for context, I'm pretty sure most of my students are a little loopy with end-of-semester madness, so I don't want to judge their sleep deprivation-induced commentary too harshly. But it did make me wonder what they'd think if they knew that I'm quitting my job to go live in an RV, homeschool my kid, travel around the country, and not work a 9 to 5 gig.
I feel like people in the United States are obsessed with work and status. Apparently, even my students are obsessed with status, even though they haven't graduated yet and may not be fully aware of just how challenging, stressful, and limited the job market can be. If you're a lawyer, a doctor, a professor, a successful entrepreneur, or an engineer, people automatically assume you're smart, dedicated, and SOMEBODY. If you're 50 years old and bagging groceries at Kroger or pouring coffee at Starbucks, they assume that either you couldn't cut it or you're on your way to something bigger and better.
(Side story: After I earned my Master's degree, I took time off from school and worked as a Starbucks barista. I was burned out on academia and wanted to have a new experience. On at least two occasions, people who had no idea of my history or personal life took it upon themselves to encourage me to "go back to school" and "make something of myself." "You're still young," one older man said. "You should at least get your college diploma."
I can't recall, but I hope I decafed him for his ignorant commentary.
And yes, baristas do that sometimes - if a customer is a jerk and the all-powerful Starbucks Big Brother isn't watching through the security cameras. Be respectful of the person who wields the caffeination power!)
One of the best places we've called home is Santa Cruz, California, where people truly seem to work to live. Rarely did anyone ever ask us what we did for a living. They seemed more concerned with whether we surfed and how we felt about social issues. Nobody cared whether you earned money at the local pizza parlor or in a fancy office building in San Jose. It just didn't matter, and it was refreshing to have entire conversations in which nobody ever mentioned their career or how they were planning to move up in the world.
I'm tired of the job/work obsession, and I wish that our country would be less focused on that aspect of life. Is it so awful to have a job that's just a job - nothing more? If you're not stressed out, exhausted, and anxious all the time, does that mean you're not earning your keep? Is it so terrible to not want to move up a career ladder or become wealthy and "important" (in quotes because really, even if you think your job is important, is it really that crucial?)
I'm not saying we should do nothing and mooch off everyone else. I'm certainly not saying that income isn't important! Trent and I do worry about that, and we strategize all the time. I'm just saying that I'm looking forward to exploring what life is like when my life doesn't totally revolve around my job.
