My time with the MS Society of Canada is officially winding down. I just finished my last full week of work; actually, “full week” is something of a misnomer, because I spent all day yesterday on a golf course supervising the society’s annual charity golf tournament (and getting a wicked sunburn in the process). Next week, meanwhile, I’ll be tying up any remaining loose ends, cleaning out my desk, saying my goodbyes…and at four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon, I’ll be walking out of the office and into the great wide open.
Not to mention a whole lot of uncertainty–because beyond mine and Bri’s trip to New York, I have no idea what’s happening next. I still don’t know about law school; if I don’t get in, I don’t know about a job (because I don’t want to go through the process of finding one in case I do get into law school). More fundamentally, I don’t know where I’ll be living in a few months’ time. Getting rejected from Queen’s effectively strikes Kingston from my list of potential destinations, but that doesn’t really get me any closer to knowing where I’ll be. Toronto? London? Calgary? Right now, they’re all distinct possibilities. At least we know where Bri will be: this would be so much more difficult if at least one of us didn’t have a firm destination.
As soon as we get back from New York, I’ll be officially unemployed. I’ll be picking up the occasional shift at…well, you know, but it’s really just to afford a regular supply of grande cinnamon dolce lattes from Starbucks (I have no problem admitting that, by the way). I’ve got weekends in Ottawa and Chicago in the offiing, plus a trip to Europe to plan out; given that I’ll be virtually unfettered I’ll have lots of time to do it. I still can’t figure out if I’m worried or excited about the prospect of the Great Unknown. The practical side of me is terrified: I’ve saved up a lot of money the past ten months, but it’s not nearly enough to do anything of consequence. But the other part of me–the one Sarah Fleming wants me to embrace whole-heartedly–is intrigued. I don’t want to resort to “the world is my oyster”-like cliches, but…well, it’s kind of is, isn’t it? I’m free to explore again. I can sit down and write out a list of things I want to accomplish, and then go about doing them; hopefully I’ll get in touch with my inner muse and figure out what I really want to do with this life of mine. Recently, I’ve been grappling with the concept of “work”, and decided I’m fundamentally incapable of separating work from self-actualization. I hereby vow never to work for the sake of having a job: consumptive toil is, like, so overrated and so very 19th century. I’ve decided–naively, one would imagine–that I don’t need to settle for that. I’ve got one shot at life; what’s the point in squandering it on doing something, on being someone, I hate? Every day when I ride the subway to work, I’m surrounded by people who’ve spent years (decades, even) sitting in cubicles, wearing business casual attire, telling “someone’s got a case of the Mondays!” jokes…and almost certainly being creatively stultified. Maybe I’m arrogant; maybe I’ve got my head jammed too far up my own asshole to see how the real world works. But I’ve decided I’m fine with that. I just don’t see the point in being alive if I’m not going to embrace everything life has to offer–and that means finding work that’s inspiring, not a means to an end.
Because otherwise, like I said: what’s the point? As of Thursday, I’ll start figuring that one out.