What Am I Good At? What Am I Doing? Where Am I Going?

After years of dedication to education and perfectionism, I’m at the ripe age of 24 and unsure as of what I’m doing in this world. I graduated from high school a year early only to enter college, finish my undergraduate degree in 3 ½ years in addition to beginning my teaching credential in that time, and begin teaching in a low-income, gang-ridden school at the age of 21. I believe I have been in way over my head from the get-go, and my go-getter attitude has proven more than once to get me in a heap of trouble. So what am I good at? Getting things accomplished, I suppose, and ambition—now I’m really good at that (is it possible to be good at ambition? I don’t know, but it sounds good for the time being). After a few months of teaching and realizing that the job was exhausting, political, and oftentimes unfruitful, I promptly began the masters program at Cal State Bakersfield in School Counseling, thinking that the job wouldn’t be cushy, but at the very least, behind the scenes, in which, as all teachers very-well know, is the most sought-after career choice after a grueling day in the classroom. During the course of my first year as an educator, I relished in having money—REAL money. I was still living at home since my little self was just 21 and not yet ready to move out of mommy’s abode, so next came the dream car, the decadent vacations, and the Prada. Student loans? O yeah, those. Those won’t be due until I’m done with grad school in two years. I lived, I learned, and I developed a mild case of alcoholism from the new-found joy of forgetfulness after a difficult day that you couldn’t quite shake (I’m only half joking here). By the end of first semester, however, I began to sincerely enjoy my job—yes, the gang members who were on school probation for assaulting a teacher or stabbing a classmate, the impossible task of teaching English language learners to write a half-comprehensible essay, and also the small joys that came from a student thanking you for helping them grasp a concept or having an entire class passing their state tests (this is a big accomplishment in today’s testing-ridden educational system). I started looking forward to my time with the students, who at the very least, never failed to keep things interesting. Aside from the lockdowns, bomb threats, and near-fights in my classroom that first year, my students respected me, and I had a very positive rapport with some of the toughest kids at that school. I loved this and grew fond of those students, the ones that everyone else was afraid of, because we understood each other in a way (mysteriously, since I’m from a white, predominantly middle-class family and live across the street from Joey Porter). I loved that students learn despite their circumstances, and I was fascinated that this is even possible. I finished out that first year on a positive note, with one year done of grad school, a new job offer closer to my home, and a cushy sign-on bonus waiting for me the very next year.

                By the summer of that year, I was feeling optimistic, accomplished, and good at what I did. I came to a new high school with the worst reputation in the district because of location (next to the “inner-city” ghetto), but I had come from a place that taught me a lot. I was confident in my classroom management skills, and I knew that it would be ok. That second year will reside in my memory as one of the best. We were a young staff who worked together to create a school where learning was fostered, and despite the difficult population, we stuck together and supported one another indisputably—through bi-weekly happy-hour sessions and weekend getaways, that is. But this was good for moral, and it paid off. From this year, I remember the great times, the respect I received—even considering being a fairly new teacher—and the stress of that time fades away in the distance. I was heavily delved into my graduate degree by this time in addition to fast-tracking to receive the professional clear for my credential—basically a secondary credential program to solidify a teaching credential for life. I knew that I would one day leave the teaching profession, but I always wanted a back-up plan, as I often do, and needed the security of knowing that I could always return to the classroom if need be. I was swamped with working full-time (full-time being somewhat of a joke to a teacher, who knows that it’s really more like TWO full-time jobs to be an educator with endless planning, grading, adjunct duties, and extra student tutoring), going to four-hour classes every night, and attending BTSA meetings (oftentimes skipping class to attend these) in order to finish the clearing of my credential in one year rather than two. Like I said, ambition for me has never been an issue…..I took this all in stride and finished the year out strong. That summer, I spent my time interning at a local middle school to finish up the clinical aspect of my degree and received a job offer at my high school to do part-time teaching/part-time counseling. This would be a heavy workload, no prep period, new classes to teach, and a whole new job in the counseling realm, but I readily accepted the task. I finished my degree that next spring, graduating at 22 with my master’s degree in Educational Counseling. I loved my job, however busy, and I finally felt my place in the world. That all changed in the spring of that year, just before the end of school, when I found out that our senior and head counselor would be leaving. By leaving, I mean moving to another school, leaving four brand-new, inexperienced, first-year counselors to pick up the slack. While I don’t blame him personally, I was scared out of my wits to learn that I would, as a measly counselor with just one year of part-time experience, be given the responsibility of manning the following year’s seniors as our high school’s very first graduating class. No pressure. Actually, the pressure started just then when I was fully aware of the task that lay before me: no experience, no one to look to in our school for guidance. It was perhaps the scariest moment of my life to date—that is until the next school year actually started. I had spent the summer working, cleaning up and making sure that we would start the new year smoothly. Once the year actually got underway, I was quickly met with a feeling very familiar to me, a feeling I had not had in quite some time—I was in way over my head, perhaps more so than I had ever been before. This feeling, by the way, has not yet subsided as we enter the end of the school year. So here I stand yet again, a 24-year old female with three degrees and feeling completely and utterly at a loss in my personal aspirations. It is in my nature to question whether I could have done more, been more, but I suppose that is natural for some to wonder. Should I go on to get a PhD? Pursue a career as a college professor at a local jc? Finally make the move to my OC dream home?

After four years of working in my chosen career fields, I also do not feel as financially stable as I had wished and hoped for. I presume my previously frivolous spending habits have carried over into adulthood, thoughts of “I do not know how I ever lived without this sweater” or “I cannot possibly go on another day without that Gucci bag” often consuming my already packed mind. While I have gotten noticeably better—by “better,” I mean whereas before I was buying Chanel and going to The Vegas every other weekend, now I’m spending the same amount of money on a brand-new home in a great part of town, making the payments on a BMW, and also managing to save a little in the process—I should not feel the financial oppression that I do as a single individual with no dependents (aside from two very spoiled and very adorable Chihuahua puppies) on a fairly substantial salary. O wait. I’m living at my means. Now it makes sense. E does it again!

All things aside, however, I stand at a place where I should be 100% content, and I still feel that I should be doing more, feeling more accomplished. I do not necessarily desire more education, a different career, etc., but I do feel the pressure to do something outside of the realm of normal. Write a book. Get a regular column in the local newspaper. Take up significant charity work. Start a local campaign to stop youth gang-violence. Run marathons. I don’t want to be known, I just want to feel like I’ve accomplished something. I have a wonderful life—amazing boyfriend who supports me in all I do (even in my craziness), wonderful family, unbelievable friends. I love my home, my job (usually), the wine, the travel. So is it just my insatiable ambition that drives me to want to do more? Is this bad, or just a natural part of the human condition that promotes us to strive?