F
G u t a o r N a e nteed r u tu
By Amanda Aziz
18
ing the best in our chosen field. So we worry and pull out our hair over what we need to decide on for the future (and we have to decide now, apparently). If we fail to make a decision on time, we’ll fall behind in university. And if we fall behind in university, then we won’t get into grad school, and if we don’t get into grad school or get that internship, then we won’t get our career of choice, and if we don’t get our career of choice, then blah blah blah. And the anxiety doesn’t stop there: while everyone else is climbing that ladder or smoothly sailing on their journey to becoming the greatest of I Don’t Care What, your compass is broken. You have no plans, and you don’t know where to start. And to make things worse, if you don’t start perfecting your craft now, then one, two, three, four, five, your time is up and someone else has beaten you in the rat race. Except now you can’t start because you’re plagued with the plunging feeling you get when you realize how far behind you are compared to everyone else who apparently planned their lives the moment they were born. The “Oh god if I don’t start now, start now and make a game plan, then I am going to lose; no, I’m already losing, I feel it, game over” type of feeling. Game over. Or not. It’s funny, this pressure and anxiety, because none of this competition will matter in the future. I mean, you tell me all about your future. Tell me about your dreams. Tell me about your aspirations. Tell me your five-year, 10-year, 15-year plans. Tell me all about your future, because I like jokes. You, me, those superhuman kids that I went to school with and desperately wanted to shut up, can’t control our future. Game plans, goal charts, career maps, and everything you can do to prevent the mishaps—are bullshit. The future is uncontrollable. People try so hard to map out their futures, thinking that they can outwit the inevitable. Yes, it’s true, some direction helps, but we should be aware that the things we’re doing now may or may not have any effect on our future. When we put so much pressure into planning out every little detail, and ponder so much that we’re mentally scrapbooking memories that haven’t even been made yet, then we’re in for disappointment.
Our future is not guaranteed. In high school, I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but felt pressured to have my PhD before I turned 30. But now, I prefer the idea of taking a few years off after I graduate from university. Working and traveling, figuring out what I really want to do, and maybe even joining an organic farm volunteer program to, perhaps, do beekeeping in a farm outside of Berlin. I just want to enjoy myself, and take the most that I can out of the present. What our generation needs to do is to calm down, and realize that this is supposed to happen: the not knowing, the lack of direction. And maybe, just maybe, we should let our future play itself out—instead of planning out the future just focus on what is happening now. And the rest, well, who knows? I’m currently in the middle of deciding what I want to major in for my university career. I have no clue what I want to do, but I know that I want to do something in the creative field. I’m just taking one step at a time because I know that if I pick out a game plan and try to anticipate my life, my anxiety will accumulate to a level so unbearable that I might not even want to get out there and make my future happen. And yes, I am still scared as hell. But I’m okay with that. Some fears are a necessity. And if you’re scared too, let’s be scared together. Fuck mapping out the future, because nothing ever goes according to plan anyway. And who knows, we both might just end up happily beekeeping in Berlin ever after.
Emily Pollock
I’m going to be turning 20 this summer. I’m not going to be a teenager anymore. I’m going to be turning 20. And the rat race is going to begin. Actually, no, the rat race has already begun. It started in high school, somewhere in between when everyone decided what career they were going to embark on, and when the top result for my Careers Assessment Test was “beekeeper” (taxidermist came in as a close second). Suddenly, in the middle of everyone’s adolescent years—when we were all just getting the hang of the torture that puberty had put our bodies through—the thought of planning out the future began to be a fun pasttime. Yeah, it was fun, all right. The next thing I knew, I found myself (in high school!) acquainted with people already studying for the LSATs, MCATs, and GMATs. People who were making their art portfolios, writing the next great piece of literature in the Western canon, and prepping their speeches for the Nobel Peace Prize that they would presumably be honoured with in the future. On top of that, these kids—these superhumans—were piling on internships seasonally. The real world was brought into high school before we had even graduated. The rat race started prematurely, and I have yet to make my run. While those superhuman kids were off volunteering at a university science lab to find the next cure for multiple sclerosis, I was still stuck on how the hell I got beekeeper as my ideal career (what the fuck, Careers Assessment Test?). I mean, I also participated in school clubs, but everybody did. In a nutshell, while everyone was getting a head start, and happened to know where their towel was, I was sitting on my ass being an awkward teenager who probably left their towel in the school gymnasium’s changing room. Mapping out the future was a thing. Planning was a hobby. Living in the future was something someone of our generation would do, all while trying to live in the present. Being immersed in a super-competitive environment has been stagnating for our generation. Soon, finding a cure for a disease won’t be enough to be the greatest anymore, and we are fixated on the toxic idea that future success is dependent on be-