Dream o' the Week

I’ve tried on- and discarded- many half-baked ideas about careers I could change to: caterer, advertising designer, copy editor, writer, chef, graphic artist, landscaper, St@rbuck’s barista, video game designer, starting a home remodeling business- just to name a few.

This is my current Dream o’ the Week: art professor.

I am driving myself insane thinking about the possibilities of it. Freedom from a cube. Semi-flexible schedule. Summers off. Corporate dress not required. If I don’t like someone in the class, I only have to survive him or her for a semester (I’m looking at you, Hack-n-Snort). Most importantly, doing something I want to do- creating art and being involved in others’ doing the same.

I have even considered the negative aspects, something I tended to gloss over in my previous schemes. Having to go get a second Master’s degree. Paying for second Master’s degree. Difficulty finding a job. Having to possibly start out at the high school level before I can get a college or university position. Research requirements. The fact that I have absolutely no body of work to show for myself at the current time. The possibility of complete and utter failure, as far as my art talent is concerned.

My first course of action is to actually talk to someone who is doing this for a living- a major oversight in my current career. If I’d talked to a real-life architect in the first place, I could have saved myself some major suffering. My intent is to find out whether or not I’m deluded in my assumptions of what the job entails.

The second thing is to start pulling some art out of my ass.

I’ll keep you posted.

You either love what you do or you don't. Period.

The following is a big ol' whine-purge. Brace yourselves.

The other day I G00gled, "what should I do with my life," because everybody knows that G00gle has the answers to the everyday existential crisis. I found an article, from a man who had written a book titled the same as my question. From my understanding, the article's intended audience was the tie-wearing, 60-hour-a-week-working, hardcore corporate business types- not so much someone in my industry. It read mostly as a touchy-feely, buy-my-book piece, but I did come away with a few kernels of thought as a result.

"There are far too many smart, educated, talented people operating at quarter speed, unsure of their place in the world...people who look like they have their act together but have yet to make an impact...It comes down to a simple gut check: You either love what you do or you don't. Period.

Those who are lit by that passion are the object of envy among their peers and the subject of intense curiosity. They are the source of good ideas. They make the extra effort. They demonstrate the commitment...they will be rewarded. With money, sure, and responsibility, undoubtedly. But with something even better too: the kind of satisfaction that comes with knowing [their] place in the world... "

This made me think, once again, of the friend who is in tax consulting- and absolutely devours what she does for a living. She doesn't think twice about how much she works, because she loves what she does- with a passion. I, on the other hand, have this mantra running through my head: "I don't fit here."

"Of course, addressing the question, What should I do with my life? isn't just a productivity issue: It's a moral imperative...That choice isn't about a career search so much as an identity quest. Asking The Question aspires to end the conflict between who you are and what you do... "

I hate the question, "So, what do you do?" I loathe it, I despise it- all for the simple reason that it is usually followed by the statement, "oh, that must be fun!" On the surface, "I'm an architect" sounds pretty cool, right? Underneath, I feel like a hypocrite. I want to reply, "it's a paycheck," because that's all it is to me. One of my professors used to talk constantly of passion for architecture; the truth is, I simply don't have any.

When I started college, I denied myself the route I really wanted to take- being an art major. I was afraid- of what my parents would say, afraid I wouldn't get a job, afraid I wouldn't be "good enough" to work in the artistic world. It is one of my biggest regrets that I didn't at least try.

"What am I good at? is the wrong starting point. People who attempt to deduce an answer usually end up mistaking intensity for passion. To the heart, they are vastly different. Intensity comes across as a pale busyness, while passion is meaningful and fulfilling. A simple test: Is your choice something that will stimulate you for a year or something that you can be passionate about for 10 years?"

When I started architecture school, I was good at it. Really good. The first semester, I made a 4.0 GPA. I thought that architecture passed the 10-year test. I had no idea that the culture of academic architecture and the culture of employment were in stark opposition to each other. I found out the hard truth near the end of my degree program, but I felt I had no choice but to continue on the path- I couldn't start over, so close to the end!! Today, I see that it was indeed intensity, and not passion, that kept me going. I made great grades, but it was painful. Pain, however, was part of the architecture school culture- if you weren't suffering, you weren't trying hard enough.

"Every industry has a culture. And every culture is driven by a value system...once you're rooted in a particular system...it's often agonizingly difficult to unravel yourself from its values, practices, and rewards...If you're successful at the wrong thing, the mix of praise and opportunity can lock you in forever."

I'm good at what I do, but I hate it. Healthcare architecture is stifled by so many regulations, requirements, conservative clients, ad nauseum. Sometimes I think that I'm just in the wrong specialty of architecture; that if I could work on banks, fire stations, or even houses; that I would like it better. The problem is, once you've specialized for a few years, nobody wants to give you the chance to try a different specialty. You're too valuable in the specialty you already know.

"Probably the most debilitating obstacle to [answering "what should I do with my life?"] is the fear that making a choice is a one-way ride, that starting down a path means closing a door forever."

This is especially true. There are remnants of a plan in my head, but with the plan comes the doubt. If I abandon architecture, should I keep my license? Will I want it later? If I don't keep it renewed, I'd have to take the exams over again- and that's not going to happen. If I go back to school, what will happen if it doesn't work out? Will any firm "take me in" with a year (or longer) gap in my architectural employment history?

How will my story end? Will I travel to Rome, to see the Pantheon, and then leap to my death through the oculus, giving the finger to the industry on my way down? That makes a nice, overly dramatic ending to a book, perhaps. Truthfully, I'd much rather become the person that others in my position look at and say, "that CAD Monkey, she's my hero. She figured out her career was killing her soul, and rescued it by (insert: whatever the hell I finally decide to do)."

END WHINE-PURGE

13 reasons I know my project is doomed

After receiving the suggestion to create a "top 10" list, I settled on the number thirteen- the cliched number of bad luck...

1. The project manager is asking me when the deadline is.


2. The existing plan files (given to us by the client) are neither dimensionally accurate, nor what is actually existing.


3. Most of the drawing files associated with the job have “issues,” which cause AutoCAD to crash fairly regularly.


4. We have been unable to obtain an existing underground utility survey.


5. Supposedly, there are two underground fuel tanks in the areas we need to dig in order to build column footings.


6. We finally got a utility survey back (drawn in PowerPoint, no less) with a clouded area showing “possible location of third underground fuel tank.”


7. The client asks us to take part of one drawing package and “just” add it to a different package.


8. The Project Manager thinks it will take one day to do this task.


9. It actually takes five.


10. The due date is still the same.


11. Some team members don’t realize that you can’t just change a file name on the server without royally screwing several other files.


12. I accidentally deleted one of the files from the server (with no hope of retrieval) while trying to fix this error.


13. The designer is still designing.

When the Project Manager is asking me what the deadline is for the project, I just chalk it up as another sign that the project is doomed.

CAD Monkey: Today sucked at work. I want to be a caterer.
ManThing: You'd have to wear a hairnet. You'd look like a lunch lady.
CAD Monkey: I've already got the bra.

I keep seeing the term “work-life balance.” My interpretation of that is: less work equals more life. Now, if I could only figure out a way to finance that thought…

My cube neighbor has a habit of offering me tastes of food that he has made. I appreciate the offer, but as a rule, if it’s not a dessert, I’m not really interested. Most of the time, when I decline, he just says, “okay,” and sits back down. Sometimes he persists, and I end up with a plate holding a chunk of overly-charcoaled meat on my desk. The only reason it bothers me is that I feel obligated to wash the plate. For meat I didn’t want. I don't even like doing dishes at home for stuff I did want to eat.

fax-spam

Suffering from a bad case of post-holiday letdown, I am becoming a slowly bubbling pit of rage. Despite a tall double latte (some of which I spilled on my shirt) and an additional cup of crappy office coffee, I am tired to the point of nearly drooling on the keyboard. I have contemplated going to the restroom and attempting to nap while sitting on the toilet.

Some of the cubicle assignments were rearranged this weekend, and now every time I have to pick something up off the printer I am forced to walk past someone who uses entirely too much perfume. Unfortunately, they didn’t move the guy with the perpetual sinus problem (hack, snort) and whiny voice that I overhear on the phone (for personal calls) all the frelling time. The more I hear his voice, the more I want to strangle him. And force-feed him Ben@dryl.

Somebody has tried, three seven times, to fax something to my phone number. The fax machine has left me a message twice four times. The message was, “beep.” I tried to fax something back to the number to tell them to cease and desist, but that only seemed to make the calls increase in frequency.

My phone started to ring again, and as I was gearing up to be angry again, I noticed it was my cube neighbor calling. When I picked up the phone, he answered, “beep!”

Bastard.