And yet, there are some days when all those Grand Narratives of Life start to creep in—narratives about what one "ought" to have achieved by their 30s; ticking biological clocks and diminishing 401(k)s. I don't know where this pressure comes from and whether it's from too much TV, too many blogs, or just totally internalized. I'm talking about the specific subject position of being 32 and "still a student." Let's break that down. STILL, as if I'm in a state of suspended undergraduateism, unwilling to graduate from my futon. And A STUDENT, as if I'm Buster Bluth, a dabbler and a dilettante waiting out the sluggish economy in an English department, on someone else's dime. And "still a student" erases all those other professional things I do—teaching my own classes, presenting at conferences, trying to get my work published, taking blurry Instagrams of my desk.
I have friends who are reaching the pinnacle of their (non-academic) careers, friends who are on their second house and second child. These friends found their career choice earlier than I did and are wonderfully encouraging about my work. But it can be difficult to stay on my "still a student" stipend-and-adjunct budget and forgo vacations, dinners out, and even that rare luxury of saving money I'm always hearing about. It's difficult to live paycheck to paycheck at a time in my life where I'd hoped I'd be secure: traveling, small house, maybe someday, small child.
This isn't about "having it all" and its various debates, at least it isn't about that for me. It's about time going by far too quickly, the insecurities of being a late-bloomer, and worrying that by the time I'm at a full-time teaching position others will be retiring. I know it's not a race and there's no referee marking the checkpoints of adulthood and dropping white flags when I lag behind (I just had to Google "do referees drop white flags" by the way).
It's easy to forget that I chose this route, that I like this route, that I occupy a pretty privileged position by virtue of being able to live this way, that I'm writing this in between dissertation work on a Monday at 2 p.m., in my home and in yoga pants. Sometimes I need a reminder that life events aren't one-size-fits-all and although there may be some very real biological end-limits I'll eventually have to think about (starting a family seems, haha, inconceivable right now), I'm working toward my goals and am just where I ought to be. Messy desk and all!
I don't mean for this to read as a pity-party, although I fear it does and I'm aware it's oozing with first-world-problems. I simply want to be honest about the ups and down of this grad school life, in hopes that maybe someone out there can relate.
