About a year and a half ago, I got my current job in DC. At the time, it was probably the biggest relief of my life, as I'd spent the two previous years in various states of quasi-unemployment (read: near-unbearable anxiety and fretfulness) and, when I got this job, I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that my amassment of fine art degrees and deep-seated intellectual curiosity about all that will not ever turn a profit had rendered me entirely unemployable. I wrote this post about this wholly demoralizing article. I'm still pretty convinced that I am the very soul described within that article. How is it not squarely miraculous that I've got a job at all (albeit, one I bitch about a lot... one that doesn't pay me for the work I do... one that often conflicts with a number of my ethical stances regarding eduction...one that doesn't actual fulfill me in any intellectual way)? But it's a job nonetheless, and the fact that I holding it down proves that Time Magazine doesn't know everything. Thank Jimmy in heaven. I pay my rent every goddamn month. Seriously. Thank Jimmy in heaven.
And then, I think, somewhere in the last few months, I encountered yet another article-- one that trumped the aforementioned article's dismal message. I think I would have linked this second article, but it made me so depressed that I just couldn't stomach it, and now I've lost track of it. But, I think I can sum up: the gist of it was that, at various points in the history of women seeking gainful employment, the wage gap between the genders has been attributed to the notion that women aren't as aggressive as men, the notion that women are more emotional, and therefore less able to operate cool-headedly in the workplace, than men, and/or the notion that women are all secretly green slimy slugs beneath there skin and are therefore not to be trusted with the finer (or courser) points of American capitalism. The article went on to say that, as none of these nodes of ridiculousness could be measured in any meaningful way (one teaspoon full of green slime too much and no money for you!), clearly, they could not be the real culprits behind why women make less money than their equally-educated, equally experienced, penis-bearing counterparts.
All that sounds vaguely, tritely positive, right? But then that article just sucks all the wind out of our sails, ladies. It basically says that men who are perceived as aggressive and actually ask for raises are rewarded for their straightforwardness. But employers (male and female alike) perceive women who ask for deserved raises as pushy and demanding and are, therefore, not only likely to deny them their raises, but are also likely to punish them for their pushiness by demoting them! So, either we're not aggressive enough and don't ask for what we deserve or we're too aggressive and are punished for asking for fair compensation for good work done. How does this not sicken us all? So I guess I didn't link that article because I didn't want to think about the studies cited within it any more than I absolutely have to. Dwelling on such things feels like a pretty defeatist activity. And I particularly do not want to be thinking about those studies now, as I'm coming up on two years of pouring out some sloppy quantities blood, sweat and green slime well beyond the stated parameters of my current position. No, I do not think that article's a good one to be obsessing about right now, as god knows I need me a freaking raise.
And then today, I found the most demoralizing article yet. Lucky for me, this one tackles a broader issue than my own piddly little financial worries. This one is about how capitalism doesn't value any of the things that interest and excite me the most. And, bless its little heart, the article sure tries to be positive about that, but I can't help it. I find it deeply, deeply saddening that the only way our American culture can attribute value to the humanities is to espouse a little consolation prize of an argument: the humanities have INTRINSIC value (but none other than that). Three consumptive little cheers for intrinsicity!!
As the article says, the humanities are an end unto themselves and we've got to be satisfied with that. But I'm not. I spent my 20s pretty much avoiding getting a real job because I was just so sure that somewhere out there, someone was going to put a monetary value on all that time I spent sitting around thinking-- about painting and poetry and sex and ethics and all these other little filthy by-products of human existence. But no one did. Because they really are just that-- by-products. And who's gonna pay for theoretical run-off?
I hate how true this whole premise is. It makes me wanna puke.
Because really? If there weren't those things out there, what on earth would I find about which I could give a flip?
Well, there's always creative vegan cooking, electric cars, sexy shoes, hair products that prevent frizz, my dog Noah, and the fact that I can impress my hot chiropractor with how bendy I am as a result of 11 years of yoga practice, right?
I guess I'll just have to go on living.
2 comments:
Coincidentally, when I read your post, I had just read the article you term "the most demoralizing ever". I didn't find it that demoralizing. First off, I think the writer's wrong about some things. The stuff about litertaure classes only teaching people to analyze literature, for instance, is off-base. That is all some people will learn, but I myself find that familiarity with classic literature has fueled my moral growth. Sometimes in odd moments, A Separate Peace floods into my consciousness, even though I didn't think much of it at first. Sometimes you have to wait a while to see the fruits of a lesson. And literature connects us to humanity. Sometimes you think you are surrounded by the sort of people who become guests on Rikki Lake, and then you read a great novel, and you are not alone. And it's not as if no one ever got paid for writing the great American novel; it's just a long shot because everyone wants to do it. Alas, that's capitalism. (News producers are also underpaid. Why? Because a thousand new graduates from media programs will be happy to take that job, at that price, if you won't. Teachers are underpaid because enough of them love kids enough to do it at that price.)Work is getting paid to do what you'd otherwise be disinclined to do. Think of it this way: the things that are of primary concern to you -- and to me -- are not mere biproducts; they are the very center of what it is to be human. The rest is just a way to keep our bellies full and the lights on so that we can see straight to write a poem. Sure, most people get sidetracked into focusing on the money, but that's an empty life. There are three basic compromises: sell some time doing what you dislike to buy some time for what you love; tighten your belt and write poetry on an empty stomach; or try to make the thing you love profitable (but you may have to compromise it somewhat). Still, that's the common lot of all artists. Find someone you think has made a good compromise, and emulate that.
OK,long story short, my job description has changed considerably in recent months-- such that it is now even more time-consuming and mentally draining and travel-heavy-- and yet, not surprisingly, does not yet pay me any more. I'm plum out of drive to write any damn thing by the time I make it home at night. At this point in my life, keeping a roof over my head and staying intellectually engaged are entirely mutally exclusive. This might not always be the case, but I don't really see where time for this compromise of which you speak should arise when I barely have time to pick up my dry-cleaning.
Beyond that, I'm not so good at the compromising. I really do want people to value me for the things I'm good at-- sitting around thinking and then pontificating about whatever it was that I thought up. And I want those people to pay me enough to support my sexy shoe habit. This is not an expectation, mind you, but it is a fairly soulful desire of which my basic instincts toward practicality have not yet talked me into abandoning.
IF I can find another job that will offer tuition reimbursement AND more time off, IF I can find my way into an appropriate doctoral program within the next year or two, IF I can manage to stay focused on my current obsession long enough to get a book written, IF I can then get that book published and distributed such that I can land one of those pontificating (uh, I mean, collegiate professorial) positions... well, then, I might be well on my way to getting paid for my thinking and spewing forth talents. But until all that crap falls into place, yeah, making money and caring about abstract concepts really does feel like a completely either-or situation.
Now, as far as whether or not engaging in matters of aesthetic value has some moral or social relevance, well, that's a much bigger topic. And it's one that I'm not sure I can broach in a complete way in a comments field. Mostly, because it's an issue that I go back and forth about. Most days, I think it's a fairly romantic notion that art can produce some sort of moral satori amongst its consumers. Every so often, I find myself butting my head up against the fact that I'm pretty committed to the idea that art really doesn't serve a purpose beyond being so much psychic effluvia of the human project. Sometimes I feel ok about that and sometimes it just pisses me right the hell off. This post was generated from a pissed-off moment, I guess.
But I can't manage to convince myself that there actually IS a greater PURPOSE for it. I just don't know what art and philosophy are for. And I don't know why we continue to engage with those concerns. I just know we, as a species, can't seem to help ourselves. The idea that this is somehow the thing that makes humanity special reeks of that simpering preciousness of Romanticism for which I seem to have developed a fairly strong distaste. On an almost-related note, that idea is also pretty mfar divorced from my own creative process-- which is heavily research-based as is all about finding out why the world works how it does, rather than trying to "express my innermost feeeeeeelings." Blech. Feeling-based art. *shudder* (uh, yeah, tangent)
And so the "moral growth" argument doesn't hold a lot of water with me. I mean, it's great if that sort of thing happens to occur for one or more of the participants in an aesthetic experience (be it creator or audience), but that is just so fucking rare that I can't help but feel like that's awfully fantastical as far as goals for art go.
Though, I do agree with you that the writer of that article doesn't have everything right... but I lacked the energy to unpack the article effectively the other evening. And so, I wind up feeling like, for the most part, he IS right... and maybe it's my own conviction about this leaves me, personally, so demoralized.
As usual, the problem lies within. So be it.
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