Space Cadet

Recently, I've been plagued by thoughts about both the universe and my place in it. These thoughts were catalyzed when I was re-exposed to the concept of the Cosmic Calendar: a method presented by Carl Sagan in the late 1970s used to condense the 13.8 billion year history of the universe into a single calendar year. In this model, The Big Bang occurred on January 1 at midnight, and our current moment in time is mapped at December 31 at midnight.


The scale is at once simple and yet utterly staggering. In the Cosmic Calendar there are 438 years per second, 1.58 million years per hour and 37.8 million years per day. Following the model set up by the Cosmic Year, I exist at 23:59:59 on December 31st. The span of human history, from the First Writing until now, represents a mere 00:00:12. Tack on our evolution from primates - a 2.5 million year process - and we're still only around for 00:07:28 of the Year.

By this logic, a human life - and a long one at that - amounts to less than 1/4th of a second. That is roughly a blink of an eye. In the History of Existence, it seems we are infinitesimal.

“So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.” - Paolo Coelho, The Alchemist

As with any aspect of the human condition, there are countless ways to interpret this reality. For the sake of brevity, I will explore one. For the sake of alacrity, I will keep it light.
It's terribly easy to experience melancholia when one tries to grasp just how small one is, but I like to take that unease and flip it on its head. Think about it:

We live in a universe that is infinite and constantly expanding outwards.
Within this universe, a galaxy formed containing 100-400 billion stars.
Within this galaxy, a particular region of large molecular cloud happened to experience gravitational collapse, giving birth to the Sun.
Around the Sun, a Solar System of planets formed.
Of these planets, just one happened to have the atmospheric and chemical composition that could support and sustain terrestrial life.
On this planet, millions of years of evolution have taken place, millions of species have gone extinct, and billions of human beings have lived and died.

You're one of them. You exist.

So many circumstances, so much time, so much history has gone into your existence, and in turn you affect the balance of the future. You being here, and now, at 23:59:59, is tantamount to all things. It's terrifying, but it's beautiful. And it sure makes all of the moments in your life seem a lot more relevant than the bat of an eyelash.

Postgraduate Angst, Part One

In the relatively short time that has passed between my last post and now, I have graduated from college, moved to a new city, and have been working for about a month at the job that I will have until I either 1) Get knocked up, 2) Have a mental breakdown, or 3) Pass away.  Whichever comes first.

Though the title of this post may suggest that this time in my life is forcing me to regress into an early 2000's emo-middle-schooler mentality, I must admit that so far I am pleasantly surprised by how much I'm enjoying my job. Unlike the somewhat mundane and stale work experiences I've endured as an intern over the last few years, I am now in a position that is much more challenging and stimulating on a day-to-day basis.

That being said... I turned 22 two months ago. My brain isn't even fully developed yet. What exactly, pray tell, qualifies me to be in the workforce? There's a huge part of me that feels like I should be fumbling my way through some foreign country right now, working odd jobs, drinking cheap wine, and not giving a damn about my credit score.

We're young! We're professionals! We're going to work for the next 3-4 decades at a mediocre job! Go team!

On flipside of that coin, I know that I am lucky to be earning a paycheck. I am far more fortunate than a sizable amount of people in the world who don't have a way to make ends meet.

I get that, really I do. 

What I also get though, is that 97 times out of 100, someone's job isn't their calling. There are very, very few people who find honest, consistent fulfillment in their careers, and when people spend 8 or more hours a day at their office, surely it's impossible to prevent career unfulfillment from morphing into life unfulfillment... Right?

Life, as we all know, isn't a cake walk. Life is hard sometimes. Life is expensive. But life shouldn't be unfulfilling - what on earth would be the point of being on earth?

Have It All

Mark Twain once said that The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why. I've always envied the people that have experienced that pivotal day two; those who were either born with a prodigal talent or had an incredible moment of clarity that set them in the direction of their purpose. 

I wouldn't consider myself a shallow person, but my life's pursuits to date have been interests, not callings. Cliché as it may sound, every time I've been asked what my own passion is, my answer is always Family. Family is my passion, family is what drives me. I have always felt in my gut that I was put on this planet to be a mother, and though it's a long, long (long) way off, I know that somewhere down the road, be it through adoption or otherwise, what I want more than anything is to be able to have a family of my own.

A question facing myself and a majority of modern women is whether or not we can actually 'have it all' i.e. a family and a successful career. For the first time in American history, women represent a majority of the professional workforce in the United States. There are several causes and consequences of this influx of corporate female workers, and though I'm grateful to be a part of a society wherein women can excel, a recent article in the New York Post reported that 43% of college-educated women between the ages of 33 and 46 are child-free. 

Can we do it?

Anne-Marie Slaughter wrote a lengthy op-ed piece for The Atlantic that explains this female conundrum. Slaughter left her dream job in Washington as the first female director of policy planning at the State Department to return home and take a more active role in parenting her 14-year-old son. She argues that the 'have it all' myth fosters harmful societal assumptions that women who leave their jobs are not committed enough, picked the wrong partner, or didn't plan career and family in the proper order. She also claims that the way America's economy and society are structured prevents women from 'having it all at the same time.' 

As a 21-year-old female about to graduate and enter the workforce, starting a family might be near the last thing on my list of priorities, but it's there... and it's important. Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg wrote for TIME that "No matter what any of us has—and how grateful we are for what we have—no one has it all." 

Perhaps it's impossible to have it all, but I can't help but think it's worth a try. 

La Vie

I have a tendency to look at the world through the eyes of a cynic. When cynicism gets the best of me, I try to remedy my feelings by looking at what people create as opposed to what they dismantle.

Take paintings, for example. The artistically predisposed people of the world are able to make a career out of exploring the thoughts and emotions that make us human. Instead of going through the motions while sitting behind a computer all day, they're translating their feelings and imaginations into forms that are appreciated and admired by the masses. Yes, a great deal of artists may be considered "starving," but what they lack in funds they make up for in originality. 

Another example is music. A revolution can be sparked by a song, and a world can unite behind a beat. Musicians of every genre and at every level of success fill in the awkward silences of life, communicating with sound what one may not always be able to say in words.  

Then there's architecture. There are buildings all over the world that have stood the test of time and are testaments to human intelligence and ingenuity, each nook and cranny calculated and executed with care and expertise.  Bridges, skyscrapers, cathedrals; all of these edifices started as nothing but an idea that someone sketched on paper, and were erected solely through the power of human collaboration. 

Human beings, by definition, are flawed. The world can be a scary place to live. On the darkest days, sometimes all it takes is a song or work of art to remind us that life is a shared experience, and us earthlings are all in this together.

This is La Vie, the largest and most complex work from Pablo Picasso's Blue Period. The work stands 2 meters tall and is a beautiful yet dark depiction of mortality and the human condition.

Need Not Apply

Today is the first day of April which means that there are less than 2 months standing between myself, my fellow seniors, and the dreaded real world. Each day the pressure to find a job builds, and with today's economic climate many are inclined to make a career choice driven not by passion but by monetary security. As a preventative measure, I did some research and came across the Top Ten Worst Careers in America as compiled by CareerCast.  The career advice site based the list on five factors: physical demands, work environment, income, stress and hiring outlook. Out of the 200 jobs surveyed, the following ten offer fewer employment opportunities, high stress and poor work conditions; 
     
10. Broadcaster
9. Butcher
8. Dishwasher
7. Meter Reader
6. Waiter/Waitress
5. Newspaper Reporter
4. Oil Rig Worker
3. Military Soldier
2. Dairy Farmer
1. Lumberjack

Apparently my B.A. in Journalism qualifies me for a life of woe.

Psych(ot)ic

This is hard for me to admit, but about two weeks ago I went to see a psychic on the Lower East Side. I picked three tarot cards, told the psychic my zodiac sign, handed her my palm, took a deep breath and hoped for the best. It was my first palm reading... and it was weird. Apart from informing me that I've already met my soulmate, I'll be dead at 83 and that I desperately need to allign my solar plexus, the psychic notified me that I, too, have the gift of foresight. Naturally, I decided to investigate this new potential career route.

Though most people think psychics are hacks (and rightfully so), there's no denying the cunning in their business model. Psychics offer help in the areas that people struggle with most: career, love, money, future and happiness, and when you're targeting a group of consumers who are desperate to believe what you're telling them, the opportunities to make money are almost limitless. There are no national statistics on the business of psychics, but I found that the average price of a psychic phone consultation ranges from about $2-$10 per minute, while the average in-person consultation can cost anywhere from $200-$500 an hour. My own 10 minute palm reading cost me $25... though I can apparently see into the future I sure as hell didn't see that one coming.

Poker Face

Though I definitely took what she told me with a grain of salt, I will aquiesce that I was caught off guard by a handful of specific details the psychic knew about me. While some things she said were completely off the mark, a better part was eerily accurate and I found myself hanging on her every word.  I even would have been inclined to believe her when she told me I'll be a millionaire if she hadn't immediately followed it up with an attempt to sell me $300 worth of candles.

Nice try, lady.

Fruit Loopy

It's midterm week here at Fordham University, the week that separates the men from the boys and never fails to wrack me with waves of panic, followed by waves of indifference and ultimately, waves of regret. I'm a competent student and always have been, but I honestly think I might be the worst studier this side of the Mason-Dixon line. Have you ever heard the saying, fail to prepare, prepare to fail? Failing to prepare is my forté. 

Instead of doing what a rational human being would do and oh, I don't know, study for my tests, the impending doom of exams caused me to dream up some possible midterm escape routes. In lieu of bodily harm my best bet would be to drop out of school, sell my worldly possessions and buy a one-way ticket to Hawaii. I would then build a stand made out of driftwood and sell tropical fruit to tourists and locals.

Though I would probably end up homeless, at least I would be tan and homeless. 

Boys Meet World

In order to give my blog a more masculine edge, I surveyed some of my male counterparts to find out what kind of career appeals to someone with a y-chromosome. It's no surprise that an overwhelming majority mentioned a job in sports. Some cited being an agent to star athletes, others want to coach, one was so bold as to bring up usurping Roger Goodell as Commissioner of the NFL. Yes, it would appear as though men truly love the idea of making a living by playing a game, and honestly who can blame them? I for one would be thrilled if someone paid me to play Tetris.

Though the market may be based on fun and games, there's some serious money to be made in athletics. The combined worth of all of the teams in the National Football League alone is $35 billion dollars, and the average professional athlete in the NBA, MLB or NFL makes $1.5 to $5 million dollars a year. Even in the face of national and global economic slowdown, the professional sports industry continues to see substantial annual growth and shows no signs of slowing down. 

Marry me?

For all of us mere mortals who haven't been blessed with access to the Manning family gene pool, I did a bit of research and found a list of The 10 Best Careers in Sports according to Forbes. Though you won't be pulling in $85 million dollars a year like Floyd "Money" Mayweather, any of the following careers get you as close to the action as possible without having to wear a jockstrap:

1. Physical Therapist
2. Statistician (no thanks)
3. Sports Psychologist
4. Agent
5. Public Relations Manager
6. Advertising Account Executive
7. Event Coordinator
8. Sports Broadcaster
9. Photojournalist
10. Coach

Game on.

LUV U 4EVER

Valentine's Day is that one day of the year in the dead of winter that turns something as powerful as love into a cheap cliché. With the hopes of fulfilling a commercialized, generic standard of what it means to show you care about someone, heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, red roses and pre-written cards from the Hallmark aisle of a convenience store are offered up to lovers like blood sacrifices to a deity. 

I always feel hollowed out by these empty February 14th displays of affection. It's not that I'm some crazy, bitter Valentine-hater, I just don't think that love can be put in a box... let alone a Russell Stover sampler. Love's different for everyone because everyone's different; you can't label it, you can't always define it, and it shouldn't be standardized or measured by the number of chocolate-covered strawberries you give or receive. 

Though I might not be the biggest fan of Valentine's Day, I am a big fan of Cupid's work. Wouldn't it be great if a chubby, cherubic baby could shoot an arrow and point people in the direction of someone they're meant to be with? Think about how rare it is to be in the right place at the right time and make a lasting connection with someone... for 2 personalities out of the 7 billion personalities on this planet to be drawn together and click. Humphrey Bogart said it best in Casablanca; "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine." 

It's just really hard to know which gin joint to walk into, Humphrey!

The sad truth is that we don't always have serendipity on our side when it comes to meeting Mr. or Mrs. Right, and that's where the matchmakers, astrologists and love coaches of the world come in. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I can think of dozens of worse ways to make a living than being paid to bring couples together. The online dating industry alone generates nearly $4 billion a year in revenues and continues to grow with each passing day. Though algorithms and social networks may not be the most quixotic way to find love, at least all the singles out there this Valentines Day can rest easy knowing that in a world without Cupid at least there's OkCupid.com. 

Youngbloods

It's hard to estimate how many times a child is asked the quintessential what do you want to be when you grow up? question throughout the years. When I was six years old I used to tell people that I wanted to be a paleontologist. Yes, I had a weird obsession with dinosaurs. No, I was not a boy. My other childhood career fantasies included becoming a pro tennis player, an artist, a dolphin trainer or a librarian, but above all I aspired to unearth dinosaur bones on archaeological digs.


RIP, thugs.

My prehistoric pipe dream began to fade only when I realized that I was absolutely terrible at science. I could love dinosaurs all I wanted, but my childhood fascination didn't transcend my shortcomings in biology or chem class.

It's funny how our physical or mental limitations simply don't register in elementary school but as we age they become fundamentally detrimental to our identity. In the eyes of a second-grader, the sky is the limit, the future is wide open, and even the shortest kid in class believes that one day he'll be the next Michael Jordan.  Conversely, in the eyes of a second-semester senior in college, it's our grade point averages, networking skills and résumés that matter much more than our dreams. In honor of my imaginary paleontology career and all the other dream jobs out there, I asked a few other seniors what they really wanted to be when they grew up:

• a ballerina
• a rockstar
• a chef
• a brain surgeon
• a firetruck (truck, not fighter)
• The President of the United States
• an astronaut
• a professional soccer player
• a Broadway dancer
• a robot

Dream on, kids.

Zentrified

Stress is a fundamental part of life. It comes at us daily from multiple sources and in multiple forms, constantly challenging us to rise to the occasion and push through. More often than not, stressful situations make me want to bang my head against a wall. This semester has been particularly wrought with nervous tension and I'm beginning to think that I should invest in a fashionable helmet as a preventative measure against concussions.

In a life sans headgear, I've found yoga to be an incredible stress reliever. I'm terrible at it, it hurts, I'm about as flexible as a tire iron, but I always walk out of a class feeling like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. As cliché as it may sound, yoga is all about finding balance and inner peace. I focus on my breathing, find my center, and a pint-sized yoga instructor challenges me to rise to the occasion and push through (see what I did there?) until I feel like I can do anything.   

Namaste, yoga bear. 

When I'm not busy damning my yoga teacher to hell as she makes me sit deeper into a Chair pose, I'm envying her stress-free, zen career. Imagine working as a yogi: your time is split between practicing yoga, meditating, helping others align their chakras and going on yoga retreats in Costa Rica. All while wearing yoga pants. Please sign me up. 

National Photographic

I don't know about you, but I have a love/hate relationship with Instagram. On one hand I think it's spectacular: you have a chance to see virtually anything through the eyes of fellow smartphone users as well as share your own personal (albeit filtered) point of view with the world. While I'm by no means a professional photographer, Instagram lets me feel like one and makes photography an accessible and integral part of everyday life. Despite its good qualities, the app can be a tad obnoxious. Though you can see stunning views of faraway places, you're also subjected to photos of people's cats under the Hudson or Valencia filter, strange #hashtags and tilt shifted screenshots of Justin Bieber.

Insta-ambivalence aside, this week's post was inspired by another one of my closest friends and features what very well could be the coolest job on the planet: photographer for National Geographic. These guys are the real professionals, capturing iconic images from the most magnificent places on earth. You won't find any Lo-Fi photos of French fries gracing the pages of NatGeo, but rather a breathtaking scene from the French countryside that has the potential to stick in your mind for weeks after seeing it. In the words of Joan Miró, “You can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at a picture for a second and think of it all your life.”

This is a photo of the Japanese shoreline from NatGeo's archive. I'm going to go ahead and book a ticket to Tokyo.

I honestly cannot think of a better way to make a living than to be paid to swim with whales and travel to Machu Pichu in search of the perfect, most radical setting. In addition to cataloguing the most beautiful photos on the planet, National Geographic features online photo tips for all of us amateurs and Instagrammers who need a bit of perspective. Here's to the money-shot.

Excel Hell

Today's post is coming at you from my desk on Madison Avenue where I've been interning since the beginning of October. Do I love my internship? No. Anyone that tells you they love their internship is probably lying. Do I hate my internship? No. The only time I hate my internship is when I am asked to make copies. The copy machine looks and sounds like a futuristic cyborg with a hidden agenda, and although it's the size of an industrial washing machine I live in constant fear that I am going to somehow manage to crack the thing in half by pushing the wrong button.

A spreadsheet a day...

Such is life for human beings with office jobs: an unending cycle of making copies, writing emails and spending the hours of 9-5 trapped in a cube. Just add early onset carpal tunnel syndrome and a never-ending Excel spreadsheet to the mix and you have the makings of a beautiful career. Happy Monday, everyone!

Elephun

I asked one of my best friends what her dream job would be, and her response was that she'd spend her days working with African elephants on a nature reserve. I don't know if double-majoring in English and Philosophy at Bucknell University is the proper prerequisite for such a job, but what I do know is that hanging out with elephants in Tanzania is probably a lot more fun than hanging out with coworkers in an office. Apart from being the best animals at the zoo, here are a few other reasons why elephants are fantastic:

1. They spend about 16 hours a day eating.
2. They're the only animals on Earth that can't jump or run.
3. Elephants have dominant tusks, meaning they are right-tusked or left-tusked, just as you are right-handed or left-handed.
4. Although males usually live alone, sometimes they form groups called bachelor herds.
5. The average lifespan of an elephant in the wild is 60 to 70 years.
6. The heaviest elephant in the world weighed 26,000 pounds.
7. Elephants display human emotion such as love, grief and joy and have great memories.
8. A painting by 8 elephants in Thailand sold for $39,000. That's 3,250 hours of pay from my internship. Before taxes. 

Click here to learn how to adopt an elephant. This is the only thing on my Christmas list.

A Thug's Life

One of the greatest aspects of getting to know someone is finding out what makes them tick. We all start at square one, answering the obligatory what are you majoring in? or where are you from? until we're able to get below the surface and hear about the hidden talents or passions that make this Comm major from Cleveland different from that Poli-Sci major from upstate New York. What I'm referring to isn't favorite color or favorite food, but rather that rare and incredible moment when a football player you've known since sophomore year reveals his penchant for writing heartbreaking poetry.

On the other side of the spectrum we have the party tricks of the world. They may not bring tears to our eyes like the prose of a Defensive End, but I'm a firm believer that there's inherent value in people's quirks. My party trick? Rapping. Not freestyle or anything, just this crazy ability to rap hip hop songs verbatim. Though it's not necessarily my most marketable skill, in a perfect world I'd be able to capitalize on this strange talent, live the life of Yeezy and take champagne showers.

Snoop and the late, great 2Pac living the (my) dream. 

Alas, the world we live in isn't perfect, and the demand for lady-rappers that know every word of Kanye West's 2007 album Graduation is utterly nonexistent. 

Wanted: Wanderer

I often catch myself weighing the pros and cons of dropping out of school and becoming a drifter. They travel around aimlessly, intimately experiencing foreign cultures and seeing the world one step at a time. Obviously I am completely romanticizing the life of a vagabond, but the idea of riding an elephant through Thailand one week and roaming the Italian countryside the next beats sitting in a cubicle day in and day out. Drifters enjoy a warped version of having complete and utter freedom: they can go anywhere, do anything, meet anyone, see everything. They aren't tied to any one person or place and can therefore pick up and move as they please.

I know I don't necessarily need to paddle down the Amazon River or work odd jobs in Beijing to live the gypsy life. I could be a domestic drifter, maybe pull a Forrest Gump and run from Alabama to Santa Monica. I'd spend the winters in the Southwest, the summers in Wyoming, try to make it down to the Gulf of Mexico or walk the length of the Appalachian Trail. What could be better than seeing the country state-by-state and making some friends in random places along the way? Some of my closest friends are from states I've never even been to before. If I can form friendships with people from Texas and Oregon, why not have friends in Kentucky and Montana too?

The people at Centives.net calculated Forrest Gump's fictional route in the map above.  He ran 15,248 miles in a span of 3 years, 2 months, 14 days and 16 hours, crossing the country 5 times.  Challenge accepted. 

I'll admit it, I would maybe last a week as a drifter... I've never even camped. The odds of me walking from the stage on Graduation Day until I hit Colorado are actually zero. But hey, a girl can dream. 

Fake It 'til You Make It

The second semester of one's Senior year of college is both strange and stressful. If I had a nickel for every time someone has asked me what are you going to do? after graduation, I'm pretty sure I would have at least $4.35 to spend. As much as I'd like to inform the small-talking masses of my grand plans for the future, quite frankly I don't have any. 

This blog is the answer to my post-grad problem. Each week, I will take a break from the real-life (soul-crushing) job search and explore a future either myself or my classmates wish we could have after getting a diploma this May. 

Who wants to make a living when you could just fake it for a while?