The summer
before my sophomore year, I was lying on the couch watching Avril Lavigne
premiere her new video for Complicated on TRL when I thought to myself, I wish I could dress like that. At that
point in my life I was only wearing clothes from the Gap, Abercrombie, and
Limited Too because that’s where my friends shopped and I had to make sure I
blended in. We’ll ignore the fact that I didn’t and never would. That’s not
important. What’s important is that on this day, I had a major epiphany: what if I wore the clothes I wanted to wear,
regardless of what category they fit into?
This might not
seem like a big deal today, but in 2003 when I was a sophomore, mixing styles
was not considered acceptable. Doing so threw off the balance of the
well-defined categories that high school operated on: if you wore Abercrombie,
you hung out in the forum with the uber pretty people (jocks, cheerleaders, and
girls who didn’t get acne). Wearing all black meant you were “goth” and hung
out in the I-Wing and probably cut the heads off of birds or something for fun.
If you were a stoner and listened to pop punk, then you probably wore band
t-shirts and studded belts and hung out in the D-Wing.
When I came back
to school that fall, I got crap from a lot of people. Friends asked things like
“what are you doing? You used to be so pretty,” while others said, “I just
don’t get Alexia. Why is she dressing like that? Who does she think she is,
anyway?”
I didn’t realize
it then, but any time someone decides to color outside of the lines, other people
will likely have something to say. I continued wearing what I wanted to wear
for the remainder of high school, and eventually, people stopped talking about
it.
Changing my style
was probably the biggest rebellion I’d ever staged. That is, up until 5 months
ago when I decided to take an indefinite break from teaching full time.
I became a
writing professor at the age of 26.
Growing up, I
came to believe that having a career meant success, wealth, and happiness. When
I started teaching at my alma mater 3 weeks after receiving my Master’s degree,
I felt like I had found my niche. Better yet, I had accomplished the look of
success that I’d always wanted. I loved seeing people’s reactions when I told
them that I taught college. It made me feel important.
Everything
seemed set in stone until my boyfriend was accepted to a university in Los
Angeles.It was a no
brainer that I would go with him, so I started applying to teach at colleges in
the area. The entire time
I was writing my cover letters, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of my
stomach that I couldn’t quite figure out.
I ignored the
feeling because I had found a career with relative ease that allowed me to be
my own boss (for the most part) and structure my own time outside of class,
even though “my own time” was largely taken up by my job.
I received
letters back about my applications saying I hadn’t been picked up for the
Spring 2016 semester. I started to panic, thinking that I wouldn’t find work
elsewhere. Once again, I felt the knot in my stomach, only this time, it was
accompanied by a voice saying, try
something else. But what else could I do?
Sometimes,
during my marathon grading sessions where I felt like I was going blind from
all the essays I’d read, I would fantasize about a life that wasn’t consumed by
work. I thought about how great it would be to wake up a few days out of the
week and spend time doing what I wanted, like writing, hanging out with my
boyfriend, or reading books for fun.
I craved
balance, but I also felt obligated to stay in a salaried, respectable position
like the one I held. After all, isn’t that the reason I got a Master’s degree?
My students and
I used to talk about work and how society influences our choices about the jobs
we eventually take. Sometimes, I would “joke” with them that I wanted to work
at Trader Joe’s because of how happy everyone always looked.
“How can you not
smile when you’re wearing a Hawaiian Shirt?”
I’d ask.
But I could see
the looks on their faces after they stopped laughing. The ones that said, You’re kidding, right?
Those looks are
pretty similar to the ones I get now when I tell people that I’m a substitute
teacher. Most of the time, they are confused by my choice. Some people think
it’s temporary until I can get a college job or a teaching credential. When I
tell them it’s not, I get questions like, “But who will you be if you aren’t a teacher?” or “Okay, but after the
subbing thing is over, what are your plans?”
If I'm being honest, these questions make me anxious. They sometimes make me feel like I should find
another career fast.
But then I
quickly remind myself that everything is fine and that there isn’t any rush to
“figure things out.” In fact, there’s nothing to figure out. I made a decision
that I’m happy with.
I do think,
however, that these questions about my current and future plans speak to a
greater problem in American society. One that says in order to be considered
“important,” a person must do “important” work. One that encourages and
glorifies busyness. One that tells us that who we are is intrinsically linked
to the job we have.
I’ve personally
seen how people who work these “important” jobs actually live their lives.
Doctors, for example, who practically kill themselves working 80-90 hours a
week and will probably end up as patients in the very hospitals they spent
their lives working in.
I’ll admit, when
I was teaching my own classes, I felt like I was making an impact. I was
oftentimes told in my evaluations that I made someone’s first college semester
a little bit easier. But I believe
that this kind of impact can happen regardless of the job or the amount of
hours worked in a week.
Last week, I
helped a high school junior who was struggling to understand the Chinese
Revolution. He shook my hand on the way out of class and thanked me for taking
time to help him. I felt important. But after the bell rang, I went home. I
didn’t prep. I didn’t grade. But I felt good about myself.
It would be
silly to say, “I’ll never teach my own class again.” Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll
work as a sub for a year and find a job that is not only challenging and
rewarding but also balanced. Maybe it will be as a cashier at Trader Joe’s.
Maybe it will be a librarian. Maybe I will decide that I enjoy the flexibility
of subbing and spend my time with that.
All I know is,
the girl who didn’t let her outfits define her won’t let her job do it either.
