All morning, grad students and their parents have been trickling down the stairwell outside of my apartment building. As they step lightly in stylish strappy wedges, graduation caps in hand, I’m struck with the feeling that I should actively try to remember this moment.
Two weeks ago I moved into my new apartment. In three months my MFA program begins. Assuming I don’t blow it, two years from right now I’ll be graduating. My greatest question being: will it all be worth it? Most days I’m like Aladdin when he finds out about the power of the magic lamp- overwhelmed with possibilities and borderline cocky in the awesomeness of my situation. Today I’m a bit more reflective, realistic, critical. Will I get a job? Will I ever be published? Am I actually just running in a giant and mysteriously inconspicuous hamster wheel? Though it would finally provide an explanation for my longing for belly rubs and insatiable desire for snacks, I pray with all of my being that I’m not a hamster- that I’m actually going somewhere.
In The One-Page Financial Plan by Carl Richards, the daunting task of planning for the future is made simple. Right brained all the way, I have yet to be confused by any of Richards’ suggestions. The book actually begins with an anecdote detailing how Richards, a financial planner by trade, failed to prepare for, or protect himself against the recession of 2008. He goes on to explain how he lost his house, was forced to relocate, and make the humbling choice to downsize significantly. While this cautionary tale may not have been the most upbeat way to begin a book, it stressed humanness and the inability to be perfect all the time. For a girl who every so often forgets to pay her credit card bill (don’t be mad if you’re reading this, Dad), I appreciated Richards’ honesty.
The problem is that I’ve reached the part when The One-Page Financial Plan is asking me to have goals, to envision my life several years from now. This, to me, is scary. Goals no longer float around the sky like white dandelion wisps, waiting for me to grab them. I’ve put in the legwork; I know what it takes to achieve goals. As I calculate my graduate school financials, I cringe at the thought of earning and saving and planning for something that just might happen ten years from now. Something that just might happen if I want it bad enough, and work for it hard enough, and know the right people, and have enough money, and if the stars align at just the right time. After all, graduate school wasn’t a goal of mine ten years ago, and look at me now. I just can’t wrap my mind around the “years from now”.
Maybe this is why I study children’s literature. Even while trapped in the chaos that was Wonderland, Alice seemed to have it so good. Where is the bonbon labeled, “Eat me”, that when consumed will help me grow up? Where’s my magic genie?
Who needs a résumé when you have elephants and belly dancers to tell the world how fabulous you are?
The World Was Hers For The Reading 