failed expectations

It is difficult to explain my personality… what I am or who I want to be. My friends tease that my goal in life is to move to the Middle East, get kidnapped by Al Qaeda and shot on national television. I don’t know what that tells people about who I am, but it sure says something. I mean, if nothing else, that is a lofty life goal… which is part of what I am about, goals and expectations that are unlikely to be fulfilled.

My parents always joked that I could not be their daughter. As engineering students of the University of Missouri-Rolla, my parents had three children which sprinted in the opposite direction of math and sciences. But my parents were more concerned with my endless self-battering in efforts to achieve whatever I decided was success at that moment. They did not know where I inherited such tenacity – which, by the way, is one of my favorite words.

No matter the activity, I can’t help but to compete. Through middle school and high school I would compete academically with my best friend. I would compete with my teammates in softball when coaches told me I would never be great. I sprained ankles and came home black and blue from the track to become good at hurdles – a sport and activity that I didn’t even like. Even with my supposed goal of being shot by terrorists, I am trying to compete for a more spectacular death… if I can’t out-perform others in life, then I can do so through death.

The reasons behind my competitive nature never concerned me. My brother has an I.Q. over 150, in addition to being a certified member of Mensa. I have always felt there is a lot to live up to. If you look into my extended family, the situation doesn’t improve. I have cousins who are scientists and businessman, and one that contributed to the research for the 2001 Physics Noble Prize. There was always a sense that I had to live up to them, that everyone was expecting greatness from me. However, all of these expectations are the fabric of my own sewing. Living in the moment is so out-of-sync for me – I can’t enjoy the present because I continue to look to the future… where I picture the likelihood of my success as equal to that of peace between the Israelis and Iran, or Maldives obtaining nuclear weapons.

During Grey’s Anatomy last night, the opening monologue said, “Nobody thinks their life will be sort of okay. Everybody thinks they are going to be great… we are filled with expectations.” My expectations keep me focused, but I don’t anticipate their manifestation to reality. I have always pictured my life just being okay. I want greatness, but I don’t expect it. Though, I admit, my definition of greatness is likely to be far grander than most. Rarely do I meet my expectations because they are too far fetched. And when I do achieve something worthy of celebration, there is no time to celebrate because I have already set another goal to work toward.

I know, thus far, this autobiography is sounding like a sob story. I don’t mean for that. I am the product of an upper-class household with parents so happily married it is sometimes grotesque to think about. There are so many people I meet who have suffered through parental neglect, or as their parents’ punching bag, or through drugs, alcohol and/or crime. Yet I envy their happiness. The philosophy I hold is optimistic pessimism – sort of an oxymoron, I know. By this, I mean through expecting the worse possible outcome I will be ecstatic when anything better comes about. It’s much safer than being disappointed by expecting the best and then tumbling down the ranks with failure after failure to reach my expectations.

Sometimes my straining to reach success steers me to destructive ends. Not only am I obsessive compulsive (as diagnosed), but I have an addictive personality. When I set a goal, it encompasses me. There is no ‘EASY’ button because if a goal is easy to reach then my success is no longer unique or exceptional. I thrive on the challenge. I thirst for the bitter taste of adrenaline in my mouth.

In the past few years, I have focused my energies on journalism. At the outset of my writing – in high school and upon entering college – I wanted to be a sports journalist. A woman sports journalist, going into locker rooms, competing with the men… using my writing to trump my male counterparts, who stereotypically should be more capable and knowledgeable of sports – that’s the competition I was looking for. But, when there were no available sports beats at The Maneater, I began to cover the university.

In looking for internships, I told people of my pursuit to live and report in the Middle East. I don’t really know when I decided on this direction for journalism, or even why. In my internship interviews, everyone ask “Why the Middle East?” For more than a year I have burrowed through my brain, searching for an answer to this question. On the one hand, I have never traveled much. But there is still Europe (though that seems cliché to me) or China or Africa. So again, why the Middle East? I have worked so hard to make the transition to Middle East reporting. I have shoveled out thousands of dollars for Arabic lessons when my ability to learn a second language fluently is as likely as President Bush consistently pronouncing “nuclear” correctly. But why am I putting in such effort?

With the current political situations in the Middle East, I know there is rarely a slow moment in news. Looking at the New York Times daily, I see stories buried in the paper about a car bomb in Palestine. However a car bomb in Israel makes front page. How is an Israeli’s life worth more than a Palestinian’s? Articles are reluctant to define Israelis’ as terrorists, though reporters seem eager and willing to paint this vague and undefined label on Palestinians.

Middle East reporting is always a challenge because one side or one sect, with no doubt, feels misrepresented. I feel I could do better, or at least I am up for the test. Still the questions remain of why I am so passionate about this career direction. I have a relative, Andrew, attending the University of Texas in Austin. He is the editor of the school paper and has participated in journalism forums in Washington, D.C. I am threatened by the success of others. I don’t want to wind up on the Metro desk in Podunk, USA. During a conversation with my mom about this, she suggested that moving to the Middle East is my route to ensure a career I won’t feel ashamed of. If Andrew starts his journalism career in D.C, even if I start out at a small newspaper in the Middle East, the distinctiveness of my career can compete with him, or anyone else.

Usually I write way too much. I have to whittle down my research papers from 20 pages to the maximum 15. In my journalism articles, I work hard to be precise in my writing so as to not ramble. But this writing assignment has taken me days, and many conversations with my mom, sister and roommate. I have written off most of my characteristics as genetics, or just chose not to think about why I am the way I am. Trying to explain my career choice and way of thinking has been painful. I thought my aspirations for Middle East reporting were more grounded and profound. I am not questioning my career goals… I want to report in the Middle East. Partly I hope what I see and report on will open my eyes to something other than the comforts of upper-middle class living. But I also hope that my reporting will open the eyes of others… I hope my concerns will change to impacting others instead of getting my story on the front page.

--Sheena