Light and darkness

When my father was the engineering director of a manufacturing company, he had to hire a lot of people. His favorite question to ask during an interview was always

“What do you see yourself doing at the peak of your career?”

My dad said this was always the fastest and most interesting way to get to know someone. If a person said “I’d retire and go fishing,” he knew they didn’t really want to be working. If a person said “I’d really like to own my own company,” he knew they were ambitious. There were always, of course, some fascinating (and strange) answers in between.

My roommate and I played this game a few weeks ago. She quickly answered that she wanted to work for a steady food magazine so she could have a family.

It took me a little longer to answer the question. The truth is, I know I want to write, but for me, this means working in a foreign bureau or war corresponding. I don’t know why I want to do this. I just do. And of course, I’m not going to get there right out of college, but we’re talking about the peak of my career, right? So we can dream.

Undoubtedly, my dreams will be hard to attain. Sacrifices will be made. My dreams mean being far away from the people I love. And of course, a war zone is no place for children.

**

My sophomore year, after my first round of reporting at the Missourian, I thought maybe I didn’t want to be a journalist. So, I started looking at alternatives. I have been involved in volunteer work, and had gone to a fairly progressive high school, so there was always this nagging inside me to join the Peace Corps. After a while, the nagging got stronger, and I really started to believe that I would join after graduation.

But then a friend’s sister joined the Corps. Sara was sent to Paraguay with out a lick of Spanish in her vocabulary. Sara, who had also gone to my progressive high school, is the strongest, toughest, coolest person I knew. She’s a badass.

In Paraguay, she lived in a grass hut in the middle of no where, without a toilet, and with a machete at the foot of her bed (for protection, she explained). And she cried every night for the first two months.

Sara cried? Sheesh. If that’s the case, then I’m doomed. Terrified that I couldn’t hack it, I scratched Peace Corps off my list. Inside, I was scared. Outside, I told everyone I just thought it was more important to work with people at home than abroad.


So what do these two stories mean? Don’t worry. I’m wrapping it all up here.

Basically, I’ve always felt I’m meant to do big things. Yeah, it sounds arrogant, I know. But I want to change things. I want to shake stuff up. I think that’s why most of us were so interested in journalism in the first place. I know that’s why I am.

But in a lot of ways, I’m a coward.

I’m scared I won’t make a big change. I’m scared I won’t make it. I’m scared that I might cry. I’m scared that I might have to move far away. I’m scared it might hurt. I’m scared it might be too hard. And like so many women, I’m scared that my career ambitions might compromise my hopes for a family of my own some day.

There’s a way to do it all, I’m sure. At least that’s what I’ve been told.

But for now, this fear paralyzes me so much that I want to quit before I even get a chance to start. It seems to me that fear of failure is a disease that plagues a lot of journalism majors.

So what do I do when it all feels like too much? I remember this little ditty by Nelson Mandela. I think it could be useful for everyone graduating this semester:

Our biggest fear is not that we are inadequate;
our biggest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves:
‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?’
Actually, who are you not to be?
Your ‘playing small’ doesn’t serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
As we let our own light shine,
we consciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.