[Things to work on: titling]

We had a house dinner last night, and much of the conversation centered around the fast approaching departure of my beloved third roommate J. Listening to her detail the murky uncertainty most newly minted graduates face, the arduous process of job hunting in an economically unfacilitating year, and the implications of moving back home, I was terrorized by the realization that that will be me in just few months.

Oh dear.

These days when I do chance upon rare moments of free brain space, my thoughts are generally occupied with endeavors to figure out the future. 'What in the world am I going to do with my life?' begs the million dollar question. I know this much: I don't know much.

I've managed to narrow down my list of interests I realistically envision myself pursuing, as well as my list of projected cities I think would prove stimulating and most importantly, survivable. It has essentially come down to an epic battle between law school vs. journalism school. Pros and cons lists galore ensue. The margins of my notebooks, journal, and scattered 3x5 cards are littered with scribbles of random revelations, advantages and disadvantages, and probabilities of plausibility.

I won't lie. I like the idea of law school. I like the practicality of law school. I like the prestige of law school. But I don't know if I can really hack law school. Whenever I entertain the thought of three years of academic rigor of nightmarish proportions, I wonder if I possess the intellectual and disciplinary capabilities required of the hell that law school purports. I don't think I'm smart enough and I am far too skilled at procrastinating, so aspirations of law school could just be mistaken projections of what I wish I was good at. Not to mention, the inevitable incurring of outrageous loan debt is intimidating enough in its own right.

So then there's journalism. My brief stint as an editor and columnist with the Jaguar Times in high school was fun enough, and the blog I kept about my year abroad raked in some decent reviews. Besides, I journal like a fiend and most of the time, I actually think in blog entries. (Don't judge me.) But I sputter when I'm forced to write against my will and especially things about which I don't care the slightest. Nonetheless, I think I could enjoy and sniff out a niche somewhere in the world of print media.

The problem is, I am essentially starting at ground zero with both law and journalism-related ventures. Looking back at the last four years, my curriculum, internships, and directed passions garner me little experience and credibility with regards to either of my considerations. I am desperately trying not to dwell on wishing I could do college all over again, this time with the single-minded notion of what one thing I was going to pursue and then doggedly centering everything around that vision.

My coping mechanisms are limited to making extravagant and entirely unrealistic globe trekking plans on a regular basis and hinging my hopes on a miracle that I will end up like Dancing Matt. Or vegging on the couch, losing myself in episodes of Scrubs, pretending as if I am already entrenched in mid-life. Or simply not coping and just straight up FREAKING OUT, which really, is just as terrible a solution as consuming an entire 99c box of peppermint Joe Joe's in one sitting. (Or so I think. I have not resorted to this...yet.)

J seemed pretty content last night. Maybe inside she's scared to death too, but I love that she held her head up maturely. She exuded dignity rather than grudging resignation. Her thoughts and emotions were raw and real, but watching her take the pill of incertitude with a heaping does of faith and a glass half full of optimism convicted volumes to me. I guess I could try that too.

But I'm keeping that box of Joe Joe's handy. Just in case.