Thrill of Decision

Thrill of Decision

I’ve always had a problem deciding what to do with my future.  The way I see it, as soon as you commit to a path, something else interests you.  It’s like the Thrill of the Chase, except it’s the Thrill of Decision.  I’m very interested and passionate in both of my majors, but French and Neuroscience don’t lend themselves to an inter-disciplinary career.  My interests have always been spread thin, and I do worry that I will find something that will interest me more than becoming a neuroscientist.  Because of this, I believe I have two alternate dreams:  one slowly becoming more realistic, and the other attainable, but not worthwhile.

I will begin with my academic dreams.  The study of language interests me greatly, and through my majors I have two different pathways I could take.  Becoming a French professor is always an option, but nothing lower than college-level.  I would need to teach someone with a desire to learn French, not teenagers who take it in high school because their friends did.  On the other side of the spectrum would be becoming a neuroscientist who studies the acquisition of language.  That’s the dream I always tell people about.  I’m never specific about what that means because I haven’t decided quite where I want to go with it.  I’ve decided just to let it play out.

My other dream began in eighth grade when I wrote my National History Day paper on Betty Friedan.  A famous women’s rights leader in the 1950s, she supported getting women out of the home and into society as equals.  Her book, The Feminine Mystique, really intrigued me; and I did a great deal of research on housewives in the 1950s.  As anti-feminist as this sounds, the advertised glory of being a housewife during that time made me want to become one.  I long for the day I can vacuum my house in a shape-flattering dress and pin-curls.  My bread-winning husband comes home from work and sits down to eat the meal I spent all day preparing.  I know the actual 1950s housewives felt no such glory, and that real life differs substantially from the ideals in Redbook; but still, those women did so much for their families with very little thanks from anyone.

Being a 1950s housewife in 2013 is physically not possible, well, because we don’t live in the 1950s anymore.  However, my dreams aren’t entirely mutually exclusive.  My dream dream for my future is to become an academic of some sort combined with a Domestic Goddess.  Without the ideal housewife propaganda, this would include anything I wanted to do.  This new dream allows me to combine my love of learning with my love of crocheting doilies.