I Coulda Been Somebody

Ten years ago when I went skipping off to college I knew exactly what my major was going to be - Anthropology with an emphasis in Archaeology. Nothing and no one could sway me from my choice. And throughout the four years I spent getting my degree I sat through most of my classes with rapt fascination, so happy to be studying something that intrigued me, that ignited my inner scientist.

Not every class was perfect nor every teacher enthralling, but I had the overwhelming sense that I was doing right by myself for picking something I liked rather than something "practical".
And when people asked me what I would do after I graduated I would always answer "probably go to graduate school" because when I turned my mind toward the future I had vague visions of planting my flag on uncharted scientific territory. Afterall, wasn't the discipline of Anthropology looking to me and my fellow classmates to carry on the torch? To make discoveries, document evidence, solve old mysteries and pose new questions?

In my fantasy of my future self I was going to scale mountains, trek jungles, brave the desert sands and camp beneath the stars. My family would come to visit me in some far distant land and there I'd be, dressed in khaki, with an Indiana Jones-style fedora perched on my head, trowel in hand. I'd be the cool aunt to my nieces and nephews, regaling them with tales of my adventures, bringing them exotic little trinkets they could take to show-and-tell.

And when digging was over for the season I would return to my job as a professor where I would be firm but fair, and hopefully fun and fascinating. Igniting the passions of a new generation of scientists who would one day carry on the torch.

But the fantasy halted on graduation day and has been slowly and painfully dying ever since.

More on that later though; now I must get some sleep so I can wake up and go to the job that pays the bills.