and I'm only 20...
Instead of studying all day, like I was supposed to, I read a book I bought months ago and never had a chance to open. The writer is British, so therefore the prose and diction are both as flawless as they are witty, and of course, full of amusing slang words like 'knickers'. It is about a working mother- a smart hedge fund manager with 2 young children.
I read about how the number of women drops dramatically as salary and position rises, and how women who act like men to survive are deemed 'abrasive and difficult', while women who stay women are 'emotional and difficult.' But - surprise - this is actually not what I'm writing about. While that line would've launched me into a fervent feminist tirade a year ago, this time, the topic of gender inequality barely fazed me at all.
As I read these woman's thoughts, it is, surprisingly, the precarious balance between family, career and sanity that this woman tries desperately to maintain that strikes me. And the fact that this issue affected me so much stunned me even more. Am I evolving past my ever-indignant 'independent female' phase that defined my angsty teenage years? Am I in danger of allowing my domestic instincts to surface and subsequently desire the cloying illusions of happy home and hearth?
The woman is obsessive compulsive, anal rentive, overly competitive, stressed out yet refuses to slow down, critical of others as well as herself, over analyzes, and expects to be a perfect business woman and mother at the same time. Each chapter ends with a familiarly frantic to-do list of items that seem to only get pushed onto the next day's list. With each passing chapter the discernible pang of sympathy in my chest shifts to empathy. Her ambitions, her fears, her virtues and faults are all too similar.
I'm not even done with the book and already my head is echoing with thoughts of my own:
I want this position to rise to that position to rise only further.
I want this internship to better get that internship to get that job to rise only further.
What if I don't get this? Does that mean I'm not good enough?
What if I get this and fail; am I better off not getting it?
I worry and worry and worry I won't get it, yet as soon as I do, I worry what I'll do with it.
Should I keep trying if in the end I'll be saddled with kids and no able to fully reach my professional potential?
My anxieties are as ceaseless as my ambitions. And despite all my questions, I know I will never be able to let go of either.
I read about how the number of women drops dramatically as salary and position rises, and how women who act like men to survive are deemed 'abrasive and difficult', while women who stay women are 'emotional and difficult.' But - surprise - this is actually not what I'm writing about. While that line would've launched me into a fervent feminist tirade a year ago, this time, the topic of gender inequality barely fazed me at all.
As I read these woman's thoughts, it is, surprisingly, the precarious balance between family, career and sanity that this woman tries desperately to maintain that strikes me. And the fact that this issue affected me so much stunned me even more. Am I evolving past my ever-indignant 'independent female' phase that defined my angsty teenage years? Am I in danger of allowing my domestic instincts to surface and subsequently desire the cloying illusions of happy home and hearth?
The woman is obsessive compulsive, anal rentive, overly competitive, stressed out yet refuses to slow down, critical of others as well as herself, over analyzes, and expects to be a perfect business woman and mother at the same time. Each chapter ends with a familiarly frantic to-do list of items that seem to only get pushed onto the next day's list. With each passing chapter the discernible pang of sympathy in my chest shifts to empathy. Her ambitions, her fears, her virtues and faults are all too similar.
I'm not even done with the book and already my head is echoing with thoughts of my own:
I want this position to rise to that position to rise only further.
I want this internship to better get that internship to get that job to rise only further.
What if I don't get this? Does that mean I'm not good enough?
What if I get this and fail; am I better off not getting it?
I worry and worry and worry I won't get it, yet as soon as I do, I worry what I'll do with it.
Should I keep trying if in the end I'll be saddled with kids and no able to fully reach my professional potential?
My anxieties are as ceaseless as my ambitions. And despite all my questions, I know I will never be able to let go of either.
posted by Steph at 11:33 PM
1 Comments:
Your prose and diction aren't too shabby either.
Post a Comment
<< Home