Blue Dreams

The only sound that can soothe me right now is that of fire.

I sit here in the Writing Center, where I work part time, trying to maintain some sense of zen, of calm. I imagine my feelings of helplessness burning in the flames, giving way to a death of emptiness and a birth of creative inspiration, buried within the pine cone of sheer despondency.

It's a desperate attempt and I feel as though I am losing the battle. Quickly.

As I sit and listen to a "meditation mix" of calming "nature sounds" I downloaded off i-tunes (an inherently paradoxical act altogether), I ponder my dream and my purpose.

I feel my passion slipping away and here is why: I have 3 degrees. A bachelors, master's and PhD. And I am now making less than I was as a graduate student. I hold on desperately to the adjunct position I have at a non-research university, hoping to one day earn a livable wage.

In graduate school, I studied, critiqued and analyzed, perhaps to a fault, the plight of exploited capitalist workers. My entire dissertation is a study of this logic. And I am faced with the exact same issue. And I can't seem to think, or write, my way out of it.

What is this capitalist machine that drives the world, that utterly devalues artistic integrity and the intellectual mission? These are two things I have always been passionate about and now I am beginning to feel such a level of despondency, I'm not sure what can happen next.

I used to vehemently write about fighting the "man," resisting the capitalist machine and, at all costs, holding onto our dreams. But at the time, I had a spark of hope inside of me that ignited my path. I was a graduate student, a young fledgling learning to fly, being groomed for her flight into the world. The entire future was before me.  Now that I am on the other side, now that I have earned my wings and am experiencing the true dismissal and devaluation of my discipline, my degree, I can't seem to find that light anymore.

I have a healthy CV with relevant and prestigious publications; I have pages of conference presentations, administrative experience and over eight years teaching at the university level. I have won numerous awards for my writing talent; I was one of the top students in my PhD program and all of my mentors believed I would land a tenure-track position at a top research-institution. Or, at the very least, a sound liberal arts college.

I don't say this to show off my abilities or talents. I am offering this as an example of how utterly unfair the American educational system is. I know I worked very hard, I know I am a talented intellect and writer: this is why I chose to pursue my passion. Anyone who worked as hard as I did, and has the level of credentials as I, deserves, at the absolute very least, a livable wage.

But I am not even making that.

I received a depressing email from my Department chair today. He (sadly) let me know that one of my courses for the Spring was cancelled. I absolutely count on that course to scrape by.  Without that course, I will need to pick up a serving job at a restaurant. At age 30, a woman, a doctor, with 3 college degrees and multiple publications will need to start over--as she once did when she was 18.

I know I am not alone in this situation; I know there are hundreds, thousands, of un/underemployed higher education graduates who are in the exact position as I: some worse, some a bit better. I suppose I ought to be thankful that I even have my foot in the door at any academic institution. But my situation is incredibly precarious: as we already see, my class can be eliminated in an instant. If budget cuts hit our department, I will be the first to go.  On the flip side, I am too specialized and, in many cases, over-qualified for jobs outside of academe. I have tried looking into the non-profit sector and other related fields. But my experience and degree does nothing for me.

I realize I should continue writing--now is the time I should channel my despondency into fiery, creative energy. Indeed, some of our greatest writers have written from within that space. But as I lose my economic stability, I feel my creative energy seep out of my cells. I long for a sea change.