Diplomas: Friend or Foe?

Today, the indisputable highlight of my day was a trip to the dentist’s office to get a cavity filled. Thrilling, I know. Either way, it got me thinking about the point in our lives at which we choose our professions. Are we born destined to pick one profession over all others? Do our everyday experiences shape who we will later become and then influence what we choose to do with our lives? Or is it some combination of the two? I know I sound like Dr. Phil or a sub-par high school psychology textbook right now, and that isn’t my intention; really. Yet as I sat in my dentist’s office, I couldn’t help but picture a little kid whose lifelong ambition it was to monitor the oral hygiene of fellow man, and that just made me laugh. Imagine if you will, a young boy carrying around a lifetime supply of floss and swearing off things like Milky Way and Swedish Fish as though they were the devil incarnate. Maybe it’s just me, or maybe it’s the fact that in the midst of my unemployment even “The Real Housewives of New Jersey” can pass for quality television, but I find this funny. (Disclaimer: I mean no offense to any dentists. I actually find dentists to be a particularly jovial breed of doctor, and have no issue with them whatsoever so long as they aren’t removing or drilling large holes into any of my teeth.)

Personally, I know that I wasn’t born wanting to write. In school, writing was something I was told I was good at, so I stuck with it. Believe me, if you had seen me try to solve a proof in geometry or cry my way to a C in physics, you would understand why I ran towards the written word faster than Lindsay Lohan could ever stumble her way over to an open bar.

While still waiting in my dentist’s office, I noticed his pristine white diploma hanging on the wall. To be honest, diplomas have long irked and confused me. How is it that one piece of paper can symbolize 4 years (or more) of education? How the hell do they expect to be taken seriously looking like a prop from one of the Harry Potter movies or a party favor from Medieval Times? My diploma, bless its’ so far useless heart, is still caught up in the giant web of bureaucracy that is NYU, and probably won’t be in my possession for at least 6-8 weeks. Like a lonely man waiting for his mail-order bride, I eagerly, yet somewhat nervously, await its arrival.
I realized though, that while I may not yet have that one piece of paper that symbolizes my education, I do have roughly 126 others. More specifically; one half hour television script, two one-hour television scripts and the beginnings of a pilot.

But still no job…