The Vine: July 12, 2002
Sars,
You mentioned in your response to “Been There, Done That” that you had to acknowledge at some point that you’d “make a sucky reporter.” If you don’t mind using Vine space to talk a bit about you, would you mind elaborating?
I ask because I’m trying to decide, now that the good times of the Internet Revolution are all but over, what I would have done with my life if I hadn’t been sidetracked into becoming an IT geek. Almost a decade ago I started a journalism degree; the closest I’ve come has been doing programming for various news organizations. Now I’m burning out on coding, and it feels important to figure out what comes next sooner rather than later.
I have enjoyed being near the journalism field, but as I start thinking about finishing up that degree, I begin to wonder whether I’m tough enough to be a reporter (“You say that loan of yours was perfectly legal and ethical, Mr. President?…Uh, okay, what’d you think of the All-Star Game?”), and whether I’ve got the “people skills” to go out and get a story in the first place (persistent, inquisitive, networking-friendly people are not the ones who end up as database programmers).
Will you share your thoughts on what it would have taken for you to not be sucky as a reporter? If you don’t do it for the advice-seekers, do it for the trivia-hungry Sars groupies.
Signed,
Probably Not Lois Lane
Dear Not Lois Lane,
I conducted mediocre-at-best interviews, I tended to come to conclusions about the subject in advance that undermined my objectivity, and I had trouble writing stories “straight” without editorializing. I would have improved with time and training, I imagine, but I didn’t do it well largely because I didn’t like doing it in the first place.
That’s nothing against reporters, obviously, but the average metro desk has no use for my particular strengths as a writer, so I ditched it.
I wouldn’t get discouraged by my experience. I have no idea what it really takes to make it as a reporter. I just know I don’t have it.
After many a study break spent reading your wonderfully snarky advice for others, I’m writing to ask about a problem of my own.
I have a crush on a friend. I told him a few months ago, and he said that he liked me too, but that he didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship by trying to turn it into a relationship. Since then, other couples have formed within our group of friends, and we’re now two of the only unattached people in the bunch. He doesn’t appear to care, but I do; I feel lonely, frustrated, and (worst of all) jealous of my friends. Meanwhile, my feelings for him have only gotten stronger.
Here’s the question: At this point, I really want to give up on the possibility of a relationship between us. But I don’t know how. I can’t make myself stop thinking about him “that way.” If I try not to see him so much, I just miss him. If I spend more time with him as friends, I seize on anything that might be a sign as to whether he still likes me. Yelling at myself to get over it hasn’t worked. I want to avoid looking desperate and pathetic, but I’d much rather not be desperate and pathetic in the first place.
I’ve never felt like this before; I’ve always thought of myself as an unemotional and happily independent person, and I’m not enjoying this sudden change. The guy is a wonderful friend, and I’m worried that I’m missing out on one great relationship by staying so hung up on the possibility of another. How can I turn my attraction to him back into platonic friendship?
Hopeless
Dear Hopeless,
I don’t know if you can; you feel an attraction to him, and that’s not the kind of thing you can just turn off. But you can start limiting your exposure, and you should. You’ve gotten too wrapped up in the guy, and the group, and you need to take a step back.
Start seeing less of him. You say you’ve tried that, and it just makes you miss him. Well, you already “miss” him, in a manner of speaking. Try harder. After a while, you’ll miss him less, and if you don’t cut down on the amount of time you spend with him, it’ll just go on like this with you analyzing his every gesture and action and getting nowhere. It’s okay to indulge yourself in that stuff a little bit — we’ve all done it, God knows — but acknowledge that you do it and try to stop yourself. It doesn’t do any good, and it mires you even deeper in the situation.
Also, I think you need to ask yourself why external factors affect you so much. What difference does it make that your other friends have paired up? Why does the group pair off with its own members instead of dating people outside the group, and why do you think you have to do the same? I understand that filling the role of The Only Single One gets old sometimes, but I think you let it bother you a little more than it should, and I don’t think you leave yourself open quite enough to experiences with people outside your circle. Force yourself to look a little harder at the big picture.
I think you obsess over the guy at least partly because it’s easy; it means you don’t have to take a risk on anyone else. Think about why that might be.
Dear (Honorary) Dr. Sars,
Here’s the problem. I met The American online a couple of years ago, and became great friends. Jokingly at first, The American talked about moving here (which is far, far away from America — hint: kangaroos) to do his graduate studies. Joking turned to serious discussion on the matter, and The American applied to a university here. While I am elated that The American got in, and will be arriving in the middle of the year, I can’t say that I’m completely without concerns, most of which have nothing to do with The American and everything to do with my neurotic family.
Firstly, the plan is for The American and me to find an apartment and do the roomie thing, because being poor students is somehow character-building, or so I’m assured. I currently am in my third of four years of law school, and I have a permanent job two days a week which pays reasonably well for a student job. I’m the kind of person who gets left in charge of making sure nothing gets wrecked when other people throw parties, so there’s no reason for anyone to think that I’d going to be running a brothel or crack house once I’m free from the ‘rents. However, my parents are convinced that the moving-out-of-home endeavour is going to be my greatest failure to date, and miss no chance to tell me so at every opportunity.
For various psychiatric reasons, none of which are really that important to the story, I am very, very sensitive to any criticism, and have begun the self-defeatist dance of talking myself out of something that I really do want to do. While I can’t help thinking that they’re probably right, I also can’t help feeling that if it was up to them, I’d never leave home at all.
The American knows only a handful of people in my city, all of whom are online friends, and I would feel like a huge bitch for bailing on him when he got here. I’ve explained my concerns to him, but I’m not sure he really gets it. I have very little self-confidence left, and the more I keep hearing how tough it’s going to be and how I’m going to fail and am not ready to move out (I’m 20), the more I start believing it.
How do I deal with my parents? How do I stop convincing myself it’s going to be a failure before I even try? What do I tell The American? Should I just become a hermit?
I need all the help I can get on this one.
Ms. M
Dear Ms. M,
First of all, tell your parents to cram it. Tell them more nicely than “Mom, Dad — cram it,” but tell them anyway. Tell them you don’t appreciate their attempts to undermine your confidence. Tell them they can say “I told you so” later if they like, but they’ve got no right to say it now. Thank them for their concern, change the subject, and ignore them. They throw that shit on you to try to control you; they do it because they know it works. Stop letting it work. Grit your teeth and tell them to mind their own business; once you’ve done it enough times, you’ll start to mean it.
Once you get the parental bug out of your ear, remind yourself of something — yes, maybe it’s all going to go to hell. Maybe you’ll fail. Maybe The American Situation is going to turn into an interpersonal disaster on the scale of the Brando children. If it does, you can handle it. Maybe you’ll wind up hating each other, but you can handle that. Maybe you’ll have to admit to your parents that it didn’t work out, but you can handle that. Whatever happens, you can and will handle it.
Keep communicating with The American as you have. Let him know that the whole thing is freaking you out, but that you really want to go forward with it; you’ll just need reassurance from time to time, and he shouldn’t take it wrong if you have a wig now and then.
It’s a big, risky decision, but you know what they say — it’s not courage if you’re not scared. You can do it. If it sucks, you can fix it. If you can’t fix it, you can move on. Don’t get ahead of yourself. For now, concentrate on shutting your parents up and finding an apartment, and trust your ability to deal with whatever comes next.
[7/12/02]
Tags: boys (and girls) the fam workplace
