'When I grow up': Deciding what to do, now that I have

Do you remember those commercials when we were little kids that said: "Nobody ever says, 'I want to be a junkie when I grow up.' "?

Now, in my old age (almost but not quite 21), I realize an opportunity has passed me by. When I was little, there were all sorts of commercials like the "I wannabe a junkie" one that gave me an idea of what I could be when I grew up. But being the naive young sprite that I was, I didn't listen. How easy it would have been to say, "Hey, yeah, a junkie. I'll be a junkie when I grow up," or, "TV/VCR repair? Sounds easier and about $33,000 per year cheaper than college!" TV was throwing career choices at me, but I ignored them and flipped back to "Growing Pains." And that is why I am where I am now.

Where am I now? I am, to put it optimistically, completely and utterly without a clue as to what to do with my life. In the 1960s, this would have been the perfect excuse to smoke a lot of pot and protest things until the birth of my first son, whom I would name Moondust. But now — and especially here at Princeton — being without any sort of direction just isn't socially acceptable. When people ask about my future plans, they get the blank stare and dead silence I have been perfecting with my grandparents since freshman year. It's becoming pretty obvious that I am in the minority of students here that are not intensely driven to any particular future. All of a sudden the little boys on the playground that said they wanted to be astronauts and then looked up my skirt are now receiving degrees in mechanical and aerospace engineering and then looking up my skirt. The girls who wanted to be ballerinas have forsaken that dream and are now going on to become lawyers and doctors. When I was little, I wanted to study to be a goldfish. Now I'm a psych major. I think both diplomas are about equally as likely to get me a job in the real world.

Of course, in my state of unemployment limbo, I'm not sure I even want a job. I might want to go back to school. People that go to grad schools go on to become teachers or Really Smart People. They have to take Grown Up SATs called GREs. Except, unlike in high school, their moms don't drop them off outside the gym with a quarter for the pay phone. Can I picture myself as a grad student? Usually, for some reason, whenever I picture myself in any future situation, I see myself as being taller — like when you were in the second grade and were thinking ahead to junior high. However, this time when I picture myself as a grad student, I just see myself as poorer and sketchier.

I-banking and consulting seem to be the thing to do here, but they are definitely not for me. The receptions at Triumph are for me, but the thought of spending 80 to 100 hours per week at a job is not tempting. The thought of spending 80 to 100 hours per week doing anything at all is not tempting. Imagine lying down on a feather mattress, while a myriad of beautifully sculpted members of the opposite sex (or same sex, whatever you desire, master) feeds you lush grapes and fans you with palm fronds. Now imagine this for about 18 hours a day. You try to go to sleep, but they keep shoving fruit in your mouth, and your scantily clad slaves won't knock it off with the giant leaves. If I can't handle the royal treatment for 18 hours per day, then the prospect of playing with Excel doesn't stand a chance.

You all see the state those of us without future plans are in. Right now we're looking at years spent crashing on your couches. So I'm sending out a plea to those of you who have some sort of life course — help us. Actually, just help me. I don't care whether you know me or not, if you have any idea of something I might like to do for the rest of my life, then send it my way. If only I'd listened to those commercials. Jen Adams is a psychology major from Ogdensburg, N.Y. She can be reached at jladams@princeton.edu.