Love and Satisfaction

In my flurry of inactivity last night I turned on the television and watched an episode of House. I was scribbling away in my journal at the time, winding down for bed while S was already off to work a night shift. In my journal I was continuing my attempts to unravel the roots of my educational crisis. In the middle of the episode, the conversation between a terminally ill patient and his young female doctor went something like this:

Patient: Do you like your job?
Doctor: Yes, I do. I love my job.
Patient: Really? You seem more of an, "I find it extremely satisfying," kind of person.
Doctor: It is satisfying, very satisfying.
Patient: Yes, but love is "love". Satisfying is "social validation - love can wait."

Since I was already sunken into thoughts of school, this conversation sidled in through the open door. Am I in school because I think I'm going to love the job? Or am I in school because I think the job at the end of it will be extremely satisfying?

One of the things I really work on changing about myself is my own craving for that social validation. If you asked me, I would tell you that I don't care what other people think, but in my truest of hearts, it's a lie. I like that when I tell people "I'm in the middle of grad school", I get oohs, and ahhs, and 'wow, that must be really hard's from people I talk to, especially when they find out that I'm working full time at the same time. The goal itself seems more worth the work because other people recognize it to be important. I like that it makes my mom proud to tell people what I'm up to, and that she takes pride in my reachings. Ugh, I am still that little girl who needs the pat on the head and the, "good job, honey!" from her mommy, or the star on the board from the teacher!

With that thought newly in my head, that my real reason for finally going to grad school could be to get the social validation that goes with it, I wanted to throw my laptop out into the snowbank and run off to Mexico to become a starfish. I am an educated, confident, independent woman. Surely I wouldn't have made this big of a decision, this big of a committment of time and money, in order to get approval, to get social validation... would I?

As we grow and change, our goals and values also change. I no longer want to be a ballet dancer, a marine biologist, a fireman, a doctor, a vet, or a lawyer. But psychologist, now that one has hung on. All of my image makers, the people who you listen to growing up when they tell you how they see you in the future, saw me as a counselor, a helper, a psychologist. I have been on the road to my master's, with all of its' twists and turns, since high school. I'm sure my yearbook says something about my becoming a psychologist. It's what I've "always" wanted to do. My 14-year old self embraced that idea with her whole heart, perhaps in a way that I haven't done since.

So here I am: tank full of gas, driving down that road, my destination finally beginning to arise on the horizon. That nagging feeling that I should look up from the road, look around, is finally sinking into my thoughts. My biggest suspicion is that if I check out my reflection in the rearview mirror, my 14 year old self is still driving the car, looking for that feeling of satisfaction, as yet unaware of the magic in the possiblities of love.