At my first job out of college, I worked at a small internet company as a “Jr. Copywriter,” but occasionally told people I was a server at the California Pizza Kitchen––a place I’d never been employed. It just felt easier when yelling to strangers in a loud bar.
I wasn’t a copywriter in the traditional sense. Yes, I technically wrote copy, but it was very specifically, strategically written to influence search engine algorithms. In 2007, search engine optimization (SEO) was nascent, obscure, and well, dorky. Being a newly minty adult in Los Angeles, it was a complicated and unsexy job in a town where everyone was already, or on their way to being, glamorously successful. Even though I loved my boss and became very good at the work, I still felt embarrassed and exhausted by the the mental gymnastics involved in explaining where I worked, and what my role entailed. I am now eternally grateful for this professional experience that has proved to be an asset throughout my career. SEO is more universally known, and a standard practice in most marketing strategies––albeit still nerdy.
My career for the last 15 years has been a series of chutes and ladders climbing up, sliding down, and scooting sideways in the digital advertising, marketing, and communications space. Some organizations and titles have been easier than others to sum up in a quick response, but they’ve mostly all required a backstory script that no one wants to hear at a house party. I’ve witnessed people’s eyes glaze over when they realize they should have struck up a conversation with the Hollywood agent, or even the union organizer. All I’ve ever longed for is a pithy and impressive answer to the most millennial question ever: “WHAT DO YOU DO?”
We all know that question is usually code for: “WHO ARE YOU?” Only a very lucky few are able to offer the same answer for both in one fell swoop, and being asked the question almost always feels like a test to see if you’re one of the elite who get to do what they want for money––the true measure of millennial success.
This is all to say that after three years of being a freelancer (which also required a convoluted response because I usually had about six or seven very different projects cooking at once), I am now in a full time role. And, I find myself in yet another very hard-to-explain job.
Firstly, I work at a startup which, as I’ve previously experienced, is hard to describe because these companies are generally trying to blaze a new path. It’s difficult to detail what exactly the vehicle can do while it’s still being built. This job is also in mental health care tech, which adds another layer of complexity and nuance for most people (including myself). And, my title is VP, Content––which is a relatively modern organizational function that many people (ahem, Boomers) can’t contextualize in the workplace.
In preschool, I remember a teacher asking us all what we wanted to be when we grew up. Most every girl said, “Sleeping Beauty.” I said, “An Olympic figure skater.” That clearly didn’t pan out. But, the question continued to be asked throughout my life, and no more so than during the four years of my undergraduate education.
“English? What are you going to do with that?”
Turns out, I could have never answered the question accurately. Most every professional title and job description I’ve held since graduating didn’t exist while I was studying for my degree. My entire career was launched by a budding internet ecosystem, and I’ve been tumbling upward in the bowels of the World Wide Web ever since. My career and the industry have been growing and evolving in tandem.
This is hardly a “me” problem. I’m sure so many fellow millennials could identify. Anyone who’s a web developer, robotics engineer, and social media strategist could tell a similar story, I’m sure. Apps, as we know them today, certainly didn’t exist when I was in school. To put things in perspective, I’ve had a Facebook account for 22 years-–more than half of my life, and the first iPhone was released the same year I graduated college.
My new job is very cool, and I am grateful for the opportunity to contribute. I’m good at the work. I’m able to be a valued leader and make a visible impact. I wholeheartedly believe in the mission. The people are all smart, creative, efficient, and at the top of their game. There is a clear work-life balance.
I love everything about my job, except explaining it to people. In more junior years, this would still bug me. Now, it’s whatever. There is no one to impress. If anyone is interested in my job beyond that it’s how I make enough money to pay the mortgage and the babysitter, I’m happy to share.
My job is what I do; it’s not what I’m all about. I’m no longer trying to be the unicorn whose job title is authentically their identity like I was in my twenties, and even in my early thirties .
Part of this shift is age, experience, and being a freewheeling independent contractor for so long. Mostly, it’s starting graduate school. At the risk of sounding dramatic, as soon as I found this program, my life came into focus. I realized that I had been working very hard at advancing in a career without fulfilling a deeper purpose. As I’ve described before, it feels like I hit the ceiling, and keep bumping my head. At first I thought it was the pandemic, or new parenthood, or being untethered as a freelancer that was fueling my restlessness. But, it’s really that I’ve outgrown WHAT I DO.
These days, I don’t make it out to bars, house parties are few and far between, and meeting new people is a real rarity. But, when it does happen, I find myself wanting to talk about what I’m learning and not the work I get paid to do––and people’s reactions to this information are more engaged, even though this area of study isn’t widely known and also requires some explanation. In fact, I don’t think when I eventually pivot careers in a few years my predicament will end. Most people don’t know what organizational psychology is. It just sounds kind of heady and intimidating.
“It’s like psychology, but not for individual people. It’s for businesses and organizations, so they can function healthier.”
“OHH. Yeah, that makes sense. My [insert difficut-to-explain company] needs that!”
I don’t think the school part of my life is “better,” more interesting, or sexier than my day job. More that it’s something I don’t have to do. It’s something I want to do, so the way I talk about it is probably much more attractive. I’m entering a conversation wanting to share, not insecure about being judged that what I am doing isn’t worthwhile, because I am confident it is. When something is hard to describe––like most of my jobs–– it’s easy for others to dismiss it as not important. Aside from the time it takes to explain my work, it’s probably what bothers me the most––fear of being unfairly judged if I am unable to represent how I make a living, AKA my identity.
Millennials grew up with an engrained emphasis on achievement. That, coupled with our generation either choosing or being forced to delay or forgo many traditional life choices, jobs are the best barometer we’ve got for sizing someone up. And that’s a lot of pressure!
But, the world is an increasingly complex organism made up of equally complicated systems, comprised of unique individuals. Things are only going to get more difficult to explain as we grow, expand, and attempt to dismantle systemic problems in favor of more inclusive (read: complicated) approaches.
Globalization and technology continue to make the future, and the work that needs to get done, messy. The past was also pretty messy, but we chose to simplify it with racist, misogynist, and other discriminatory lenses.
The days of working in one clear job function, at one company, or industry for fifty years are long dead. The easy-to-explain, simple to qualify work will soon (if not already) become the minority.
SO…
What do you do? What do you want to be doing?
Like most people, the answers to these questions are different for me. Perhaps, as they should be.
I know that eventually this academic pursuit will translate into a new professional path, which will evolve into what I do, but for a while it’s my leisure time. Between my job, childcare, and domestic B.S., I have so little space in my day, that doing reading and writing papers is a luxurious hobby, something Anne Helen Peterson just discussed in her newsletter,
, this past weekend in regards to who gets more of it (spoiler: it's men). Presently, the purpose of my schoolwork is not much more than personal improvement and growth, and that's perfectly fine for me, the person with a hard-to-explain day job, entrenched in parenting small children, and a micro social life––for now.Sigh. Still, how much easier to just be a lawyer or something, right? (Lawyers, don’t come for me!)
We had mirror convos. Trying to explain PR is the same as explaining the specifics of getting to the moon. And to my mom? Forget it!