So, What Do You Want To Do?

“A lie may fool someone else, but it tells you the truth: you’re weak”
-Sherman McCoy, “Bonfire of the Vanities”

I found myself in an all too familiar place, sitting across a desk from an older gentleman who I’d just met. This meeting, like all the others, had been arranged through an awkward phone call. I had dialed up a complete stranger, introduced myself, mentioned the person who had referred me and asked if it were possible for me to come in and meet with said stranger, who was undoubtedly rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. Like most others, he graciously accepted as a show of good form rather than a genuine desire to help, but I certainly do not blame him for those feelings. After all, what man would actually feel like meeting with some random kid half his age; have him come in and discuss career paths, all in a big charade used to mask the fact that he is asking if you can give him a job or if you know anyone who can? Despite this however, most people will take the time to meet with you because a) you namedropped the person who referred you to them and thus they are actually doing him a favor and b) when put on the spot, it is surprisingly hard for most people to say no. Also, since there is not an actual open position you are coming in to discuss, these meetings are more or less information sessions.

On this particular day, we were already about ten minutes into our conversation and I was already thinking ahead and preparing for it, because when these meetings inevitably get down to brass tacks, it comes. It, in these situations, is the line:

“So, what do you want to do?”

I’ve probably been asked this question 45 times in the last 4 months in meetings identical to this one. At the moment the question is asked time stands still and I am able to process what feels like hundreds of different thoughts at one time, all with near perfect clarity. Every cool job I have ever heard of, dreamt about, or seen on TV comes racing to the front of my mind as though they are all competing to be mentioned in my next sentence. In the 1.5 seconds between the time he finishes asking and the time I begin to reply, dreams of being a pro-wrestler, having a job in pro-wrestling, working for a pro sports team, writing for MensHealth, working for UFC, owning health clubs, being an actor, writing novels, joining the Green Berets, being a college professor (wow, didn’t know that was in there), all seep in from my subconscious at light speed. It is though the very question triggers some Pavlovian response and although my mouth still salivates, I have trained myself to no longer go running for food. Instead, I suppress every ounce of courage I thought I owned and babble out some crap along the lines of:

“Well, I really would like to get into the investment side of real estate. I have a wide range of interest in investment and income producing properties, but ideally I would like to focus on buying and selling multi-unit apartments.”

As he and I go back and forth on the subject of commercial real estate, I can hardly hear due to the noise of my soul bitching me out:

“What? Are you fucking kidding me? How in the fuck did it ever come to this? Was it from all those times as a kid when you couldn’t pay attention to wrestling because you kept having day dreams of being a commercial real estate analyst? You dickless, spineless fuck! For as long as you can remember, there have been plenty of things you liked, some you loved, and yet you haven’t had the balls to even remotely chase after one them. I don’t know how we are going to sleep tonight…pussy.”

For the rest of the meeting, I struggle to ignore and speak over the internal rant I am giving myself. These meetings will then typically end in predictable fashion. I tell the old cracker how much I have enjoyed speaking with him and he will, more often than not, offer me a few more names to call and thus, repeat the process.

The majority of the time I leave these meetings worrying less about how it went and more about what really did happen to my balls. While I know this past meeting with Mr. Stranger was neither the time nor the place to divulge my true life’s ambitions, the situation does cause questions I continually battle with to resurface. When did things get of track? Was there ever really a track? What has stopped me from doing something I am really passionate about? Has there been rational thinking that continuously stepped in along the way keeping me on the “higher-percentage” path, so subtle that I can’t recall its influence? Or is that something I tell myself to make me feel better? Is this going to work out? If it does, will I be 55 and cussing myself for not trying to go after something that made me excited to get up in the morning? As much as I tell myself that things will indeed work out and that the grass always appears greener on the other side, I can’t help but look down and notice that my lawn currently looks like shit.