Seeking an annecdote for apathy

It all started with some chutzpah.
It started after reading “True Colors” by Anthony Haden Guest –one of those books that would change my life. It didn’t change my life because it had some anecdotal philosophies, or Oprah’s Book Club inspirations. The book was simple -it was the “He Said She Said” of the Neo Expressionist Movement in Greenwich Village in the 1980’s. I was inspired, empowered, I believed in the raw potential of collective activity –the thoughtless actions that snowball into social change.

Although I had left engineering to become a sociologist, I believed that being a sociologist did not mean having to be a spectator; I believed that I could get my hands dirty –become a social surgeon and participate in social movements. That is what inspired me to write “the Art Enzyme”. I attempted to be an artist for about two years and in the process wrote a theory about the ethos of artists and what their presence symbolizes in terms of social change. I once had the hopes of turning it into a book, but it only became a master’s thesis.

And then I fell.
The truth is those days were filled with starry eyed daydreams of grandiosity. They were filled with schmoozing at all of the local hotspots and being at the right parties –of believing that I was the right person. It was all fun until I needed money and started working for a local government organization as a transportation planner.

My boss was Andrew –a loud, charismatic, and self important man who was fun to be around for a while. Gradually, however, the fun stopped and any legitimate foundation of my self confidence eroded. It started subtly. During my first week of work I was called into his office to be reprimanded for using the internet. I had been looking up the online legislation for the work I was required to do.

And then there was the time we were expected to fly to Houston to visit and learn about conducting research for traffic safety. Upon noticing that we were approaching three weeks to our scheduled meeting date, with no traveling accommodations, I suggested flights and hotels. I was once again called into the office and told “I know traveling is fun, but I expect you to do your work”.

Time and time again I was treated with a level of condescension I had never experienced before –nor have been able to understand since. I attributed it to being young, being female, being attractive. However, I assumed that the perfect anecdote was to continue performing at my best. I figured that eventually I would wear them down, and so I kept deadlines, kept my committee running at peak performance and allocated resources our organization never had before at their disposal. In the mean time, I was constantly rejected for training opportunities, at times not even allowed to use the very equipment I had requested for my own projects.

It wasn’t until an official from our fiscal agent asked my coworkers why we weren’t allowed to ask for training that we were confronted with whether or not we understood discrimination. We were encouraged to write letters of concern to our Human Resource department and watch how they responded. The response was to show the letters to our director, and eventually to accuse me of extortion and to ask me to resign.

So I jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. I moved to the Florida Keys to work as a sustainable development planner (sustainable development in this context means no increase in residential growth). My work ethic transformed from workaholic to nonexistent. And the worse part is, no one noticed. The local government was deteriorating, within the past year and a half of residency in the Florida Keys I saw the entire planning department (a staff of 12 people) diminish to 2. Our county administrator was finally asked to resign, and given a severance package of $300,000, after accumulating legal fees that nearly drove the county to bankruptcy.

And now I’m in New Mexico, with no job. I just couldn’t stand being in the Keys any longer. I haven’t been able to keep up with my friends in two years; I don’t like talking to people when I’m going through a rough time. But now I am so lost with trying to figure out how to proceed in my career. I plan to begin working on a PhD in the fall, but what until then? I once felt called to be a public servant, but now I’m a pathetic heartbroken and confused mess.

I don’t believe in the Art Enzyme anymore. I don’t believe in creative collective action. I believe in cookie cutter subdivisions, in strip malls, and highways. I believe that people just stand there dumbly scratching their heads as they watch the local environment deteriorate and cost of fuel continue to rise. I wish someone could prove me wrong and revive my soul.