My Useless Degree

2

June 19, 2013 by Lindsay

Coincidentally, the same day I decided it was time to pick up my brushes and start painting again, my husband got a kick out of sending me this little gem of an article , which lists the least employable and most employable majors to have these days.

No big revelation there– my $80,000 Fine Arts degree tops the list as the #1 least employable thing you can possibly choose to get a degree in. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I kinda discovered that ten years ago, right after I graduated. But then, there’s nothing like seeing stated plainly, for the record, once and for all.

Though, like I said, it wasn’t exactly earth shattering news. That’s an old joke in my family. “Hey everybody look at Lindsay! Ha, ha she dedicated an enormous amount of  time and energy, and a huge chunk of change to getting a completely useless degree! How funny is that?!”

This particular article, however, was able to breathe some new life into that old joke. After boldly declaring me winner in the Good-Luck-Ever-Finding-A-Job-With-That category, the article goes on to tell us  that my brother is hot on my heels, holding the  #2 least employable degree (Philosophy).

Then, on the flip side– as  a bright shining beacon to those of us adrift in a sea of poor decisions (and as a little nugget of triumph for my parents)– we have my wise little sister, who has the honor of holding the #1 most employable degree out there (Nursing). Obviously, when my siblings and I decide to do something, we don’t do it half-way.

And in case you’re wondering… if I had a time machine, would I try to go back and convince myself to do something else?  In a nutshell: No.

Why not? That can be summed up pretty easily as well– because I’m  stubborn.

A)    Despite all the extra struggling and the massive student loans– and the fact that, with a fine arts degree, you’re forced to literally invent your own employment most of the time–  I’m still too stubborn to admit that going to art school was a bad decision.

B)    This same stubbornness applies to my younger self as well, but to the power of ten.

For argument’s sake, let’s just say you catch me on a bad day (ie. the day I accidentally erased my entire portfolio- which you can read about here), and at that low point you’re able to convince me I’d be better off with an MBA. After reaching this conclusion, (since I also have access to a time machine in this argument) I ask my good buddy, Doc Brown, to hop in the ol’ DeLorean, kick that baby up to 88 mph, and zap back to 1997 to convince my younger self that I’m making a terrible mistake. Here’s how that would  go down…

Doc Brown: Lindsay! You’ve gotta come back with me!

17 yr old me: Where?

Doc Brown: Back to the future.

Doc opens a trash can.

17 yr old me: Whoa, wait a minute, what are you doing, Doc?

Doc Brown: I need fuel. Quick. Go ahead, quick. Get in the car!

17 yr old me: No, no, no, no, no, no, Doc. I’m not going anywhere. Look, I’m about to head off to Savannah in the morning. I’m about to start my freshman year in art school! And look, my brother’s here. He’s about to leave to go back to school too. And  I was going to go take my new Saturn out for a spin.

Doc Brown: Well, you can bring your brother along. This concerns him too.

17 year old me: Whoa, wait a minute, Doc. What are you talking about? What happens to us in the future? What, do we become assholes or something?

Doc Brown: No, no, no, no, no, Lindsay. Both you and Ty turn out fine. It’s your degrees, Lindsay. Somethings gotta be done about your degrees!

I can’t speak for my brother here.  As for me– this is the point where my younger-self would  laugh, thank Doc Brown for his concern,  and continue to head off for art school the next day,  without stopping for even a second, to consider an alternate  career path. I admit, I would probably end up going with Doc, just for the sake of getting to time travel. But I was far too stubborn back then to let anything persuade me to change my mind, so it wouldn’t have helped.

Rest assured, I would have had the DeLorean drop me off in time for my first day of class, and the end result would be exactly the same. You just can’t mess with the space-time continuum. So really, what else is left to do, except embrace my useless degree and stubbornly refuse to admit defeat.