Don't Forget to Write

Bruno's Advice

The days passed me by as they took on a routine; class, coaching, homework, run the side business, weekends I would spend time with Camila, get drinks at Bob's Pub and shoot the shit with Bruno, Moose, and Karen, then repeat it all on Monday. I was writing one or two papers a week. I didn't charge as much for these as I had for the midterm papers that had given me notoriety among the student body, but it was a supplemental income that let me continue spoiling myself and Bruno with things like fruits and vegetables and even the occasional bottle of half-way decent whiskey.

Many of the leaves had fallen, covering the sidewalks and streets with their crunchy brown corpses, leaving most of the trees in Harlem barren and naked. Everybody wore thicker clothes now. The old rich ladies had their fur and faux. The slick men had their peacoats. My generation had their down jackets and Northfaces. I sufficed with an old brown coat (which wasn't all that warm, but it was the only coat I had).

The time to register for spring courses was upon us. Bruno and Moose spoke with some delight about their future class schedules, but I hadn't selected any of my own courses yet. Every time I opened my laptop to pick out the next round of engineering courses I would close it again without having picked one. Suddenly they weren't as appealing as they once were. All the career stories I'd heard were of people working at engineering firms, creating amazing things from a seat at a desk behind a computer screen. I loved math. I loved creating. But I couldn't see myself sitting at a desk for the rest of my life. Then again, I couldn't see myself doing much of anything. I used to look into the future and see a career, a family, a house - a general plan for it all. But now I looked to the future and it was nothing but white noise. I had become directionless and clueless, only focusing on living week-to-week and having enough bottles of whiskey to get me through each one. My compass was broken. Or maybe I just forgot how to read it. Part of me knew I should just suck it up and finish my schooling, but part of me also knew that was wrong.

"Are you even sure you want to be an engineer?" Bruno asked when I told him about my hesitation.

"Thanks," I said to Bob who had just brought us two fresh beers. Then to Bruno, "I always have, I think."

"Because you love engineering, or because you were good at math and science?"

"I'm not really sure, both maybe."

"Bullshit," he said. "How would you know if you love engineering? Or even liked it? Have you ever engineered something?"

"No, I guess not. I used to work on a lot of cars."

"Well, that's not engineering. That's mechanic's work. Do you love working on cars?"

"I mean, I like it. It's like a huge puzzle."

"Could you see yourself doing it for the rest of your life?"

"That's just it, I don't see myself doing anything for the rest of my life. Not working on cars. Not engineering. Nothing. The rest of my life seems far too long to focus on just one thing." I took a big gulp from my beer. "Is this what it is to be an adult? You just suck it up and do the career you chose at too young of an age and hope to find joy in other things?"

"God, I hope not Petey. But I know it is like that for some people. Listen, I have a friend," he took a long swig from his beer, "who went into engineering because it was the 'safe option'. He was wicked smart, good at crunching numbers and putting stuff together, and of course, the world needs plenty of engineers. But when he got out of school, he realized that it wasn't all he thought it was meant to be. He was just thrown through the system as if he was on a conveyor belt, going from grade to grade, from high school to college, never taking a minute to think for himself, just following the assembly line to his seemingly predetermined fate of being an engineer without ever stopping to think about what he actually wants, and what he needs. Now he sees he never wanted to be an engineer at all, but it's too late. He's stuck in it, because he has hundreds of thousands of dollars in college debt, and he's got a wife with a baby on the way, he's trapped. He can't just leave his job and stop making an income. He can't just return to college and put his family on hold. He needs to keep going through the assembly line." He took another long swig. "Imagine being trapped in a building forty hours a week, every week of your life, doing things you don't want to do, making money just to pay off the debt that you racked up learning how to do this job that you wish you could escape. Pretty miserable, isn't it?"

"Sounds like a prison."

"A prison we put ourselves in. Listen, I'm not saying don't be an engineer. Engineers are important, and your wicked smart and creative. You'd make a great engineer if that's what you wanted to do, I'm just saying don't get swallowed up in doing something you don't actually want to do. You know?"

"But I don't want to change my major and fall behind."

"Fall behind? Fall behind what?" I forgot that Bruno was already 23, turning 24 soon because he had taken time off from college. He always claimed that taking time off of school was the best educational decision he ever made. "Life isn't a race, and if it was you sure as hell wouldn't want to be the first one to finish, would you?"

"No."

"Look, life is short, but it's also long. You never have as much time as you think, and if you waste it doing things you hate, then you're just wasting away the little life you have. When your career is something you don't want to do, either every minute is an eternity, or, if you're lucky, you go numb and your mind goes on autopilot for those 40 hours a week. Then before you know it you're old and you don't know how to do anything else, and now you're a miserable lump without anywhere to go."

"Damn Bruno," Moose chimed in from the back, "you ever think about motivational speaking?"

The lights got turned all the way up again, and Bob's deep gravelly voice yelled, "Last call folks! You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." There were about fifteen people in the bar, Bruno, Moose, and I were in our usual corner. Bob walked over with five shots and three beers. He gave me Moose and Bruno our respective beers, then called Karen over for a shot. The five of us raised our shot glass in our hands. Bob said, "this one is on me boys. May you have warm words on a cold evening, a full moon on a dark night, and the road downhill all the way to your door." We nodded our appreciation of another one of Bob's perfect Irish toasts, cheered, and took down our shots. "You three don't have to leave right away, I still have some stuff to clean. I wanted to get rid of the other folks who aren't regulars. Karen," he turned to her. "You're done for the day, go have a beer."