It is
probably not a good thing for one to realize in the months leading up to one’s
final year of college, the last leg before they receive their two Bachelor of
Arts degrees, that they have no idea what they’re doing with their life. Because, ladies and gentlemen, I am there.
I have
changed career ideals so many times in my life.
From what I can remember, I have wanted to be a singer, a writer, an
actress, a journalist, a paleontologist, a pediatric oncologist, a teacher, a
NICU nurse, a translator, a professor, and a library archivist. I would still love to be all of those things,
however there’s only so much a degree in French and a degree in English can do
for you, and when I say “so much,” I mean “hardly anything.”
Let’s be
honest here. What do I really, really
want to do with my life?
It’s
simple.
I want
to live in Québec.
Honestly,
that’s all I want. If I never meet
Monsieur le Prince Charmant, that would be okay, as long as I lived in
Québec. Maybe it’s a weird dream. Maybe most women my age want to meet a guy
and settle down with him. Maybe they
want to find a guy they’d be willing to follow to the ends of the earth. But after five years of dreaming of a place and not a person, the ends of my earth stop at the border. The only career dream I’ve retained
throughout my life is to be a novelist, and, let’s face it, that’s not too
likely. However, now, the summer before
my final year of undergrad, I’m starting to fear that living in Québec isn’t
too likely, either.
I would
do anything to live in Québec. I would
translate, which is the current goal. I
would teach, which is near impossible because I don’t have a B.A. in Education. I would marry a wonderful man, be a mother,
and be a housewife, never actually utilizing my degrees. That’s all fine and dandy. All I want to do is get there, and I can’t help but fear that everything is going to
tumble down around me as I get closer and closer to finding out whether or not
it will actually ever happen. Why can’t
this be easy? Why can’t I just say I’ll
be a translator and head north? Because
being a translator won’t make me a whole lot of money, plus it’s rather
complicated to become a certified translator.
People
have asked, “Why Québec?” It’s not
something that’s easily explained. More
and more as of late, when people learn that I’m a French major, the first
question is, “Have you been to France?”
No, I have not been to France.
Would I like to go there?
Sure. Is it a priority? No. I
would love to go to France one day, just like I would also love to go to
Russia, Romania, or Italy. Hell, I just
want to travel Europe someday. But do I
want to live in Europe or, more
specifically, in France? No.
So why
Québec? Well. I have lived in six states throughout my life
and have moved approximately eleven times, give or take. I was born in Michigan and have since lived
in California (two separate times), Utah, Kentucky, Georgia, and now
Missouri. I attended two elementary
schools, one middle school, and three high schools. Where am I from? I don’t know.
When people ask that question, it takes me a second. I don’t say I’m from Michigan because I only
spent two years of my life there. I only
spent three years in Kentucky and four months in Georgia. So that leaves it down to Utah and California,
where I spent about six and seven years respectively. Generally, I tell people I’m from California
because that’s where I spent my adolescence.
Am I a Californian? Maybe kind of
not really. Is California my home? No, and it hasn’t been since I was seventeen.
But
Québec. I first traveled there in 2009
at the age of eighteen when my dear friends Sarah and Gloria were kind enough
to take me with them to see Bruno Pelletier in concert. I only spent a few days in Montréal, but it
made a lasting impression. Then, in the
summer of 2013, I spent over a month in Québec City. I cannot recall a time where I felt more
complete. I felt different in
Québec. I felt whole. I felt like I was part of something. I felt like I was, for the first time, in a
place that loved me as much as I loved it.
I have never felt more at home in any place in the entire United States
than I did in Québec. And it was only a
month. A month out of almost
twenty-three years.
I would
do anything to go back. Teach, whether
it be in primary, secondary or Cégep; translate; work in the tourism industry,
anything. I just want to be there. I would like to believe that I could just fly
up there, get an apartment, and the rest will just fall into place, but I know
that’s not the case. I know I need to
work hard to get there. But right now,
as my senior year approaches, when I’m worried about what to get my M.A. in, if
I’ll even get in to grad school, if I should take a year off first . . .
everything is terrifying.
