Rose Bialk/The Mossy Log
As my time at Lewis & Clark comes to a close, I have found myself thinking a lot about what comes next. By thinking, I mean constantly fielding questions from peers, professors, loved ones and complete strangers about my post-grad plans. “What can you even do with an economics degree?” “Is anyone really going to hire you for data analysis? Can’t AI do that?” “Oh god, you want to be a writer? Pee-ew!” These questions, while deeply hurtful and extremely rude, raise a valid point: What am I going to do with my degree?
1. Make a paper airplane.
Everyone knows that a heavy cardstock is ideal for making strong, fast long-distance paper airplanes. My bachelor’s degree is perfect for constructing a high-flying airplane the likes of which have never been seen. And with so many types to choose from, like the Flying Fox, the Maple Seed, the Whisker Jet, the Chuck Finn and even the Shuttle Dart, how could I abstain?
2. Join a pyramid scheme (aka get a Ph.D.).
One path many undergraduates opt for is continued education. Academia’s insistence that the best way to make use of the degree I already paid for is to get another is certainly an attractive proposition, but why do I keep hearing that I can get a full ride if I bring three friends into the program? Sounds fishy, but I think I could make it work.
3. Light a small fire.
In an emergency, my diploma could be used as kindling to start a small fire. Out in the wilderness, indoors on a frigid winter night or even just to feel something, setting small fires can help alleviate all sorts of symptoms. It can help with arthritis, obsessive thinking or having to enter this job market as a liberal arts graduate.
4. Own a home.
Just kidding. I only own things I can pirate off the internet. Yes, I would download a car, but the technology is not there yet.
5. Become the President of the United States.
LC has a proud history of connection to the Oval Office, and I would be honored to continue the tradition. I would make an excellent president because anyone can be at this point. I was born in the United States, will one day be 35 years old, and I am woefully unqualified. I have a terrible digital footprint, am prone to wild mood swings, and am vague and equivocating about my policy positions. Seems to me that I am the perfect candidate.
6. Line a trashcan.
My mother taught me to always line the bottom of a trash can with newspaper. If the bag breaks, you would much rather sop up the disgusting garbage juice with yesterday’s paper than have to run the whole thing through the dishwasher. However, I have too much respect for the art, nay, the virtuous public service that is print journalism, and I refuse to diminish it to its absorbent value alone. To that end, my 8.5-by-11 college diploma will fit perfectly at the bottom of a standard trash bin, and it will save money on getting it framed.
7. Explain to people that economics is not about money.
Yeah, I majored in econ in college. And, the fact of the matter is that microeconomics has nothing to do with money. It is a methodology of quantitative analysis that can be used to answer a near-infinite number of questions. Really, it is a toolkit for the social sciences that can be adapted for any interdisciplinary usage. To be honest, it is just a way of describing human decision making and resource allocation given set preferences under constraints. It is a set of theoretical frameworks that can be used to explore the kinds of questions any social science is interested in. And you may be asking, what about macroeconomics? Finance? Trade? To which all I can say is, sorry, not my field.
8. Evade income tax.
If there is one thing I have learned from my education, it is that it is wildly irrational to pay income tax. It is a barely enforced, low-effort and high-reward crime that too few people capitalize on. Armed with my highly sought-after educational background, I plan to fill this niche in the market and become LC’s most famous tax-evading alum.
9. Marry rich.
There is one thing for which I know I am now qualified: marrying rich. Thanks to my top-notch LC education, I am a well-read critical thinker with verbose opinions on Yeats, Woolf, Becker, Reich and the death of the American dream. My unique combination of creative and analytical capacity would make me the perfect candidate for any research institute, political campaign or newsroom, but is that really where I belong? Why waste that wit drafting legislation, or worse, writing satire, when I could charm an old-money WASP into skipping the prenup?
10. Roll it up and smoke it.
If none of these career paths pan out, I could, of course, do with my diploma that which LC has taught me best: roll a crooked joint that gets wet in the rain and rips in half. That, I feel, is the essence of a Lewis & Clark education: an ephemeral attempt at perfection whose shortcomings do not erase its beauty.
HAGS, gootters. All my love xx.
About the Author
