What If You’re Not Off Track? (And Never Have Been)

 

There is consolation in the fact that missing out is an inexorable side effect of the richness of human life.

— Kieran Setiya, Midlfe: A Philosophical Guide

 

I recently tore through Elizabeth Bear’s The Folded Sky, the latest installment in her White Space series. The main character is an “archinformist.” She’s like an archeologist but for data and information. Instead of piecing together a culture from the physical artifacts it left behind, she analyzes and draws inferences from its digital artifacts. The work she does combines quantitative analysis, linguistics, computer science, anthropology, semiotics, and sociology. 

This field doesn’t exist yet. The Folded Sky is far-future science fiction. When we scour data for cultural insight today, we do so with direct connections to the culture that created that data. And when archeologists use digital tools, they do so to gain insight into civilizations of the past that didn’t make digital information. But a thousand or more years in the future, when Bear’s story takes place, it’s easy to imagine how the field of archinformatics would be an important one.

There are many aspects of what I do for a living that would not have surprised the 18-year-old version of me in the slightest. I write; I teach; I speak. Sure, these things take a form that I wouldn’t have anticipated—email newsletters, online courses, podcasts—but I could have easily predicted the basic mechanics would be central to my future career. And as a ‘90s teen deeply in love with computers and the internet, it wouldn’t have been a stretch to imagine the future forms those mechanics would take.


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A whole swath of the career options available today didn’t exist 25 years ago. If someone from the 1960s or 70s were to peruse the job listings on Indeed or ZipRecruiter, they probably wouldn’t recognize a good 50% of the jobs on offer. Many others might have familiar keywords (e.g., nurse, sales, assistant), but their form and responsibilities would be utterly foreign.

The breakneck pace of change in the world of work began with the Industrial Revolution, gained momentum with the shift to a consumption-based economy, and further accelerated with the digital revolution. It’s unlikely to slow anytime soon.

As someone who thinks about work all the time, this ever-evolving landscape provides endless fodder for curiosity and analysis. 

As the mother of a 17-year-old who is considering her college and career choices, this presents quite a challenge. What direction or advice can I offer that could possibly prepare her for a future I can’t predict with any level of confidence? 

I’ve opted to tell her exactly that—the options available to you in 2030s, let alone the 2050s, will likely be very different from what they are today. I recommend you stay curious and learn how to think critically, creatively, empathetically, and systematically. Please don’t major in a job—you have no idea what that job is going to look like in 10 years. Oh, and don’t think that what you choose to do in your twenties has to be what you do in your thirties, forties, fifties, or beyond.

In his book Midlife: A Philosophical Guide, Kieran Setiya describes how we become aware—often uncomfortably so—of the “progressive reduction of possibilities” for our lives. Biologically, there are certain things our bodies can no longer do. Financially, there are limits to the choices we might make or the risks we might take. Temporally, we may not have the time to explore certain paths.

Objectively, Setiya is correct, and facing this reality head-on is clarifying. But narratively, we often exaggerate the limits on our possible futures. We foreclose on choices prematurely because we’re told a story about when and in what order they can be made. One benefit of my quarter-life crisis is that, during midlife, I can see just how long and full of possibility 25 years of adulthood truly are. By looking back on the things I thought I didn’t have time for at 21 or 30 or 35, I can imagine still having time for them at 45 or 60. 

On track?

The prevailing message that I received when I was my daughter’s age was about getting my life on track. Or rather, keeping my life on track. Get good grades, go to college, get a good job, and do that until retirement. Boom, boom, boom.

This is the same message she gets today from most people and institutions in her life. I want the message I send to be different, because the world she’s entering is different from the one I entered 25 years ago. And that world was already different from the world that “stay on track” advice was based on. After all, there is nothing “traditional” about the “traditional” model of success that some fear is being upended.

You can’t be “off track” for a life that doesn’t yet exist.

I tell my daughter…

You won’t be able to do everything you want to do in your life—but you’ll be able to do more than you think. The choice you make today won’t limit your future choices nearly as much as you fear. The path you take into the next stage of your life is one of many paths you’ll be on. Limits are real, but far too often they are self-imposed.

There was a time when this kind of advice would have been viewed as eccentric. Today, it seems pretty practical given the facts (rather than the feelings driving the higher education panic). If you squint and look between the hot takes about what beliefs universities indoctrinate their students with, how AI is going to steal all our jobs, or why English degrees are stupid, you’ll find plenty of folks are willing to recommend a well-rounded liberal arts education that can act as a stepping stone into any number of as-of-yet-uninvented careers.

As work goes, so goes our relationships

What’s less common is the acknowledgement that as our modes of work go so goes all of our socialities. The First Industrial Revolution dramatically changed where we lived and how we formed communities. The Second Industrial Revolution changed our expectations of family and gender. The Third Industrial Revolution changed how we relate to ourselves through the advent of mass marketing and consumption.

None of these preexisting social frameworks was exceptionally stable. How we live, who we care for, and what we know about ourselves are formed in context. When the context changes, our personal and social relations change. 

Bear’s novel also imagines how space travel beyond our solar system might change our social frameworks. How might interspecies relationships alter our domestic norms? The archinformist, Dr. Sunyata Song, is married to a member of a different species, and they’re raising two human kids together.  How might we relate to our bodies differently if we spend most of our lives in microgravity? Spacefarers typically have their feet modified into “aft hands” so they can function better on space ships. How might we tinker with our consciousness as we augment our brains with artificial memory and transmitters? Bear’s story even includes a human character named Chive, composed of five networked bodies. 

These narrative choices are provocative, but logical within the world of the story. And because the setting is so far removed from our current time and place, it’s easier to suspend disbelief in the viability of such social relations.

Research shows that, as expected, our social context keeps changing right along with our work context. The living arrangements that made sense after the Second Industrial Revolution made less sense after the Third Industrial Revolution, and those living arrangements make less sense in the 21st-century economy. I have no doubt that Millennials like me will create new living arrangements in retirement and that Gen Zers will create more and different ways to form families. And who knows what kind of wild ideas Gen Alpha might have about how they want to live?

As of now, my kid doesn’t have a firm vision about what her life will be like after college. Thank goodness. She’s not dreaming of getting married or starting a family—nor has she ruled those things out. Currently, her preference is to live in a city—Washington, DC or New York City—with a spunky mutt and rent an apartment with a great view. She’s thinking about working in politics, or public interest law, or journalism. Not that she needs to choose.

I don’t get the impression that she feels the kind of rigid pressure to press on through one life stage to the next in some sort of orderly or deadlined way. And good golly, there’s so much freedom in that.

Two years ago, I spoke with sociologist and political economist Mauro Guillén about his book, The Perennials: The Megatrends Creating a Postgenerational Society. In the book, he lays out demographic facts, sociological analysis, and cultural criticism that suggest this less rigid approach to moving through life is not only fine, but it’s better adapted to today's and tomorrow’s reality. 

I think about this book and my conversation with Dr. Guillén all the time—perhaps more than any other interview I’ve done in the last ten years.

As I told him at the time, this book would have changed my life at 18 or 25. I’m trying to let it change my life now in my forties. Most importantly, the book is my steady guide as Lola and I talk about the next few years and beyond.

Since my kid is now right on the precipice of her next stage of life and given current events (she says euphemistically), I thought it was a good time to revisit this conversation. Instead of replaying the episode as I wrote it two years ago, I wanted to share the bulk of my conversation with Dr. Guillén. I hope it brings you the kind of hope and direction it’s brought me. And, if your situation is anything like mine, I hope it will help guide your conversations with loved ones—young and old—about the glorious possibilities still available to them in their lives.

This interview below has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

 
Tara McMullin

Tara McMullin is a writer, podcaster, and critic who studies emerging forms of work and identity in the 21st-century economy. Bringing a rigorous critique of conventional wisdom to topics like success and productivity, she melds conceptual curiosity with practical application. Her work has been featured in Fast Company, Quartz, and The Muse.

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