"Job Market So Bad I Started Following My Dreams"
What kind of art would Dolly want us to make?
In times of uncertainty, I turn to Dolly Parton.
Multi-hyphenate living legend, music icon and American queen, my theory is that no one has an approval rating quite like Dolly. The way she holds herself, the way she laughs; she is glamour incarnate, a businesswoman extraordinaire, the ultimate entertainer.
I met her on Hannah Montana, grew up with her music, spent quarantine listening to Dolly Parton’s America, and whenever I’m having a bad day, I’ll go to YouTube, start the search bar with “dolly parton,” and see where the suggestions take me. dolly parton jolene dolly parton live dolly parton interview dolly parton miley cyrus dolly parton young
dolly parton speech, and I found her giving the 2009 commencement address at the University of Tennessee. There she was, glittering in UT’s orange and white, speaking to me fifteen years ago about chasing my dreams:
“Be careful: do not confuse dreams with wishes. There is a difference. Dreams are where you visualize yourself being successful at what it’s important to you to accomplish. Now, dreams build convictions because you work hard to pay the price to make sure that they come true. Wishes are hoping good things will happen to you, but there’s no fire in your gut that causes you to put everything forth to overcome all the obstacles. So you have to dream more, and never, ever, ever blame somebody else if it doesn’t happen.”
As I wade through lonely and erratic postgrad years, I often think about what I owe my “passions”. Are my interests predetermined? Are they cultivated? How much will my dreams change over the course of my life, and how much of my future self should I sacrifice for my desires today?
The truth is, I have a deep fear that committing too fully to chasing my dreams will come at the cost of my future financial security. I’m scared to force an older version of myself to pay the price for my current creative ambitions. I don’t want to look back and resent the choices I made; resent the writing I was doing instead of networking and resume-building.
Sometimes I think the voice that compels me to write is a product of my early childhood—a twinkling collection of half-remembered art and moments of joy that have crystallized into what I now call a passion. Sometimes I think the voice that compels me to write is God.
The source of my creativity notwithstanding, I do feel exceptionally lucky to have something that I love as much as writing. It provides my time with shape, meaning, and vibrance. My life wouldn’t feel lived without it.
But where’s the line between enjoying a hobby and wanting to make it your livelihood? My notion of professional writing is abstract and risky…who am I to lean too heavily on “fiction” or “essays,” especially in a violent, hyper-capitalist society addicted to profit-driven, dopamine-fueled, AI-poisoned echo chambers constantly teetering on the edge of collapse? I didn’t choose to land here.
Don’t get me wrong—I am extremely grateful to have landed here, to have randomly spawned with so much opportunity, privilege, and love at my fingertips.
But given the myriad ways in which I’m increasingly terrified to be here, maybe I should exercise more risk-aversion going forward. I should try to be a good person, use my smart brain and young potential to pursue a career more secure than practicing words about things. I will always be able to nurture meaning in my down time, in the sentences tucked between the hours of a safer life.
At my age, most advice usually follows along the lines of “take the risk” and “leap, and the net will appear”. But there’s also a lot of discourse happening right now of “AHHHHH” and “all of the academics are fleeing the country” and “fascist regime” and “economic and global collapse”.
The world I’ve lived in has been unprecedented for half of my life. Maybe this means that I need to bunker down, stash gold bricks in my yard, and covet reliable systems of professional value. Education, law, corporate work. This is the kind of life I am blessed to be able to access.
But then, on the flip side, my friends working corporate jobs are scared for their job security too. Do I really want a profession that will bind me to the unraveling legal code of this corrupt country? More school is theoretically great, but it can’t offer guaranteed success either. There will always be another life-altering event around the corner, another reason to avoid chasing my dreams. If everything is a risk, I might as well gamble on my ideal outcome.
Which brings me back to the question that started this all, the one that I think about before I fall asleep every night: what kind of art would Dolly want us to make? Does commencement address optimism expire in unprecedented times?
Should we leap, hoping a net will appear? Should we flee the country and buy physical copies of our favorite songs? For now, I just keep posting on this bizarre corner of the internet clogged with “HOW TO GROW YOUR SUBSTACK” garbage and ~girlhood~ trash1. I keep working on my novel because it’s my favorite activity in the world, and sometimes I google “LSAT prep” just to prove to myself that I can.
If you’re a literary agent and you want to help me land a seven-figure book deal, please reach out. If you’re Dolly Parton, I love you, and please let me know what you think.
And if you’re future me, I love you infinity, and I hope that I didn’t let you down. I’m sure you know what I don’t always trust right now: that I could never resent myself for doing the thing I love most.
And for all of my new (and founding) Words About Things readers: thank you for being here. It truly means the world.
Peace and love to all the girlhood writers. I do think your essays are bad, but I’m proud of you for writing and posting them.
Brilliant! Beautifully said
This is so beautiful