Speaking from experience,

It’s possible to get entry-level jobs in sales, marketing, graphic design, photography and copywriting without a college degree. Upper-level positions in these fields sometimes value years of experience over a degree.

I’ve known happy and very successful people who do not have college degrees, including computer network administrators, a classical musician/instrument maker, a horse rancher, and a restaurant owner.

I’ve known miserable, unemployed, deeply-in-debt people with their Masters or Doctorates.

On the other side: my friends who are in medicine, law, physics, and engineering would not have landed even their first jobs in these fields without at least an Associate’s degree and their current success required many years of formal education.

Also, a lot of people don’t discover the talents, abilities and interests that lead to their eventual success and/or happiness until they go to college and take courses in a variety of subjects.

There’s also the extra-curricular side of college, which for some people has a far greater impact on their life than the degree-earning: The friends you make in college, the experiences of living apart from family and in a different environment, going to parties and shows and dating… College can be a time of adjustment between being a kid in high school and balancing all the realities of typical adult life – such as having a full time job, owning a house, raising kids, trying to find time to take a vacation.

All that said, I learned more working in a print shop than I did in my years at Graphic Design school, and I didn’t form lasting friendships with any of the people I met in college. I picked up more social skills and more about how to be a successful adult through my various hobbies and workplaces than I did living on campus and taking courses. So I’d say, 18 years after graduation, if I could do it all over again I would skip going to college.

(Found this on a website called “blogthings” in 2005 or so, and enjoy re-reading it once in a while.)

You Know You’re Addicted to Photoshop When…

You see the world with one eye and stock images with the other.

When asked what the primary colors are, answer “RGB”

You get the urge to ‘fix’ poor quality images.

You start teaching your significant other to use this “evil” program and in the space of one afternoon convince them it’s at least only quasi-evil in the face of PSP.

You ramble about a breakthrough in the piece you’re doing to people who have no idea in hell what you’re talking about

You ponder the meaning of existence without layers.

You never leave the house without a digicam and notepad.

You drop something and your brain tells you automatically “Ctrl-Z! Ctrl-Z!”. When you realize it won’t work, your brain tells you “Ctrl-Alt-Z! Ctrl-Alt-Z!”

You’re getting dressed for something important and you look in the mirror and realize you would look so much better if you could just tweak the levels a little and apply a slight gaussian blur.

You stop on the street to rant about cheesy effects that should not be on professional posters.

You scream out fonts as they appear on TV.

You have dreams in “glowing edges”

You’re standing by the ocean and wondering who used Ocean Ripple.

You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends who are addicted to Photoshop.

“Fake is as old as the Eden tree.” – Orson Welles

It is hard to be real in such a fake world. Everybody’s at it. Fake smile, insincere friendliness, pretending and facades everywhere.

The receptionist at work: “Oh, how I hope everything works out for you. You have a nice day now! I hope you find your dog!” But when the customer departs the building… “God, that woman! What a tweakin’ nutjob! If I was her dog, I’d run away too!”

The sales rep on the phone: “Sure, I’d love to come by and see your new store… Errr… Meet for lunch? Uh, yeah, sure! Sounds great!” And after hanging up the phone… “Great. Now I have to spend my lunch hour shmoozing with that guy, trying to get him to put an ad in the paper. Sometimes I hate this job.”

It has become a necessary part of life, in order to get along in society you have to paste on that smile and pretend that you understand, that you care, that everything is great. I’m not very good at it. I learn more social skills every year, but I can’t seem to find the knack of faking sincerity and hate having to try. I am certain that people find me to be very rude or unfriendly all too often, even when I am trying to be the opposite.

Appearances. Image. Everybody’s selling something. That is part of why I hate TV so much. The shows are as bad as the commercials, with painstakingly-perfect looking actresses pretending that their fake TV lives and plastic appearance are what the world is really like, or at least should be.

I want to find more honest words and phrases, that can be used at work and out in public among friends and strangers without hurting or offending people. I want to bake cookies from scratch. I want to go for a week without wearing any makeup. I want to realize when I’m being fake for no good reason, just from habit, and tear down the facade and start over.

(Written in 2004.)

I woke up 5 minutes before I was supposed to leave the house this morning. Crap. What do I do, with only five minutes to get ready for work? Throw on the first pair of pants I find. Grab a shirt hanging up in the closet, button it while going to the kitchen. Grab the box of cat food, pour out a bit onto the plates, lunge across the room and open the window, letting in a stream of meowing cats. Go into the office, find my bag. Put $1.22 in the bag, along with my book, purse, brush, perfume. Buckle on sandals, get sweater. Put on sweater while turning on lizard’s lamp. Open blinds. Lurch into the bathroom, drip saline into both eyes to clear off enough of the film on my lenses so I can see better. Put on deodorant. Rush through the house and out the door, walk briskly down to the bus stop, buttoning up sweater and raking my hands through snarled hair on the way. Sit down at bus stop, catch my breath. Rummage for change at bottom of purse. Assemble $1.50 bus fare and peer down the street expectantly.

When the bus comes I do not drop any of the coins on the floor for once. I make my way to a window seat, sit down and take out my mirror and brush. Oddly enough I don’t look half bad. I fix my hair, look out the window at the houses going by, the beach, the trees. I look at the windows and porches and driveways of the little houses, hoping to see a cat or two. There’s a grey cat sitting in a front lawn of grey gravel, I smile and realize my face is stiff and my breath smells like garlic.

Arriving at the mall, get off the bus and go to the coffee shop. I have a “frequent buyer” card with all 10 punches on it. I redeem it for a free large double mocha. I sit down at a bench and look in the mirror again, my breath now smells like chocolate and I have whipped cream on my lip. Scrub at my face with a paper napkin, put lotion on, and apply a bit of lipgloss and eyeliner. Visine, definitely necessary. Few drops in each eye. Much better.

It is then that I realize I was supposed to get up earlier than usual in the morning, and call the bank. It is then that I realize I am wearing a long-sleeved shirt and black velvet pants, and it is the middle of August.

But then I remember that all the hard work I usually have to do at my job was already done on Monday. For at least the next 3 days I will be able to relax and surf the internet and take long lunches. I sigh with relief and stretch my stiff muscles as I leave the bench at the mall and walk outside. A skateboarder I pass on the sidewalk gives me a big smile. I wonder if I have whipped cream on my face again. Then I remember that I am actually an attractive young woman, even though at 8:45 in the morning, 20 minutes after waking up, I feel a hundred years old, like a desiccated, grimy, slow-motion dinosaur lumbering down the walkway. But each long sip of coffee takes off about 20 years, once I gulp it all down I should be back to my normal Goddess self.

I shall spend a good part of the day going through all the ads I’ve built over the past year at this job, and save them to a zip disk to print out in color as samples of my work for my portfolio. Then I shall peruse the job search websites and see what’s out there this week. Maybe I’ll get the chance to send off a few resumes. I can print them out here too, for handing them to prospective employers in person. Looking for work without having a home computer, and without a car to get around in, or a cell phone to use, is difficult but not impossible. Ah well. I do love having this free time at work, and will take advantage of it fully.

(Written in 2003.)

My memories of life from age 12 to age 16 are pretty much a blur. I guess I spent the years daydreaming, reliving the golden happy moments of my early childhood, wishing to be 5 years old again, or 10. I fantasized about the future, too, constructing elaborate soap-opera-like scenes in my mind. Anything but to live in the present day. Which at that time in my life was such dull, frustrating sameness year after year.

During these crucial, formative years, most kids have new friends, new teachers, new classmates, and different extra-curricular activities every year. They learn how to adapt, to conduct themselves in all sorts of social situations. They grow and change. I didn’t have that. I was home schooled from the end of 6th grade through senior year.

There are major drawbacks to home schooling. There’s no growth, it’s a stagnant environment. Year after year, the same teachers (your parents), same classmates (your siblings), same classroom (your living room). All concepts are taught from one viewpoint (your parents’). Making friends with kids who go to “real” school is hard, they can’t see you as being just like them, you’re always a freak, an outsider.

And it leaves a kid rather unprepared for going off to college. Sure, you’ve got a 4.0 GPA, high scores on the SATs, you took all the required “college prep courses”. But you haven’t the slightest idea how to be a normal young adult hanging out with friends.

Arriving at college in a big city 2000 miles from home, I was, at 17, inwardly still the same person I was at 11. Trying to appear “grown up and sophisticated”, I probably looked more like a 25 yr. old hooker. Ignorant of current trends, I wore everything my mother ever forbid me to — leather miniskirts and 4″ heels, a long black fur coat and low cut blouses. A 17 yr. old girl dressed like Joan Collins in Dynasty, trying to act like Brenda and Kelly from Beverly Hills 90210. I’d known that once I got away from my mother, I could be the sort of popular, free, friendly person I’d always envied. But I was a loner, a freak. I didn’t have a clue how to treat those around me, how to attract and interact with guys. I was too hesitant and awkward to say “Hi!” to the people I thought could be interesting to befriend. So, I lived mostly in daydreams still.

Eventually, I gave up trying to be somebody I wasn’t. I embraced the persona of a “quiet, mysterious, oddly dressed dreamer-artist girl” and found other odd people who didn’t mind me hanging around them. I never made any close friends in those years but I learned gradually how to act like an adult human.

I am still figuring out how to be “social”, learning the art of conversation, and how to make and keep friends. I will always be a freak. Part of this is due to my upbringing, part my basic nature. I’ll be responsible and mature at times, but always more of a child at heart. Ferragamo shoes and a Hello Kitty handbag. Adding a few comments to a discussion of modern political issues with friends over coffee, then going home and playing with Star Wars toys while I lie about on the floor.

I will never have the memories of being a cheerleader or going to prom, of flirting with boys while giggling with girlfriends in the cafeteria. I watch high school movies such as Breakfast Club or American Pie like an alien fascinated by earthling culture. I’m wanting to not let any more years slip by in a blur. I hope this journal will help me to hold on to the good times of my late 20s and early 30s. It’s a time of growth and change and possibly the prime of my life. I want to drink in every day, try not to let petty concerns take over my thoughts, and create a life worth writing a memoir of when I am old and wise.