On Ambition, and the Lure of Being “Amazing.”

When I think of people who do “amazing work,” I envision Peace Corps volunteers, people working on disaster relief, and low-paying service to the less fortunate. I see people working for change, be it social, humanitarian, or political. “Amazing,” to me, connotes something with a bigger purpose.

Predictably, then, I was rather surprised to receive this weekend an e-mail from my high school, asking to profile me in an “alumnae doing amazing work” feature they’re preparing.

At least in my mind’s eye, a girl who sometimes works hard, but sometimes writes her blog, who analyzes cases, but only for a narrow sector of stiff IP lawyers, and who’s constantly bopping down the elevator for more coffee because woe is me, work is so dull sometimes doesn’t quite qualify.

The most troubling question on their prepared survey asks me what my ultimate career goal is. My high school, true to its elite all-girls mentality, is clawing for an answer along the lines of “I want to run my own internationally-traded, Fortune 100 company. After that, I aim to be President of the United States. I’ll be so successful, that I’ll run the world! And it’s all because of the confidence I gained in high school!”

They want to see ambition, and power, and prestige. Honestly, I’m a little torn up on the issue.

Part of me does want to move up, to move on, to be a booming bright star. She’s a legend, my bio will say, printed out in neat script under my photo on the programs at my speaking engagements. I want to wear a power suit in a big city and authoritatively lead meetings; present big ideas and really do something. I don’t think a life like this is out of reach, if I worked at it.

Sometimes I want that life, that identity. Other times—today being one of them—I’d like nothing more than to milk the money and the benefits from this job for a few more years, then get married, move somewhere quiet with big sidewalks and the ocean nearby and a mailman who whistles as he greets our dog. I want to bake cookies and be a room mom and forget that being a lawyer ever happened. I want to write creatively while the children are at school, and read stories when they get home. I want to send them to fancy schools like mine and I want them to have the wherewithal to be what is outwardly “amazing,” but I want them to know that that isn’t required, and that being amazing, if it doesn’t fulfill you, is an enormous waste of time and energy.

This sometimes-conviction fares poorly, I fear, in print. I can see it now: Angie is a high-powered businesswoman and aspiring CEO. Theresa is a human rights activist risking her life for radical change in Darfur. Magda wants to quit her job and be a housewife (cough). Amelia has started a hugely successful fund to improve health and low-income housing in the inner cities, and she and the orphans she’s saving regularly testify before Congress on the travesty of American poverty.

It’s enough to make me want to change my e-mail and never write back, disappear in an “oh! You were looking for me? Really!” cloud of feigned ignorance.

I probably should be doing more, helping people and whatnot, and I probably should be challenging myself to be just one step better here at work. Maybe I will. In the meantime, I’m going to work on being content with what I am doing and with what I want to be doing, even if it’s not as envious as the work of my ex-classmates. Because really, you never know. I may have a serious go-getter, world-changing daughter who, 30 years from now, says she owes it all to her mom, to the attention she got and the love she felt at home. That, I’d say, would be pretty amazing.