To be or not to be...an architect

News flash: after four years of grad school, two years of design/build, founding an architecture non-profit, schlepping through sundry design contracts as a stopgap to make it through the recession, I have finally decided...

...to become an architect. A real architect.

I decided this last week.

Hearing my happy news, my friends ask, "Uh...so what have you actually been doing these past six years? Weren't you already an architect?"

Not really. Besides not being able to call myself an architect legally (another blog post or five), I've been on the fence, not convinced, just waiting-and-seeing how I felt about the whole kit 'n caboodle.

I worried: is it really (like, REALLY) worth it to give up my previous career: the one that paid four times what I'll make as an architectural intern? The one with killer benefits, lots of vacay, foreign travel and the freedom and confidence that come with being a mid-career professional, the "go-to person", plus a staff to do all the grunt work?

I mused: does "I'm an architect" offset all-day apathy staring at a black CAD screen? Submitting to The One, The All-Powerful AIA (sound of harp strumming) to create yet more networking opportunities? Plotting and scheming to convince clients not to make stupid design decisions and just let me do the job they're paying me to do?

I cynically questioned: does the Thrill of Creation balance out all the aspects of "making" I admit I don't enjoy? The thought of code reviews, ADA and CDs for the rest of my working days make me feel like slitting my wrists.

I existentially wondered: shit, is the process of making even what I want? Am I a maker or a bystander or a marketer of that made by someone else? Until last week, I was convinced I was the latter. Resigned, I believed that deal making, negotiating, communicating, and influencing are the things I'm best at, the activities that make my heart sing and that "this architecture thing" is kinda cool but kinda a pipe dream, too.

I was stuck, flimflamming and waiting waiting waiting...for what? Ready to give birth...but to what? I despaired. I had a mini-breakdown. I couldn't move my neck for a week, then my back was in agony, then my foot. I slept fitfully in the morning, stayed up all night worrying. I released my angst on the nearest cat, or on my husband who (I know!) began wondering if he'd made a huge mistake marrying me.

It was awful. It was almost but not quite as bad as architecture school.

Then...amazing grace. Something changed. Silently and without my knowledge, a cog clicked into a different track.

My ear began to hear a different tune, a more subtle message with a strange and sometimes scary melody. A melody that's always been there, just drowned out by the flurry of noise always on the surface.

That voice began piping up stronger, taking tentative jabs at the cacophony above, poking holes in my worn-out assumptions and obsolete worldviews. The voice became assertive enough to finally, finally make itself heard.

So what did it say? I started hearing things like, "You deserve more." "You're better than that." "You really can do it-just admit it." "Stop fooling yourself." "Be still and listen." "You love architecture." "What would you do without it?" And finally, praise be and glory to all the wisdom in the universe, "Oh, for God's sake: this is what you were put here to do! Get over it and get on with it!"

Deep breath, a prayer, a pause, and a small voice finally responded.

"OK."

Safely ensconced now on the other side of the fence (and better rested), I realize I had to go down these paths, this self-doubt, this anxious simmering-in-place to realize how unsatisfying my life would be if I decided to give up the practice of architecture. How I would be selling myself short, and how I deserve better. For the pain, I am grateful. For the rest of what's to come, I am fricking scared. But I am also equally grateful.

My new consciousness tentatively vocalizes its first words. I am a maker. A thinker. A quester. A conceptualist. A visual player. A dreamer. An idealist.

I am an architect.

Welcome

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