PicoBlog

Since I’m not getting paid to write this, I’m unlikely to do much research beyond wikipedia. According to wikipedia, the spork was invented by Samuel Francis in 1874. But was it? Because Francis’s design also included a horrifying razorlike blade on the side of it and was called a “combined knife, fork, and spoon”. Rolls right off the tongue. If you ask me, modern branding needs more Oxford commas.

The word “spork” was not patented and trademarked until 100 years after Francis’s invention by Hyde Ballard in 1974 (don’t worry, the trademark expired and we’re all allowed to say “spork” again, at least until Cardi B re-trademarks it, probably). But was Francis’s spoon/fork really a spork? The word “spork” carries with it some essential sporkiness - the absurdity, the cuteness, the crude utility. How would the world be different if sporks were instead called “Runcible Spoons” or “Scoopy-Pokeys”?

So what makes a spork a spork?  “A spork, by any other name, would smell as sweet,” you might say. But I disagree. I think names are important. A spork is a spork is a spork, I say.

Over the past few years, I’ve applied to many jobs. In my extended experience, applying to jobs is horrible. You have to face rejection, neglect, and even worse, you have to talk about yourself. If any one factor has given me the most trouble over my extended job application process, it’s the question that most commonly comes up when job hunting: “what are you looking for?” Because I don’t know.

I’m petrified of labeling myself as one thing, and in doing so, cutting myself off from all the other things I have the potential to become. If I say I want to be a data analyst, does that mean I’m giving up on teaching? If I say I’m a math teacher does that mean I’m giving up on being an author? Or if I say I’m a writer, does that mean I’m giving up on being financially stable? The instant I commit to a given path, it feels like I am going to miss an entire world of potential. It’s like Sylvia Plath’s fig tree from The Bell Jar, but on LinkedIn.

In the professional world, names and labels are incredibly complex and confusing. A project coordinator is wildly different from a program coordinator which is wildly different from a program manager. A customer success specialist at one company is wildly different from a customer success specialist at another - and they call that other role sales support. The job I want might be called “Data Communicator” or “Math Writer” or “Goat Organizer”, and if I say I want one, I worry that I cut myself off from the others.

It would seem that life is all about choices. A series of “choose only one” multiple choice questions that determines your path between now and death. And then, working within that framework, it feels like there’s a “best path” out there for each of us. We will never have enough information to know what the best choice is, but we can endlessly beat ourselves up imagining how things could be better. This line of thought is echoing what I wrote in the Pokemon article. I think I’m an indecisive person.

But as an indecisive person, I never have trouble picking what pasta to eat. I love pasta. I love cavatappi and I love rotini and I love penne and I love farfalle. I even feel comfortable ranking them: I like rotini more than I like farfalle, and I’m safe to say that because I can still eat farfalle whenever I want. If I really wanted to, I could mix a bunch of pasta shapes in the pot. (I actually highly recommend this, it’s surprisingly fun.)

Is this a possible way I could view my career? Can I change course on a whim? Have a wide variety of experiences as I dabble in many fields? Sure, maybe. It’s probably not the optimal path that leads to the best possible Adam Segal, but I probably left that path a long time ago, whatever it was. Every choice, in a way, is permanent: in that moment in time, you made that choice, and until the development of time travel, that’s that. But maybe they’re not that permanent. Maybe these questions have more answer options than I would originally think.

Sitting down to eat, I ask myself whether to use a fork or a spoon to eat my radiatori pasta (radiatori are the best pasta shape hands down, designed to contain as much sauce and heat as possible, and also to look like cute little radiators). I could use a fork and neglect the spoon. I could use a spoon and neglect the fork. One might lead to a better experience than the other, so it is a very important decision.

But what if you could choose both? What if there was a spork?

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There was a second-place tie, so I just tried to use all three. Please vote less evenly next week so I only have to include the top two things!

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