Dear Mom and Dad,
As much as the idea of painting, sculpting, and drawing anything my heart imagines inspires me, there’s something that compels me even more: the idea of being absolutely fucking loaded.
Part of me dreams of premiering a piece in New York’s MOMA, being hosted at art galas in Paris, or even opening my own studio someday. But those dreams sound like a lot of work. You know what sounds better? Screeching out of the parking lot at 5 p.m. on a Friday in my Mercedes E-class to start a three-week paid vacation in Cabo San Lucas. Which I’m flying to in business class.
This isn’t to say I don’t love accounting for the sake of accounting. I know you found the magazines under my mattress, and I know they were sticky. But worry not, the magazine pages were only stuck together with tears… mostly. I can’t help but be moved to tears when I’m thumbing through the greats: Accounting Horizons, Contemporary Accounting Research, and – the pièce de résistance – The CPA Journal. There is something magical about a perfectly balanced spreadsheet, meticulously color-coded Excel cells, and most of all, the knowledge that making them pays $83,000/year salaried, plus vacation, plus dental.
But what about paying for school, you ask? I know I’m walking away from a full-ride to the Rhode Island School of Design and walking toward $35k in student loans to attend a state school in rural Nebraska. I don’t expect you to pay for anything. I’m willing to work my own way through college. Hell, I’ll even take on a minimum wage job if it comes to that – I’m sure I can get by on $24.35 an hour. $27.50? Whatever minimum wage is. So don’t you worry.
But, Mom and Dad, I know this decision won’t be easy for either of you.
Dad , I know you wanted to be an artist yourself, but you got pressured into taking over your parents’ restaurant franchise. It may seem like it’s too late, but I think you could still make it big as an artist. You’ve already sold a few pieces of your series Semi-nudes of Mildly Successful Game Show Hosts and have 3.5 stars on your Etsy store. That’s something. And the fact that you were the artist behind two-thirds of my RISD portfolio leads me to believe you have some potential.
Mom , I know my cousins on your side are pursuing lucrative jobs in the creative industry. After all, getting silent roles in Lifetime movies is quite the achievement. I understand my cousins’ success is putting pressure on you to put pressure on me. But Mom, you don’t live with your sister anymore, and you don’t need to keep comparing yourself to her and me to her kids. Aunt Linda started her own fashion line. You spend Thursday nights drinking White Claw and watching Harry Potter marathons on TV. I’m sorry, Mom, we both know you won’t be Grandpa’s favorite anytime soon (but my friends think you’re kind of cool).
So, Mom and Dad, I’m pretty nervous to send you this letter. The last time I said no to art I was forcibly enrolled in the prestigious Interlochen summer art program. I know you may never forgive me for walking away. But it’s okay. The one part of being a tortured artist that will always stay with me is that when you don’t have anything else, you still have tequila. I’m sure it can stand in for my parents’ approval too.
People say that family is more than blood ties, and I think that gets truer the more your blood content is replaced with alcohol. Especially if I’m drinking in Cabo San Lucas, white sand under my feet, with a hired assistant rubbing oil on my thighs whispering softly in my ear that my clients have a 100% on-time tax return file rate and received an average 30% higher return using my services than the next best competitor.
