A

fter my high school graduation, I worked part-
time as a Jimmy John’s sandwich artist. The 
title “artist” was always funny to me, as if 
cleaning up mayonnaise and throwing a slab of glistening 
roast beef onto a roll was a craft to be perfected. 
I would rarely be put on the cash register because of 
my social awkwardness, but one day my boss suggested I 
try it during the lunch rush to practice talking to custom-
ers. An older man came in near the end of the rush and 
paid for his $8 sandwich with a $10 and a $5 bill. I gave 
him his five-dollar bill back, thinking it was an accident, 
and he immediately became upset.
“Do you millennials not know how to do math any-
more? Fifteen minus eight is seven. Give me seven back.” 
He was in a full suit with a briefcase and was likely 
returning to his big-shot, nine-to-five job after eating his 
freaky-fast sandwich. I gave him seven dollars without 
a word.
After he finished eating his #9 Italian Night Club 
— salami, capicola, cheese, onions, lettuce, oil and vin-
egar, in that order — I cleaned his table and read the sign 
posted on the wall next to it. It was titled “How Much Is 
Enough?” and featured a short story about a fisherman in 
Mexico who meets an investment banker from the Unit-
ed States. The banker, who had an MBA from Harvard, 
scoffed at the simplicity of the fisherman’s life and sug-
gested he go into business selling fish and invest in bigger 
boats, which would require him to move to a big city and 
would earn him millions in 15 to 20 years.
“Then what?” the fisherman asked. The banker 
responded that he could retire to a small fishing town 
and live a simple life.
And thus marked the beginning of my quarter-life cri-
sis.

A few weeks after leav-
ing my job at Jimmy 
John’s, I started school at 
the University of Michi-
gan. I chose to major in 
creative writing and com-
munications, two of the 
stereotypical “unemploy-
able” majors, despite my 
high school teachers tell-
ing me to pursue math to 
make life easier for myself.
I was thrown into a cul-
ture that placed STEM 
and business fields above 
everything else. Most stu-
dents had hobbies on the 
side, but the general con-
sensus seemed to be “make 
the most money you can, 
however you can, so you 
can do your hobbies later.”
I was recently served 
an ad on Facebook for the 
U-M Fall Job & Internship 
Fair with a caption that 
read, “Hey #UMichStudents, landing your internship or 
first job out of college can be an awesome feeling. But in 
order to land one, you have to make your job search a top 
priority while you’re in school. Here’s your chance to do 
that.”
I could imagine the person writing this on the U-M 
social media team sitting in their office, looking at the 
clock to count how many more hours they had until 5 
p.m., writing anything that came into their head. I know 
because I’ve been that person; I worked at an advertising 
agency after my freshman year making Facebook ads for 
car dealerships. And the summer after that, I did public 
relations for a health insurance company.
I attributed my dislike for the agency to the fact I had 
previously worked for a non-profit and just wasn’t used to 
the new type of work, but working for corporate America 
also sucked the soul out of me. By the end of my intern-
ship at the insurance company, I knew I never wanted to 
work in those environments again. No one was passion-
ate about doing good for the world, only making money 
and getting praise from their bosses. The offices were 
gray with harsh lighting that highlighted the bags under 
the employees’ eyes. 
I could see a cycle happening in front of my own eyes. 
Send out the Facebook ads, make a bunch of money for 
old white men who don’t need it, use that money to make 
more ads. Write a blog post about self-care, publish it on 
the insurance company’s Facebook, make people think 
they care and buy more insurance. Wash, rinse, repeat.
When I saw this U-M Facebook ad, I was reminded of 
all of the networking events I’ve gone to out of obliga-
tion and left out of anxiety. I went to my first career fair 
during my junior year, though I didn’t recognize any of 

the companies. There was an ambiguous air about every 
table; even the tables I went up to couldn’t quite articu-
late what they did and why it mattered. The representa-
tives just talked at me for 20 minutes until I accepted 
their business card.
The last table I went to was Yelp. I waited in line for 
over half an hour after at least three business students 
cut in front of me.
When I reached the front of the line, the representa-
tive raised his eyebrows. “We have mostly sales posi-
tions, which means facing rejection a lot. Do you think 
you would be emotionally prepared for that?” he asked. 
The man’s face had the same robotic, condescending look 
in his eyes as the man who asked me if I knew how to 
give change in Jimmy John’s. The only real information 
he gave me was how much money he’s made in his posi-
tion. He then told me to apply online, of course, as every-
one does.
I walked out after his spiel. I passed at least 40 more 
students coming into the fair on my way out, each dressed 
the same with that man’s exact look in their eyes. They 
were ready to become robots with his same program-
ming.
We live in an environment that creates gatekeepers 
for success. Either you pursue a field that makes you feel 
inferior, or you’re convinced you should sacrifice yourself 
to a company for the slight possibility of being happy. But 
I want to be a writer, which means I probably will never 
be “rich and successful” like my math teacher or a career 
fair representative would like me to be. In fact, I’m going 
to be the naïve kid they would make fun of for “following 
her dreams” into an unnecessarily difficult life.
But if I’m going to be working for the rest of my life, 
why would I spend my energy fueling the same system 
that makes it impossible to be satisfied?
Upon reflection, it’s clear the Harvard businessman 
is the antagonist of the “How Much Is Enough?” story. 
The fisherman knew what he was doing. Instead of sac-
rificing his sanity for a career that would bring him right 
to where he already is, he made a life for himself doing 
what brought him joy. It was that simple. He didn’t have 
to wait until retirement to fish, the same way I won’t have 
to wait until retirement to write.
Ironically, next to “How Much Is Enough?” there 
was another sign in Jimmy John’s. It read, “If you do the 
things you need to do when you need to do them, then some-
day you can do the things you want to do when you want to 
do them.” 
I want to make an edit to this sign. Instead of separat-
ing “need” and “want,” I would say to do the things you 
want to do because you need to do them. Whether you’re 
a writer, an artist or a sandwich artist, cultivate love for 
your work. Listen to what comes easy to you. Figure out 
how to use the things you love to help yourself and the 
world. 
And please, whatever you do, don’t assume sandwich 
shop cashiers can’t do math. They probably know a lot 
more than you think.

Modern Love: Do what you love and 
love what you do

3B

Wednesday, October 9, 2019 // The Statement
3B

BY HANNAH BRAUER, STATEMENT COLUMNIST

ILLUSTRATION BY SHERRY CHEN