We have more than one book lying around that encourages my kids to ponder their future vocation. Doctor, race car driver, generic 'scientist,' and on. They all focus on what you want to do with your life, and never include the soul killing details. When we grow up, we find it isn't so simple as "do what you want to do." There are so many factors at play, conflicting with what we want.
Take the classic option of fireman. I'm sorry, fireperson. Fire people are the most beloved of public servants. Politicians want to tax you to oblivion and strip your civil liberties, the police are only interested in writing traffic tickets, arresting you for public intoxication and being generally racist, but fire people? They just want to put out your fire, and who doesn't love that? They get to ride giant red trucks and everyone has to get out of their way because, you see, there is a fire. They get to haul hoses, whack down doors, use the awesome Halligan tool and be BDH's*, all while wearing a bitchin' pair of pants. If that's what being a fire person is all about, where do I sign? But, and there's always several buts, there's more to the story than the good stuff. They have a risky job and terrible hours, and oh yes, the compensation is abysmal. This means nobody wants to marry a fireman. But if the calendars are to be believed, plenty of women want to sleep with a fireman, and that counts for something. Right? You guys?
Or, let's look at another popular option; astronaut. Sounds great, right? Be one of the few people to actually see the world from space. Play zero gravity tennis, eat freeze dried turkey, say "countdown to launch" without irony, and have you seen those pants? How does one become an astronaut, anyway?
Turns out, becoming an astronaut is like joining the Rockettes, if Radio City were more interested in how you rocked your math thesis more than your pair of five inch heels. If you happen to have the right combination of favorable genetics, acumen and work ethic to make you into a perfect candidate, there's still a long list of other perfect candidates in front of you. Not happening.
How about archaeologist? But when you learn that archaeology is less about bullwhips and melting Nazi faces, and more about grant writing and scraping potsherds with a toothbrush, it kind of loses some appeal. And oh yeah, the long, expensive education for a less than glamorous paycheck. You still get a neat pair of pants, though. Cargo pockets.
It turns out career 'choice' is awkward compromise of ability, location, compensation, aptitude, and convenience. Otherwise, I assume we'd all be Batman and none of us would be insurance salesmen. I mean insurance salespeople.
Even when we are lucky enough to find a vocation that we are good at, pays well enough, is available in the area we want to live, and doesn't have so much competition in it that work is unavailable, there's still the question of whether you like it. I tried respiratory care, as an example. It made all kinds of sense. Anywhere there's a hospital, there's work. It only requires a BS. The pay is not amazing, but good enough. I was even decent at the actual work, but some aspects of getting the degree itself drove me insane.
Instead, I found myself with the aptitude and enjoyment of writing. Fiction, mostly. This is great, because you can do it anywhere, although coffee shops seem to be the preferred location. Extra points if it's NOT a Starbucks, but a locally owned joint. The problem is the sometimes stiff, but mostly overwhelming competition, and the pay. There isn't any.
To make matters worse, I keep blogging instead of working.
I don't even know where I am going with this, other than to say that that "be what you want to be!" line is a dirty, stinking lie. At least for me, the thing I want to be doesn't exist in reality.
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