Up until my thirties, my life had been like a wild goose chase. Well, maybe not completely like a wild goose chase, but close enough. I was adrift - floating here and there, not really enjoying life, but not altogether hating it, either. Life, until I hit twenty-nine or so, had become a routine. It was something that I figured I just had to endure. Life happened to me, I didn’t happen to it - or so I thought.
Like most people I went to high school with, I started college immediately following graduation. With only a summer break in between what was suppose to be my transition phase from teen to adult, I trudged ahead completely nervous and uninspired. What did I want to be when I grew up? Sh!t!, I remember thinking way back then. I AM grown up now... I’m supposed to know this! But I had no idea. I took the general classes: Geography, Western Civ, Biology I and, of course, Psychology. After my first semester, I still had no idea what I wanted to do. Every time I entertained an idea - physical therapist, speech pathologist, elementary teacher - fear squeezed its way into my chest and I’d have a panic attack. Whenever I declared a major, I’d think, Oh my God... This is what I’ll be doing for the next twenty, no thirty, no forty years... No, wait, oh God, for the rest of my life! I guess you could say I had trouble with commitment.
Now, looking back at my younger self, I realize I was probably being a bit dramatic. But, in all fairness, I - like almost all college students - was under a lot of pressure. And I felt that pressure tenfold. Get good grades, but still work at least thirty hours a week! And better keep that social life up because people in the Midwest are supposed to get married near the age of twenty-two or twenty-three... Twenty-five tops! And then babies by twenty-seven! Pick a career that you’ll be happy with! And oh, by the way, pick one that you can make money at or you’re going to be in debt for the rest of your life due to student loans!
Whoa. Even now it makes me cringe.
It wasn’t that I lacked direction, ambition, or motivation - I had all of those things in spades. I knew I liked photography, coveted books, and loved to write. “But,” I was told by a few close-minded people, “those aren’t careers, they’re hobbies. You can’t make a living off those. Only a lucky few can.” And, unfortunately, I believed them - for awhile, anyway. But every major that lead to a lucrative career was, in my mind, B-O-R-I-N-G.
After a few years, I left college and tried my hand at banking. Working for a credit card company in the customer service department, I crunched numbers, recited APR quotes, opened and closed accounts, submitted credit line increases, calculated payment plans, took approximately 150 calls a day, was verbally abused by over eighty percent of the card members, and basically sold my soul each week for a paycheck. I worked there for a little over two years, and each day I died a bit inside. Luckily, my co-workers were absolutely wonderful, and that alone helped me get by. But even so, I remember thinking, This can’t be all there is to life...
Fast forward to my next job - paralegal for a criminal law attorney. Just thinking of my time at that office brings a smile to my face. I worked for the most amazing, understanding, and down-to-earth attorney you could ever meet. My co-worker was an adoring black lab who, to this day, I love just a little bit more than my own dogs. (Shh - don’t tell them.) I was literally the “Jack-of-All-Trades” of the office, and for awhile that was enough. Eventually, however, I grew restless. I didn’t mind doing legal work, but it wasn’t interesting to me in the slightest, and the legal jargon gave me a headache. The work wasn’t creative (well, creative in the way I desired), and after three years I knew without a doubt that I was not destined for a lifelong career in law.
A move to the Pacific Northwest brought me to my next (and current) career. I’ve been working as a veterinary assistant at a local hospital out here for the last year and a half. And, as you’ve probably guessed, I have found that this career is also NOT FOR ME. Again, I have been blessed with a great boss and amazing co-workers. And I absolutely love working with the animals - to an extent. Veterinary medicine is NOT all about furry-faced puppies and kittens. Yes, I’ve seen my share of puppies and kittens, received countless slurpy kisses by unbelievably cute canines, and have even had my heart melted by several beautiful pit bulls. However, I have also seen one too many sick and dying dogs come through our doors, assisted with more euthanasias than I care to remember, and have been bitten and scratched by so many cats that I’m beginning to cringe when I see one enter the clinic. (I have two scars on the inside of my right wrist that look like botched suicide attempts.) Yes, I’m completely aware that this is all par for the course and part of life at a veterinary hospital. Like the lovely ladies I work with say, “Life can’t be all flowers and sausages.” But I still feel that there has to be more to life. And this life, this veterinary life, isn’t for me...
The reason for this blog, this rambling spiel, is to say that, while none of these previous jobs were my passion, I appreciate them immensely. In fact, it is because of these jobs that I have finally FOUND my passion. And it is because of these jobs that I plan to pursue my true passion (and any other passion I might come across on the way) with every ounce of energy that I have.
My life is no longer a wild goose chase. I’ve learned that you never really grow up and that life, even after you choose a career, is anything but boring. And I’ve realized that you can make a living by following your dreams and doing what you love. For me it’s writing and photography.
What about you?
"I was just pursuing what I enjoyed doing. I mean, I was pursuing my passion." -- Pierre Omidyar
1 comments:
Oh, yes. I agree. These 2 things are for you!
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