I have never been a person who “knows what they want to be when they grow up.” I am not the person who has known since kindergarten that she was going to be a teacher, or the person who knew she was going into IT the first time her fingertips hit the keyboard. I am not even the person who found her calling in college. I have always just been the person who… wanted to keep figuring it out.
People begin questioning our future career plans almost the minute we can speak. Sure, no one actually holds you to becoming the ballerina or firefighter that you dream of being at age four, but the question is always posed. I don’t remember what I said from ages three through eight, but I distinctly remember the answer I gave in third grade: hot air balloon pilot.
The reason behind this unique response (at least among the third graders I knew) came about because my dad’s company had recently participated in a hot air balloon festival. I was fascinated by the colorful bulbs floating high above me, the elementary physics I was taught in order to learn how the balloons flew, the teamwork of everyone preparing for lift off. However, in a windy turn of events, I wasn’t able to actually go up in a balloon. I was disappointed and knew that I really wanted to experience this someday. So, when asked a few weeks later what I wanted to do for a career project, I answered with something I knew I wanted to try.
From then on, this was how I answered the question. I picked careers that seemed like an adventure, a thing that I had to try. I didn’t necessarily have a plan as to how I would become a forensic psychologist or a cetologist, but I knew that I wasn’t going to sit around saying I was going to be a doctor, teacher, or lawyer. No, those things were for everyone else. Sure, you could have a passion for them, but I didn’t. And I certainly I wasn’t going to do anything I didn’t have a passion for.
This experiment came to a close when college applications started essentially asking, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” When asked to pick a potential major, or even a school to study within, there was no check box for “the one with the greatest opportunity for adventure.” There was obviously the trusty “undeclared,” section, but that didn’t seem right either. So I picked. I knew I liked science and making a difference, but wasn’t about to commit to becoming a doctor so… medical technology? Sure, why not, medical technology.
Classes started and I kept being gently swept down the medical technology stream. I took the classes and passed, even did well. I am smart and could do the work. My heart wasn’t really in it, but it wasn’t not in it either. But then came organic chemistry. It made me question everything. I am no quitter, but this class was the only one I have experienced where almost nothing clicked. I was out. For me, this meant a complete break-up with science.
I decided to spend the next semester trying different majors on for size. I took an acting class, a philosophy class, and a journalism class. While I loved all three, I decided that I had the best bet of paying back my student loans (albeit still very slowly) if I went with Cronkite instead of Descartes. I joined an alternative publication on campus that solidified my decision. I loved those weirdos more than anything and felt the work that we were doing was meaningful and edgy. I was finally comfortable answering, “What are you going to be?” with, “Journalist.”
Until I wasn’t.
I interned at a newspaper. Turns out I hate making people look bad, even when it’s the truth. From there, a communications internship. Hated that. Got a PR job at a nonprofit. Loved that. Moved to Michigan to work in higher education. And I like it just fine. But you know what? I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. And while I am not overly concerned with this, it has always made me feel bad. That I must lack passion. Or interest.
In her book #GIRLBOSS, Sophia Amoruso writes, “I’ve always been willing to throw myself at the wall and see if I stuck when it came to general life experiences.” When I read that, I practically yelled, “Yes! That’s me! That’s what I am doing! Someone gets me!” I realized that it’s not that I don’t have a passion. It’s that I have many. It’s not that I don’t have interests, it’s that I find the whole world fascinating. How can I simply pick just one thing?!
I figured when I moved to my tiny town for my now-husband’s job that my experimenting days were over. That the marketing job I had last jumped to was going to be it. But now? I realize that is so untrue that it’s almost laughable. Graduated does not equal career-decided. Married does not equal settled. And small-town life does not equal no more chances. While I know that I have to work hard at every opportunity and take care of our baby family, I also don’t have to stop experimenting.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll brainstorm a brilliant idea for a startup. Maybe life will take us on a grand adventure across the globe. Or maybe, I’ll end up high above the earth in that hot air balloon after all.
