When I was eleven, my
teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. I pondered that question with all earnestness
and narrowed my options down to three:
doctor, writer, teacher.
She
suggested I might want to narrow my choices further for the sake of the essay
we were going to write, so I asked her for advice. She said one should choose with passion; one
should look forward to going to work every day.
I
nixed “doctor” when she asked me how I felt about cutting people open, the
sight of blood, and caring for the sick and dying. That was eye-opening and I quickly
switched my essay topic to something less “passionate” - teacher, and years
later, saw that become a reality.
Fast
forward thirty-seven years, and I retired from a career where I was required to
work twelve to fifteen-hour days, seven days a week. I spent my “vacation” time
taking classes, compiling research, and writing curriculum units without pay. Only
those close to me witnessed the hours I dedicated during my time off or the
amount of my own money I invested fortifying classrooms with the necessary supplies
and books we needed.
If
it sounds like grousing, it isn’t. I loved that career. I was passionate about it and looked forward
to going to work every day until I retired. A career well done takes time,
effort, money, determination, dedication.
I
am pursuing a second career now, an encore to the life I had before. To pursue a career in writing takes all of
the above plus more. I am passionate
about it. I cannot go a day without
writing something. Pencils and pens lie in every room. Stacks of papers cover tables
and bed stands. Ideas surface at the oddest times and places, and I gleefully annoy
everyone around me with my latest inspirations.
My
sixth-grade teacher would be proud of me today. I am still taking her advice.
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