When I Grow Up

I was not one of those kids that knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.  In fact, I was pretty jealous of my friends that wanted to be "a doctor, a physical therapist, a lawyer".  It always baffled me that I just didn't know.  The fear of not knowing what you want to do with your life is only exacerbated over time.  I remember in grade school you can say whatever you want to be and it's fine if it changes the next day.  You could want to be a mermaid one day and a firefighter the next and both are socially accepted.  In high school the tension rises a bit as you find yourself separated from fellow classmates in a "less accelerated" math course.  Or maybe you find yourself thriving in Chemistry while your best friend can easily explain the physics of how their cardboard boat won the paddle race across the school swimming pool.

On to college and the dreaded "major" choice.  I remember feeling the weight of the world that I didn't know what I wanted to do.  If I didn't know, how could I pick a major?! Oh, the agony.  I watched as some of my friends diligently worked their way through Business Economics classes, on their way to be recruited by the "Big Four" accounting firms before they even had diploma in hand.  Other of my friends laboriously studied through O-Chem and Biology, trudging through the extra lab practicum classes they were forced to take as part of being a science major.

I had a bit of a different course taken.  I entered college with the profound "Undecided" major slapped to my admittance.  I toyed with the idea of becoming a lawyer (the idea provoked by my willingness and veracity to argue a point against my parents until I won).  So I dutifully completed a summer internship at a family law office.  Three weeks in I decided divorce cases and custody battles were not my cup of tea.  I would need to take a different path.  Perhaps I could be on TV and become one of those reporters.  Better yet, a news anchor.  My dream job morphed into the desire to take Katie Couric's place on the Today Show.  So I applied and was accepted to an internship at the local ABC affiliate in Santa Babara.  My duties were to write teases prompting the upcoming news stories.  I was tasked with searching through archives of footage to find everything from pictures of the President when the story called for such images, to scouring through archived footage of a baby elephant when they were doing a story on the local zoo.  After shadowing some of the reporters out on the field, I decided I didn't quite like thrusting a microphone in people's faces and waiting for a juicy candid sound bite.  It seemed all too invasive to me.

I thought I would never figure out a major so opted for a broad approach.  I would be a Communication Major.  To make a long and frustrating saga short, I didn't get into the major.  What does that mean? Well, it means my grades weren't good enough.  Perhaps it was fate guiding me along the way, or maybe it was that midterm I fell asleep in.  Literally, I dozed off while filling in Bubble A on the scantron.  So it was back to square one in my Sophomore year of college.

Maybe I should pick something really broad.  So I would become an English major.  Turns out this was a good choice for me.  It led to my finding a Writing Minor that I felt fit perfectly with my major choice.  So four years later and a journey through majors, I graduated with a degree in English and minor in Professional Writing.  Here I am, four and a half years from the day I stood proud in cap and gown, and I've learned that for me, not exactly knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up has proved to be a fantastic and exciting journey.

Through constant self-discovery and questioning, I've realized that perhaps what I am and what I have become is and will continue to be a constant learning process.  The undertaking of owning a business with my significant other has been a whirlwind of excitement and challenges that have been both challenging and rewarding to work on.  

In a new turn of events I have recently decided to apply to grad school.  It is an MFA Masters Program in Creative Writing.  The program is local at the University near where I live, and seems like a great opportunity to hone and further develop my writing skills.  With this undertaking has come a whole set of emotions I didn't quite expect.  It's nerve racking and a bit scary to apply for something and have the uncertainty about whether or not I will be accepted.  Yes, I'm scared of rejection.  The fear of failing is a very real and present one.  As part of the application, I must submit a short story.  No problem, I'll just write one.  The project is so much harder than I thought it would be.  So I've been working on twenty-one pages of prose; pouring over each sentence, trying vainly to choose the right words that will harmoniously come together to make a fascinating tale. Something about writing a story makes me feel vulnerable to the world.  Is it interesting enough? Is it believable? The words on the page seem to stare back at me in defiance and it seems like I'll never achieve a final draft.

 Maybe I'm too focused on the fact that I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I'm not sure any one's life story is perfectly conventional.  Maybe I should think about what I have become along the way:  A high school and college graduate, a business owner, a blog writer, a wife, a traveler, and now an applicant.