That’s all right by me
When I was a child, my grandmother was the first person to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up.
“I want to be a ballerina when I’m grown up,” was my reply.
“Ballerinas have to stand on their toes to dance. Do you know how to do that?” she questioned. Of course, I didn’t, but my pudgy little self did the best demonstration that I could considering the circumstance of youth and ignorance.
Years later, my uncle asked me what I wanted to do after I graduated from college. “I want to be an English teacher,” I blurted out. Shakespeare and Chaucer dominated my world back then. Stephen King was fast on the horizon, but for the moment, Caesar was still having to beware the Ides of March. My eccentric literature teacher was my hero, and for all the brains in her head, she led the life of a character herself: unstoppable in all the best ways.
I should have taken those Ides seriously myself, but as luck would have it, I wouldn’t get to graduate from college until I was in my middle 30’s. I went back and forth on my area of studies.
Unbelievably, I was stuck between deciding if I wanted to work with the living or the dead. Mortician or medical office administration? The practical side (and lower tuition) won out, and I finished with an associate’s degree to run and keep records at an office with living patients.
Morbid curiosity killed the cat while satisfaction brought it back.
My degree did me no good in the medical world. No one was willing to give the new girl a shot without experience, and no one was willing to hire the new girl so she could gain experience. The double-edged sword prevailed once more, and I found myself kicking my own behind for not entering the wonderful world of formaldehyde.
One evening after another grueling day in retail, I came across a job post on a friend’s page.
It wasn’t for a ballerina, English teacher, mortician, or office administrator. It was for a writer/reporter for a digital paper. I asked what the job entailed and found the items were something I could do with ease. I had often dabbed in writing and my typing skills had always been well practiced. It was a bit out of my comfort zone and certainly had NOTHING to do with my degree, but the editor was willing to give me the chance to reach for my inner Chaucer once more.
I didn’t write about the cook, the knight, or the pardoner, but I did write about a modern-day hairdresser who had a way with the elderly. Thankfully, the article was well received, and since that publication, I have found myself in a new career I absolutely love.
I haven’t spent my life dancing on my toes, educating young minds, or preparing folks for their final farewell, but I have been the administrator of my own stories, and you know what?
That’s all right by me.
