Saturday, January 23, 2010


I have always envied those people who inherently knew what they were supposed to do with their life in terms of their career. It wasn't even a question for them. They knew. Career information was implanted into their DNA code right alongside their eye color and shoe size. The rest of us bump along hoping for signs along the way and are likely to change career paths every ten years or so because we outgrew the old one.

I was certain after watching Smoky and the Bandit and then Convoy that I was destined to drive a big rig. It looked very exciting. And all that CB talk with its intricate code and anti-establishment rebellion was intoxicating to a young girl. I shared this revelation of my newly discovered career path with my neighbor and she enlightened me with some reality. What I saw was the movies. In real life, truckers sleep in their rig for a week or more at a time so they're smelly, and they're pot-bellied, more often than not, from a lot of beer drinking, and they are often minus a good many of their teeth. Eeeks. That wasn't what I had in mind at all. I wanted Kris Kristofferson or Burt Reynolds riding shotgun. Apparently I was going to have to rethink this line of work.

Over the years, I have fallen in and out of love with careers through the silver screen and my television screen. For instance, I love Grey's Anatomy but feel queasy just thinking about having my blood drawn. I couldn't do anything in the medical profession. However, one of the things I love most about the show is the commitment that each one of those doctors have. They all want to be "the best" very badly. I cannot imagine it for myself. I didn't get that bit of DNA. What I like to think is that mine is lying dormant, but it is going to kick in any minute and my lightbulb is going to come on and then I will join that elite club of people who just know.

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