Career Goals

Happy Bloggiversary to me! Stream of the Conscious turns 2 today.

Feb. 2, 2010, I announced to a readership of, well, me, that I was pregnant. This was going to be just one of the many “look at how cute my kid is” blogs with cheesy photos of a round me holding a onesie by my side at a baby shower. How droll.

Yeah. I didn’t see those plot twists coming either.

And holy crap. People started reading! My words. This is very different than my initial pleas of “Hey Mom. Mom. Mom? Mom. Read my blog post. Read it. Please?” (Like I said in this week’s Wineconed Wednesday, I still do a happy dance when I get a comment. Hint. Hint.)

This got me thinking. Ne’er did my young self ever murmur, “I want to be a blogger when I grow up! And maybe work in corporate America running a social media program.” But then again, my current livelihood didn’t yet exist. How times and technology have changed.

Growing up, I wanted to be a lot of things.

Cement Truck
When I was the muppets age, I wanted to be a cement truck.

I was fascinated by these vehicles with rotating centers. I made sure to point them out to my parents any time we passed on one the roads. Really, I had no interest in driving one of these molten-building beasts. I wanted to be the truck. Apparently this was not a presentable option.

My mom is a teacher. My aunt is a teacher. Teachers assign kids books to read.

This seemed like a good gig. I spent most of my elementary school years smugly knowing I would one day cultivate young minds. I lined up my Hot Wheels and Micro Machines and took attendance. Occasionally my collection of Popples and Wuzzles would get in on the third grade action. We had to stop at third because long division reared its ugly head in fourth.

Fighter Pilot
That same year I first faced off with long division, my brother burst into my room one evening. “Mom’s taping Top Gun!” I loved that movie. I was completely entranced by the F-14 Tomcat. I wanted to be a fighter pilot. I wanted to be dangerous and daring. I’d hit the brakes and the bad guys would just fly by.

Interestingly enough, in those years leading up to the fall of the Berlin Wall, I was terrified of Soviet Russia. Why? Fighter pilot = good. Astronaut = bad. (I think I was still traumatized by the Challenger incident. A tragedy with a representative from my prior career choice.) Somehow I’d convinced myself that the USSR would have forced me into a horrendous life of cosmonaut servitude. (I never claimed to make use of logic or rationale.)

Come on now. Who hasn’t dreamt of being a train-hopping hobo with kerchief-stick at some point in time? No? Just Me? Well then…

Usually it was while sulking in my bedroom after mouthing off to my parents. How sexy would life be on the open road. Jumping rail cars with nary a Chemistry test ever in sight. But like Edna from the Incredibles said, “This is a hobo suit, darling. You can’t be seen in this. I won’t allow it. Fifteen years ago, maybe, but now? Feh!”

Broadcast News
My junior year of high school I took a film study class. We watched Broadcast News. I watched a frantic Holly Hunter fritter across the screen. I’m pretty sure we were supposed to be critiquing script or cinematography. But I was hooked on the news.

I wanted more. I wanted to report. I wanted to be the news. I was going to be a broadcast journalist. Metropolis – look out. Lois Lane was on the move.

The common theme throughout all these career choices are the stories that result. Stories built my imagination from the moment I learned out to read. I kept my reporter’s notebook like Harriet the Spy. I journaled my teenage years, lamenting the woes only a besotted high-schooler could empathize with, before promptly deciding my words were stupid and tearing them up.

Today, I tell stories for a living. Seriously. (Tomorrow a New York Times bestseller! Ok, fine. How about a few more Twitter followers?)

So, even though I never thought I’d live in the socialsphere, maybe I did know this is what I’d do as some point along my journey to grow up. And by the time I get there, I like to think I’ll have one hell of a story.

You have been reading my parenthood rants for a long time – two years. Really now, what does that say about you? I love you all. (And I hope you still love me – even as you delve into the deep recesses of my “unique” mind.) Winecones and kisses!

So what do you want to be when you grow up? Discuss.


Filed under Milestones, Work

8 Responses to Career Goals

  1. Stephanie Cosaro

    Dance studio owner, duh! Knowing what it’s like to grow up in a dance studio and deal with moms who took catty pills regularly, I want mine to be different (naturally). I want to show the world a dance studio is a safe haven for most and shouldn’t be anything like the show Dance Moms! Wow that felt good….

  2. Ivy

    In 6th grade, I remember clearly writing about wanting to be an accountant (with an illustrated picture of a calculator to go along with my essay). Yes, I was that big a nerd, but in my defense, my big brother had graduated college and was an accountant, so I was highly influenced by that since I wanted to be just like him.

    In younger years, I remember wanting to be a rock star, Jem like, and I would rock out in the shower, making up nonsense songs.

    I guess in the end, I did a little of both. 🙂

  3. Nancy Welker Caracciolo

    I don’t know if you’ve heard this silly story – my apologies if I am repeating myself.
    Preschool Graduation – paper cap and gown. Someone asks me “what do you want to be when you grow up?” and hands me the microphone. My response……”Casper the Friendly Ghost!” My parents slunk down in their seats; my television priviledges severly curtailed thereafter. I got my wish….. I am the whitest person you will ever meet. On the beach it is a glaring, shocking tone of white. I call it Casper-white and no amount of tan-in-a-bottle can disguise that fact. It takes a brave soul to be seen with me at the beach/Hawaii and the like (Kevin Copeland).

  4. Obviously my goal as a youngin was to be a professional baseball or soccer player. The more practical side of me thought being a physical therapist (more specifically a team doctor for a pro sports team).
    Once high school came around, though, I knew business was my calling and my sole goal ever since has been to own my own (successful) business.
    And then, to tie everything together, my ultimate goal in life is to own the San Diego Padres (or any other MLB team).

    So, as my first duty as owner of the Padres…free dance classes for all season ticket holders! (see above for the tie in)

  5. Joanne Hamann

    Too fun! I can’t believe it’s been 2 years! I guess I want to be you now when I grow up (instead of a big Janet) because teaching has definitely lost its luster and writing seems glamorous and fabulous – and FUN!

  6. Gramma J

    Well, baseball theme continues because I wanted to be the Dodger Baseball Dugout Girl. Love those ballplayers. When I realized that wasn’t going to happen (I think I was 12), I wanted to be a Pan Am Stewardess. Yes, wear the cute uniform and travel the world. I wanted adventure!
    Now the question is, “What do I want to do now that I am grown up and just about finished with my career?”

  7. Nicki

    first i was going to be a marine biologist.

    then i realized they probably don’t make much money.

    then my parents got divorced

    then i decided to be a marine biologist and an atty — so i could play with dolphins and make money.

    then so ugly stuff happened; i discovered cynicism, and decided i was going to be a lawyer in california who did charge for services. I was 12.

    then i realized if i was going to stay in CA, i should take spanish — so I started taking classes at 13.

    I’m 31 — i’m a bilingual spanish speaking atty who has practiced exclusively in the non-profit world serving the poor and not charging for my services.

    there are days when i realize i shoulda been a marine biologist.

    my new dream when i grow up, action/movie star and part time comedian….also friend to the stars — like the writer of this awesome blog

  8. Pingback: Potty Mouths of Preschoolers | Stream of the Conscious

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