I didn’t always want to be an engineer. So what did I want to be when I grow up?
For awhile I thought,
Because I wanted to help and handle animals.
But only healthy ones.
I suddenly realized seeing sick and dying ones would ruin my day because I couldn’t save them all.
Then I didn’t want to be a vet.
So for a while I thought,
a truck driver.
I wanted to travel the world behind the wheel, to get the front row seat.
Alabama to Alaska.
But then I realized I wouldn’t have a home, so I wouldn’t have pets, a piano, a place to play outside,
or to run and exercise,
and I would be tired all the time and probably grumpy,
and gain too much weight.
And, although I wanted to be
a writer, or an artist,
I didn’t want to get headaches forcing out work.
Then I knew what would be good. I wanted to be
But dad wanted me to go to college.
But, no, I just want to be outside and farm.
Fine, then, I’ll be…
And I’ll dig up Mount Vesuvius and Pompei.
And I’ll find all kinds of new worlds and carbon date and solve history.
But mom said there isn’t gonna be stuff to find forever.
Fine then, I’ll be
a marine biologist. Whales. Alaska.
A park ranger?
If you want to know what I wanted to do more than any of these, more than owning a restaurant or being a chef, more than dancing, more than really anything….
The job I REALLY wanted,
the job that seemed WAY TOO HARD to ever get,
one that would allow me to do what I wanted the most: photograph and travel,
before I decided to do my own version of that,
I wanted to be….
A photographer for National Geographic.
And see things like this…
I could look at those magazines forever.