I’m 22, and I’m still pretty unsure about what I want to do with the rest of my life. There are lots of things I thought I’d always do–volunteer as a teacher, work abroad, write a book, start a greeting card company (and become a famous blogger) are a few that come to mind. But in terms of my actual “dream job,” that idea has changed a lot.
In kindergarten, my dream job was an archaeologist. I’m not sure why (maybe my dad’s passion for old Indiana Jones movies?), but I still think that would be a pretty cool job.
In middle school, I wanted to be an actress. I even made my parents take me to an audition at a fancy private performing arts high school, which I didn’t get in to.
When I started high school, I got the idea in my head that I didn’t want (or need) to go to college…don’t remember what my career plans were, but I’m glad that phase ended. I’m not sure if I had a dream job in mind during this time, but over the course of high school I remember wanting to be everything from a social worker to a teacher to a diplomat to a nutritionist.
When I began college, I wanted to be an art historian, with an ultimate goal of being a gallery director (read: the Charlotte York-Goldenblatt career path, ending up with a rich husband). I minored in Art History instead, and realized during my last semester that I actually hated it and am not sure why I studied it at all.
Just two years ago, I thought I wanted to be a dentist–read more about that disaster here.
And last year, I decided I wanted to work in media and follow an editorial career path. So here I am–pursuing the one thing I’ve been consistently told I’m good at (writing).