As I approach my junior year of college, I feel compelled to reminisce about all the dream jobs, both realistic and far-fetched, I’ve considered in my life. Knowing that in two years I will be in the real world, hopefully working at a real job, and having real obligations other than cleaning my room is scary, and I hope that I will be prepared for whatever I end up doing. Throughout our lives we are asked what we want to be when we grow up, and these have been my answers:
One of my earliest memories as a child is filling out the bio portion of a journal I had just received. For “When I grow up I want to be…” I wrote “a WNBA player.” Since I am 5’4’ and I haven’t played competitive basketball since the first grade, I think it’s safe to assume that career option is not in my future. Though, as a tomboy who wore the same ugly black sweatshirt everyday and spent her time shooting free throws in her backyard, the WNBA was feasible. Also I was scoring 10 points in an average game for my YMCA team, so I thought I was the next big thing.
Shortly after my basketball obsession came my goal of becoming the youngest novelist in history. I don’t think I even knew how old the current record holder was, but a third grader can’t be bothered with details like that. I was busy writing about one of my main characters, Jan Unstoppable, and if I had ever gotten past chapter one, Disney and the writers of “Kim Possible” probably would have sued me. My ideas were always taken from my favorite books or movies, with a personal twist, but I never had a long enough attention span to get past a page. One time I wrote a story that had an eerily similar plot to “Slumdog Millionaire” and when the movie came out, I felt like I deserved some sort of compensation for the idea.
In fourth and fifth grade I was a Style Network junkie, and as a result I was convinced that I would become a fashion designer like Isaac Mizrahi. Before I got a sewing machine I hand sewed a skirt that my mom stupidly let me wear to school. It is a miracle I survived that day without a wardrobe malfunction. Even when I did get a sewing machine I realized that I would have to make my own clothes before I made it big, and then the idea became undesirable to me.
When I wasn’t trying to climb the social ladder in middle school, I was dreaming of becoming a pro gymnast. In hindsight I wish someone had told me I sucked so that I could have saved myself the sore joints and calluses.
High school was a time when all my ambitions were linked to getting in to college, so I was less worried about the career part of my life that would follow. Though, becoming editor-in-chief of my high school paper inspired me to become a real life Rory Gilmore without the Yale education and the boy drama. If someone ever asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up I probably said “the best.”
Here I am today: An art history major who has no clue what she wants to do with her degree. I could end up in a museum, selling fake Picassos out of my cardboard box home on the side of the street, or doing something completely unrelated to my major. Thinking about the future is daunting, but it’s comforting to know I still have two more years to think of my next dream job and help make it a reality. In the meantime, I’ll keep dreaming big and preparing for the next chapter of my life.
Though, if all else fails, one of my dreams has already come true: better teeth.
