I still remember being asked repeatedly as a child, "What will you be when you grow up?" For 3 years in high school, I was sure I would be a nurse. And then I woke up one day and knew otherwise. I was spinning. Much to my surprise and irritation, all the adults responded by saying, "that's okay, just to college and you'll figure it out there." REALLY?? After asking me for at least 14 years what I was going to do? Now it was okay to not know?
Sure enough, I went to college and fell in love with the humanities. But life intervened and my career became something else entirely.
Every time we shift, there is some grief in letting go of who we have been. As well as excitement in who we are becoming.
Good to hear from you after Nebraska. My partner had a similar experience, and I often feel this pull between writing, work, being a parent and being a husband. I remember my creative writing mentor for undergrad telling me that one of his students decided he wanted to have lots of time to write and became a janitor for a K-12 school and was very happy with that life. Having the time to ask what am I doing and why am I doing it is really important. Good luck, Josh!
My sister sent me a link to a job teaching prisoners and it's kind of tempting. My uncle was a pediatrician who later became a prison doctor. To me, teaching was more of a family business than a calling. I even had a grandmother who was a college librarian when few women even went to college. I wanted to work in lab and be like Michael Faraday. But even he gave Christmas lectures so maybe teaching bubbles up from loving your subject matter, seeing it as liberating, and wanting to share the love.
I am curious to hear more about how your center of gravity shifted when you met your first child, and subsequently with the next two. Seems like a potent file.
Good point! Why does calling have to be that single thing one was born to do?
Having followed my calling, I have come to wonder whether it really was about doing at all?
Where did I get that from?
In my experience I have been called, from one calling to another, onto a journey of becoming.
I still remember being asked repeatedly as a child, "What will you be when you grow up?" For 3 years in high school, I was sure I would be a nurse. And then I woke up one day and knew otherwise. I was spinning. Much to my surprise and irritation, all the adults responded by saying, "that's okay, just to college and you'll figure it out there." REALLY?? After asking me for at least 14 years what I was going to do? Now it was okay to not know?
Sure enough, I went to college and fell in love with the humanities. But life intervened and my career became something else entirely.
Every time we shift, there is some grief in letting go of who we have been. As well as excitement in who we are becoming.
I wrote about this recently as well, under the post "When Home is a Vocation" : https://findinghome.substack.com/p/when-home-is-a-vocation?s=w
Good to hear from you after Nebraska. My partner had a similar experience, and I often feel this pull between writing, work, being a parent and being a husband. I remember my creative writing mentor for undergrad telling me that one of his students decided he wanted to have lots of time to write and became a janitor for a K-12 school and was very happy with that life. Having the time to ask what am I doing and why am I doing it is really important. Good luck, Josh!
My sister sent me a link to a job teaching prisoners and it's kind of tempting. My uncle was a pediatrician who later became a prison doctor. To me, teaching was more of a family business than a calling. I even had a grandmother who was a college librarian when few women even went to college. I wanted to work in lab and be like Michael Faraday. But even he gave Christmas lectures so maybe teaching bubbles up from loving your subject matter, seeing it as liberating, and wanting to share the love.
I am curious to hear more about how your center of gravity shifted when you met your first child, and subsequently with the next two. Seems like a potent file.