When I was a little girl and my parents would ask, “what do you want to be when you grow up,” very often I would answer “I want to own a flower shop.” I liked the idea of making money surrounded by beauty. I liked flowers. I liked money. Seemed like a plan.
“Why don’t you be a doctor or a lawyer?” my father would always ask. I have never felt drawn to either profession. I had a vision then.
Floral entrepreneur is no longer my vision. But I have spent a great deal of time during the past 7 1/2 months trying to envision what I would like my vocation to be. Somewhere between childhood and unemployed adulthood, however, I seem to have lost a job vision that I could really own. Something I was striving for.
So I’ve been practicing. Imaginging the ideal. And most of the time I have an easier go knowing what I don’t want, than what I do. For example,
– I don’t want to sell things;
– I don’t want to farm things;
– and I don’t want to serve fries with things.
My actual wish list so far of things I might like is just as eclectic:
– I would really enjoy being a muppet;
– I would think it would be cool to have a job where I have background dancers;
– and I wouldn’t mind being a civil servant in the federal government.
Each seemed as unlikely as the rest.
But today, dear readers, pending my respectability screening (or whatever the heck it is called) I was offered 90 days of casual work in a federal government department. My first time ever working for federal government. 90 beautiful days. Now they say there are no benefits, but they showed me where my cubicle was and it was right next to the receptionist’s jelly bean dish, so obviously they are not yet aware of my fondness of jelly beans. (Except, of course, the green ones).
I hope it is the foot in the door I have waited for. I have renewed optimism.
I almost feel muppet-like.
Care to dance?
Old Blue Socks 