What to do, what to do...

Here is a predicament in which I am perpetually stuck:  I have no idea what I want to do when I grow up.

You can probably see how this is a problem. 

As a child I had very little ambition.  Unlike my sister Kimberlie who knew very early on that her life's goal was to marry a pig farmer, I was concerned only for the present; which doll to play with, how much "cheese" to put on my mud taco, should I or shouldn't I scale the fence to spy on our neighbors.  My awareness of life beyond the present did not begin to develop until my parents told me I had to have a reason to go to Purdue University other than because my boyfriend Andy was there.

So I picked a major, Marketing, and I was accepted into Purdue's Krannert School of Management.  Super.

But just before classes began I thought, "Why make a ton of money working for a major corporation when I can be a middle school art teacher?!"

Brilliant!

But that path wasn't all rosy, either.  Yes, I loved cutting up magazines, clothes, pizza boxes, doll hair and paper bags and then throwing them all together into a piece of art that could only be graded subjectively, but there were only so many angles in which I could draw a stinking eyelash curler, and there is only so much torture a person (me) can take when made into a personal punching bag by an instructor who was/is habitually cranky and miserable.

So I switched my major again.  But this time I took the advice of Jill, my friend who had absolutely no stake in my future success, because obviously my methods for laying out my career goals weren't working.  She suggested Public Relations, because I would "look cute in those little pant suits." 

I graduated in 2004 with a degree in  Communications (read: talking).  I learned how to talk to people, talk to myself, talk about stuff, talk at work, talk without talking, statistics in talking, and the history of talking.

I also left with minors in Art & Design, Psychology and Marketing.

What did all of this qualify me for?  A job where I can make a baseball cap out of paper bags, tell you about it and the state of mind I was in when I made it and then convince you to buy it.

I'm sure this job could exist.  Somewhere.  Like in my own house.  But if you were to ask me what I would like to do for a living, depending on the day, time, weather, my mood, I could answer with about a dozen responses:

• sell my crafts
• give tours of art museums
• teach English in Italy
• professional ballroom dancer
• dog trainer
• personal trainer
• Hollywood actress
• stay-at-home mom
• missionary
• jam maker
• middle school art teacher
• cruise ship entertainer

Actually, that last one is almost impossible...unless "vomit art" catches on.  But I digress.

So there is my list of completely unrelated dream careers.  A list I fret over weekly.  Because as the kids in my Sunday School class have pointed out, I am already grown up (I am also 20-35 years old, depending on who you ask, but what do they know)...and way behind.