When I Grow Up...

I'm in my forties and I have had about twenty different careers.  OK, not so much "different" as much as diverse.

I started out as a model in my teens.  I did the pageant circuit, got a few crowns, did a little runway and magazine ads, stuff to make my mom happy, before I got bored.

My first hard job, I was a fireman.  Firewoman?  The guys wouldn't let me do much except direct traffic and make coffee, which I didn't drink at the time.  After the first pot of sludge, they didn't ask again. I got to drive the truck a few times, but mostly, just directed traffic, although I did get an offer to pose for a calendar.

I quit.

Joined the military and became a meteorologist.  Traveled the world, got to shoot a weapon and prove I was better than a lot of the men.  Many handed me the gun and stood behind me.  I sort of enjoyed that, but it was a double-edged sword:  I got away with murder because the guys liked me and I got harassed a lot because the guys liked me.  That was fun for seven years overall, I enjoyed it, and had a pretty good knack at actually predicting the weather, but then I got married and had a baby.

I was a mom for a bit, before adding to that...working in a pharmacy.  That sucked and my kid hated daycare.  So that lasted about, oh let's see, two weeks.

I pretty much never shut up in real life and talk so much that to get from A to B, I take thirty-seven tangents and sixteen different stories in between.  So I started writing.  That, I actually liked.  Once I got started, a book actually flowed out of me, then a children's series, then another book started...then I got tired of sitting still for so long.  I realized I wrote mostly at night when I didn't sleep and eventually was just tired all the time.

I began taking pictures to fill my time.

Then, enter Mrs. Volunteer and Advocate.  I volunteered so much at my kids school, they actually gave me an office.  I had articles printed in the paper fighting school closures, and various things that annoyed me, and after a heated speech from a podium, the school board offered me a job.  A paying one.

That lasted half a semester doing accounting for a school, when a child nutritionist position for the district opened up.  Nobody ever says, "I want to grow up to be a lunch lady", but better pay and benefits...I was making more than working in a department store and I kept the same hours as my kids.  Actually got off two hours before school ended which left time for errands!

Then we moved.  Back to volunteer.  On a volunteer committee and a fundraiser for American Cancer Society.  As a survivor, I got tired of "talking about it" and went back to writing.

Sports writer, freelance.  My husband is a sports writer so sometimes I would submit stuff under his name when he encouraged me to start out on my own which I think translated to "get out of my office".  My articles, under a pseudonym, got picked up around the country and I started getting accolades for my work when someone accused me of plagiarism.  Since I write satire, I was a little confused how my disturbing thoughts and sarcasm could ever be construed as belonging to someone else, but whatever.  Sports photography, here I come...

That was ok, but then I really wanted to work for National Geographic (even as a kid), but to apply for a position, they wanted me to pay them for submitting each of my photos for review.  What?!?

Second book still in the works when my godfather goes on book tour and ends up asking me opinions on his work so much I feel more like an editor.  

I'm sure I've skipped over some jobs, but those are some highlights.

Back to volunteering.  Now for an animal rescue group.  I work on the cat team, but also as their official photographer.  I was asked to shoot the calendar they want to use for their fundraiser because they love my pictures of my pets.  (this is Brady)

All the while still wanting to work on my second book, or at the very least, publish the first one!

So I'm bouncing photos off my cousin yesterday and chatting via messenger, when she says, "Ever think of doing your own calendar?"

I just laughed.  

I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up...

Fear Of Tragedy With Age

It seems my friends are always sharing their new fears that are cropping up lately.  Nothing so silly as a zombie apocalypse.  Even my husband has these irrational thoughts about fiery car crashes on the way to work or the cats eating him while he sleeps.

I understand fear after suffering a tragedy of it repeating itself.  Like not wanting to fly after 9-11, or not wanting to drive after a car accident.  I even have fears of death when I get a cramp in a body part because I suffered multiple blood clots that were overlooked and nearly killed me.

Where does this stem from?  As we get older does our mortality seem more real than when we are young?  And some of the fears people share seem ridiculous to me.

I was invincible in my twenties.  Looking back I wonder what I could possibly have been thinking.  I poked Death in the eyes quite a few times and laughed.

Now I wear a bubble suit in my own house.  Granted, I did fall off a chair and break my neck a couple of years ago.

I don't stand on chairs any more.

I watch the whites of peoples eyes grow on take-off, white knuckled on the arm rest.  I watch people double-check seat belts.  I also notice the jump if you accidentally sneak up on someone or how fast a head turns down a dark street at a noise.

Perhaps becoming parents has us afraid of leaving our children alone? I fear for my oldest son because he has special needs and who would take care of him properly?

Sometimes I think it's purely life passing us so fast that we're afraid to miss out on anything, that desire to do more, the mid-life sports car...

I try to tell everyone that when we hit 40, that's the halfway point.  Meaning the hard part is over and it's all down hill and easy from here.

I think I made it worse...