How many times have you been asked as a child; what do you want to be when you grow up? I too was asked that by all sorts of adults and peers, my parents, teachers, neighbors, friends, and other relatives. They would smile and expect an answer typical of a nine, ten, eleven, or twelve year-old, doctor, vet, police officer, and teacher. Sometimes they would be met with an unusual answer like anthropologist or a rock star. For me, the response was not so simple. I would tell them I was not quite sure and for a while that was acceptable.
As I entered fifth grade, I wondered exactly what I was meant to do. There was not a particular sport in which I excelled, nor a class in which I had exceptional grades. I had no hobbies or talents. My parents began to question me once more, “What do you want to do?” like always I responded, “I don’t know.” They seemed to think my lack of passion for anything meant I was destined to be a teacher, but in my eyes that was inconceivable.
Sixth grade came and the question got louder and more persistent. The pressure to choose what I wanted to be for my eternity was rising. There was a domino effect of events that led to my ultimate discovery. It started with my mom to whom I am are very close. I talk to her about everything, and when my brother, who was in high school at the time, brought home a list of jobs, I lamented that I did not want to do anything. She used to work in the OR, but at the time she was working Psych at the hospital. The memory is crisp in my mind as I think about what she told me. She said to become a physical therapist. Physical therapists were paid well, their job was almost always guaranteed, and it was rewarding. So, when asked the question again I was prepared with an answer.
At the end of sixth grade, there was a looming project waiting for me. It was a simplistic project mirroring what the adults asked; only this time it was in written form. I began the laborious research but could not put down physical therapist. There was a passion slowly growing inside of me. It was becoming more than a hobby. It felt like lying to put down physical therapist when I wanted nothing to do with medicine or its branches. I loved writing. I loved stories that only I could create. Each story I wrote was my own master piece in my mind and heart, like painting to Michael Angelo and composing to Beethoven, I discovered on my own my one true talent and passion. Now I can easily answer the question, and I say, “I will be an author,”