Whether it’s a defining trait, a tragic case of hubris, or just the marker of restless introspection, the inclination for career change seems to characterize my generation, and I admit, it characterizes me.

Though I’m a member of Gen Y, I learned to type on a typewriter. It was one of those fancy typewriters with a screen that previewed each line of text before punching it all out in a hurried staccato rhythm, and my thoughts would race as I tried to have the next line ready to go so the sound of inky letters asserting their presence on the page wouldn’t subside. There was something infinitely satisfying about churning out thoughts, inviting them to the surface, and then hearing them leap into physical existence as they scrolled rapidly across the paper.

It was my mom who passed that typewriter on to me when I was in fourth grade, teaching me the proper way to type so that within a few years, I would sit with my head tilted back, eyes closed, and just punch away. I spent so much time reading and scrawling out my own stories when I was younger that my mom taught me to type so my fingers could keep up with my imagination. Sure enough, it was that Christmas after mastering the typewriter when the whole family received “printed and bound” copies of my stories, illustrated and all (in sloppy colored pencil—there’s no doubt drawing was never my forte).

Setting Goals

There was never a question that I would major in English when the college years rolled around, but I decided to take my degree courses leading to a teaching credential; I landed a teaching gig right away. I was happy and stimulated by teaching, and I was motivated by the constant room for growth, the influx of new challenges presented daily.

But I had ridden at such a fast and furious gallop to get where I was going, I never allowed myself to engage with my own questions. Sure, I had wanted to teach for years. Yes, I had always said, “When I’m a teacher. . .” But were there other options that may have been equally stimulating, equally plausible? Were there detours I could have checked out, but didn’t notice as I breezed down the homestretch to accomplish my goals?

Reclaiming Passion

When I look back now—ok, it wasn’t that long ago, but still—there’s no doubt that writing was one of my first and most vehement passions. Before that whole question of how to make a living came into the picture, or any fear of judgment stifled my creative process, I accepted and believed that writing was what I would do. I churned out stories with improbable plots and inconceivable characters purely for the joy of it.

Taking a Step Back

Early in the school year we had a prestigious guest speaker at one of our staff meetings: Victor Villasenor, author of Rain of Gold and Burro Genius: A Memoir (among other works). Villasenor had a sturdy presence, a strong voice, a commanding walk. And he asked a poignant question: When you were a child, what did you want to be? And even more poignant still: What stopped you?

Though the presentation was in the context of teaching, I walked out of that assembly hall with an important personal revelation; there was a big part of myself I hadn’t fully explored, that I had made secondary because I felt I should be doing something else (purely a self-imposed should, but still). I always knew that aspect of myself was there, but I’d devalued it, shunned it, figured I’d get around to it someday, somehow. But with teaching and working on my Master’s, that day didn’t seem to be coming on its own.

Am I Happy?

I’m grateful for the sense of urgency that draped over me as I left Victor Villasenor’s talk. An urgency to at least ask myself questions like, Is there something else I could be doing now that would make me happier? And an urgency to listen and see what my self might have to say. Sure enough, if there had been an old-school typewriter anywhere near, I would have sat down at it, tilted my head back, closed my eyes and summoned my childhood muse. I may have even taken out the colored pencils.

Embracing Career Change At Any Stage

I detoured from teaching a few months later, saddling up again but this time heading for the open fields rather than the track. At moments, I admit, I felt like a failure for falling into that statistic of teachers who leave the profession within their first five years, and I felt unsettled not knowing exactly where I was going, or if I was qualified. But more often now, I think that if I go back to teaching at some point in my life—I’m still passionate about teaching, too—I’ll be enriched by the other experiences I’ve had, and by the other conversations I’ve had with myself.

And now that I’m not afraid to ask myself those tough questions, I just might revisit some other childhood dreams too, like becoming an astronaut.

Photo by Jerry Reynolds.