Apparently, I Need to Figure Out What I Want to Be When I Grow Up
I’m 52 years old and apparently I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
Which feels a little late.
But here we are.
The move to Tennessee is almost here, 8 more days.
I quit my job.
I’m leaving the career that pretty much took over my entire life for nine years.
And now there’s this one little question I probably should figure out:
What the hell do I want to do next?
Do I want to go right back into the same rat race?
Another important title.
Another job where I’m answering emails at ridiculous hours.
Another place where I convince myself that everything will completely fall apart if I’m not there to fix it?
I already tried that.
I was really good at it.
Maybe a little too good at it.
So perhaps it's time to explore some other options.
OPTION #1: PROFESSIONAL DOOR GREETER
Hear me out.
I’m moving to Tennessee and I need friends.
What better way to jump-start my social life than standing at the entrance of a store talking to complete strangers all day?
“Welcome!”
“Have a great day!”
“Oh, I love your purse.”
“Where did you get those shoes?”
Three weeks later, I’ve made 47 friends and somehow know everybody's family problems.
Actually...
This might be the most realistic career option on this list.
OPTION #2: DOCTOR
My kids have told me many times that I seem to think I’m a doctor.
Unfortunately, I did a little research and apparently you need something called a medical degree.
Seems excessive.
Especially since my daughter bought me prescription pads for Christmas.
I thought I was already halfway there.
Turns out they're just note pads.
So that's disappointing.
OPTION #3: PROFESSIONAL SINGER
Anyone who has witnessed my karaoke performances knows I have experience.
Talent may be debatable.
I've been told I sing out of tune.
I prefer to believe that not everyone appreciates my particular musical style.
That's okay.
Taylor Swift probably has critics too.
OPTION #4: PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR
Now THIS one has potential.
Because I notice things.
Someone says something.
Something else happens three hours later.
My brain immediately goes:
Wait a minute...
Then I start connecting dots that nobody asked me to connect.
One plus one equals two.
Except sometimes I have absolutely no evidence that either number was actually a one.
But give me enough time and I'll have a complete theory, timeline, motive, and possibly a suspect.
I don't even need to be involved.
Actually, it's better when I'm not involved.
I can just sit quietly on the sidelines thinking:
I KNEW IT!
Remmie can be my partner.
He already has excellent surveillance skills.
He watches the neighborhood.
Investigates suspicious noises.
Sniffs evidence.
And remains deeply committed to solving The Case of the Daily Abandoned Banana.
Honestly, we may have found our calling.
OPTION #5: CATERER
I have enough wine glasses and silverware to cater a small wedding.
We have established this during the packing process.
Four boxes and counting.
FRAGILE — WINE GLASSES.
So equipment-wise, I'm basically ready.
There's just one minor problem.
I hate cooking.
I can cook.
I just don't want to.
Maybe I could cater events where I provide the wine glasses and somebody else provides literally everything else.
I'm still working out the business model.
OR MAYBE...
Maybe I don't need to know yet.
That's something I'm slowly learning about this whole starting-over-at-52 thing.
For most of my adult life, I thought I was supposed to have a plan.
A career.
A title.
A salary goal.
The next promotion.
The next thing I was supposed to accomplish.
And I did all of that.
Then one day I looked around and realized the career I'd worked so hard to build had somehow become my entire life.
I don't want to do that again.
I want a job.
I want to make money.
I want to be successful.
But I also want to come home and still have enough of myself left to have a life.
Maybe I'll find another management position.
Maybe I'll work remotely.
Maybe I'll start a consulting business.
Maybe I'll build that app idea I've been thinking about.
Maybe I'll stand at the front of a store in Tennessee saying hello to strangers until half of Knoxville knows my life story.
And maybe I don't have to decide today.
That's kind of the point of this whole project, isn't it?
I'm not moving to Tennessee because I figured everything out.
I'm moving because I finally realized I don't have to.
I'm allowed to try something.
I'm allowed to change my mind.
I'm allowed to discover that I'm terrible at something.
And apparently I'm allowed to still be asking what I want to be when I grow up at 52.
Although I'm eliminating doctor.
Apparently they're pretty strict about that medical-degree thing.
Private investigator is still on the table.
Nobody give me a magnifying glass.
And if you happen to see Remmie and me hiding behind a bush in Knoxville...
Mind your business.
We're working a case.