Career Inventory

I did one of those quizzes on Facebook where you answer seven or eight questions and determine what Star Wars character or Muppet you are, or where you really ought to live. This one was “What Career Should You Actually Have?”

I got writer.

So I figured I’d better get back to the ole blog.

I don’t usually do those quizzes. I don’t need to know what city I should be living in, because I live here, in Atlanta. I have planted tomato plants in a new garden space right outside the kitchen window, and I’m not going anywhere until I get some big fat tomatoes. I can already taste the tomato sandwiches on homemade bread. No, I’ll be staying right here, at least until mid-July.

And I don’t want to find out that I’m Princess Leia or a Muppet. I spent most of my late teens believing I could have done a MUCH better job than Carrie Fischer, thank you very much, so let’s not open old wounds. (Love Carrie Fischer now, by the way, but at seventeen I had an imaginary film career to defend.) And the Muppets? In my heart, I am all of them.

But that silly quiz about the ideal job snagged me. I clicked on the link and answered a short list of questions about what matters more in an office environment (“Coffee maker or co-workers?”) and how I relate to a boss (“I have no boss”). A few more clicks of the mouse, and voila!


So here I am, at the keyboard, periodically glancing out the window to see how my tomato plants are doing. I’m not about to embark on a writing career (she said, with false conviction), but I do love to write. I’ll hand it to the folks who do this for a living: it’s hard, it’s lonely, and when your work is staring you in the face and refusing to cooperate, it’s damn frustrating.

But it’s a privilege to put words on a page, physical or virtual, and send them into the world. The internet has granted me that privilege (along with endless distractions to lure me away from the task of actually writing.) I accept the gift.

Why not? I know what my real ideal job is, and I’m not doing it right now. Might as well join the ranks of those who put metaphorical pen to paper and stir the imagination with their words.

Yeah, I’ll do that. Right after I water the garden.

Be right back . . . .

Saint Francis keeping watch over the pansies and marigolds.  The tomato plants are behind the stump.

Saint Francis keeping watch over the pansies and marigolds. The tomato plants are behind the stump.

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