Up until my upperclassman years in high school, I did not give all that much thought what kind of career I wanted; I don’t believe that this uncertainty is very uncommon. Most children don’t spend any portion of their time contemplating their future; at least, they don’t put much thought into it on a practical level. If children think about their future careers at all, those hypothetical careers are invariably rooted more in childish fantasy than realistic expectation. When I did bother to give thought to just what I wanted to do with my life, my ideal was relatively humble, but not wholly realistic. I wanted to be a professional writer, and as a matter of fact, I still do. But I’d like to teach, too; at the very least, it will provide some semblance of stability.

That’s not to say that I think of teaching as a fallback plan; since I was around sixteen or seventeen, I have wanted to teach – high school in particular. I’m not particularly comfortable with younger children, and I don’t trust myself to put forth the patience and specific talents required of an elementary or preschool teacher. I don’t like small children, and I don’t want to work with them. But I like teenagers, I like teaching, and I like the thought of putting my skills to good use. It’s not a career in professional writing, but that doesn’t mean it’s not ideal.

My ideal job position isn’t lofty or elaborate. My ideal career is being able to teach, and teach well. I want to prepare students for college and the real world that comes after college without discouraging their dreams in the process. I want them to have realistic expectations, but I want them to be happy, too. If one of my students wants to be a writer, I am going to encourage them. My high school teachers encouraged me to pursue what made me happy, and the least I can do is pass that on to someone else.