// January 24th, 2006 // 1 Comment » // Life
I can’t say I’m among those who “do what they love”. I can imagine doing other things, few which pay well or can be accomplished without absurd sacrifice, precision timing, or dumb luck — so I don’t seriously consider them. Not now anyway.
Until I was 8, career planning meant deciding whether I should play quarterback or free safety for the Dallas Cowboys. Quarterbacks got all the glory, but my blinding speed and the simple thrill of intercepting passes drew me to the backfield. In either case, a star was going on my helmet in a few short years.
Around age 8 my dreams shifted skyward. Becoming an jet fighter pilot in the Air Force was my new destiny. Thereafter I thought of little else. My spare time was consumed with books on military planes — my favorite, the ominously titled “Aircraft of World War III” (ISBN 0861241053). I lived for trips to the Army/Navy store, aircraft museums, air shows, and the militaria catalogs I sent off for.
Around age 14 I switched directions from the Air Force to the Marines, in part to carry on the long family bloodline of Jarheads. The Naval Academy exceeded the reach of my GPA. Thankfully, Aggieland greeted me with open arms.
In college I changed majors 7 times, finally departing with a degree in Sociology — the preeminent pathway to untold riches. Graduate work in Urban Planning and even short stints in both English and Educational Administration rounded out my long and fruitless search for career nirvana. Somewhere in those six odd years the fighter pilot dreams faded as well.
Ultimately eight weeks of intensive Oracle database training landed me my first technology job. I’ve never looked back. But often I look ahead wondering if my life’s work will take me other places.
Paul Graham’s essay “How To Do What You Love” sparked a retracing of the path that’s led me here.
I always felt like I should know what I want to do, even in high school. It seemed so critical to have “a direction” (or so they said). The childhood certainty I once had has long since vanished. Even still, inexplicably, today I have more faith than ever that the “thing I love to do” will find me, or I it, sooner than later.
Read more at How To Do What You Love.