Do you remember BusyTown? Richard Scarry's overstimulating creation of a fantasy-land in which all creatures happily interacted throughout the day as they navigated the streets running errands. These errands were, it seemed, the bulk of their responsibilities in their chosen profession. Well, wait, not 'chosen'. No, because it seemed obvious from the clearly marked labels and their perma-grins that their profession was not chosen by them, but by a higher authority. If you were born a dachshund, then you were a painter. If you were born a beaver, then you were a book printer, of course.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Mr. Richard Scarry, I blame you. Your delightfully illustrated books entranced me and as a result I believed wholeheartedly that there was a profession out there that would just choose me. Eventually I would stumble across it and my mouth would stretch into a life-long expression of contentment and satisfaction; I would finally be found by my true calling.
But, it's not that easy. I'm on a strange and winding path and there are too many forks and bends ahead to know where I'll end up, or if I'll ever even 'end up' anywhere. I guess the thing to do is to recalibrate my expectations. I do not need to find 'my calling', but I do need to set some standards for myself, some basic requirements.
So, here's one:
And another, please?
That'll do for now. Don't want to be greedy.