Can you still have a dream job when you’re over 40? I don’t know. But I’m going to play at answering this question anyway.
In my younger days I had that all too common dream of becoming an actor or singer, but as it turns out, that requires talent and looks, of which I have neither.
When I was in junior high I had two dream jobs. I either wanted to be a meteorologist studying tornadoes or a shark biologist. What can I say? I prefer my science when it wants to kill me. Should be obvious that neither of those plans worked out, though I’m still fascinated by both fields.
By high school, I’d changed my mind yet again. I knew for sure that I wanted to be a writer. And in the three attempts at community college, I changed my mind the same number of times. Just another manifestation of my commitment issues.
I suppose you could say that my dream job is elusive. Or at least achieving it is.
Now that I’m middle-aged, I kinda haven’t given up on that whole dream job thing. I still want to find something that thrills me and I get paid well to do it. But instead of knowing what exactly that job is, I know more about what I don’t want it to be like.
It’s not customer service. Definitely not. It’s not working with coworkers that drain me, that are unreliable, that have agendas. Ideally, it’s something that limits my time in a bra and/or real pants. I mean, it is a dream job. I should ask for what a really want.
I want my dream job to be writing. I’ve dedicated years to it without much success, but it’s still very much my heart’s desire in many ways. But the difficulty I’ve had doing it in the last few years has led me to doubt it as my life’s calling. And that’s led me to an existential crisis of sorts because if it’s not my dream job, then what is? I know I’m still a writer, even if it’s not working out the way I planned and things are hard right now. Writing is a part of me whether it’s writing fiction like I want to do or blogging or even journaling. But if it’s not my dream job like I’ve wanted it to be, then what is?
Lately, I’ve really found some joy in podcasting. And not just Book’ em, Danno, either. I really enjoy doing episodes of the library podcast, particularly the history episodes. I like doing the research and writing the script along with the recording and editing. There is a lot of writing involved, even if it’s not my true love of fiction writing.
All of this thinking has led me to one solid conclusion about my dream job. I might not know what it is for sure, but I know what it feels like.
It feels like that sweet spot I hit when I get lost in what I’m writing, when I’m so in the groove that I lose myself in the words. It feels like that rush when the rabbit hole I head down during my research leads me to something new and brings that podcast script together perfectly. It feels like that buzz I get when I’m recording and the observations and jokes are flowing naturally. That’s what it feels like. It feels like I’m surfacing after being underwater for a while, coming out of a dream state and back into reality when I’m done.
That’s what my dream job is.
Also it pays super well.
Yes to all of this. I spent years assuming I didn’t have a dream job, because I lived and breathed theatre, which generally doesn’t pay, and when it pays seldom provides benefits. So I worked day jobs for those things and did theatre in my spare time. Probably not coincidentally, when I finally burned out hard from theatre (after finally getting paid for it), I found a job I didn’t really know existed, producing commercials at a TV station. It utilizes all the skills I developed in theatre, pays modestly well, gives me insurance and has the added benefit of making me feel like I’m on the Mary Tyler Moore show. I was about 44 when I found this job. It won’t make me rich, but it makes me happy – happy enough to continue doing theatre occasionally.
This is kind of where I’m at. Trying to figure out how to channel the skills I’ve developed from the things I love to do into a paying gig. I shall continue to search and hopefully stumble upon my heart’s desire.
Also, I now picture you being the Murray Slaughter to someone else’s Ted Baxter.
I’m honored by the comparison, and THERE IS DEFINITELY A TED BAXTER.
Gah… I just want to write and drink coffee.
This sounds pretty ideal.