I was never going to be a teacher. Goodness, no.
And then I became a teacher.
I was never, ever going to be a principal. The very thought!
And then I became a principal.
Life happens, decisions are made, paths are followed, doors are closed and windows are opened. It’s the way things work.
In K-12 education, we have been undergoing a big push for student voice and agency, and there is a parallel push for students to be exposed to various careers and pathways. These are, of course, good things.
But over and over again, I hear people tell me they aren’t doing what they thought they’d be doing. Many aren’t even in the same ballpark. I’m one of those people. In third grade, we were given an aptitude test and the results told me I should be a librarian. Perhaps because I had responded— multiple times, probably— that I liked books—?
Turns out that in becoming myself, it is evident to anyone who knows me that I would be a terrible librarian. I’m too addicted to adrenaline and action and animated conversation and noise and problems. Not to mention that my adoration of books has turned out to be more fluid than when it was when I was younger— it comes and goes, mostly in direct correlation to distractions from all the other things I adore.
It’s wild how many years I spent thinking maybe I should be a librarian.
Instead, I’ve had the following jobs, in roughly this order:
A strawberry picker. A hay baler. A babysitter. A hostess at Hawkins Cafeteria. A cow milker. A waitress at The Grainery. An assistant to a public relations officer at Allegheny College. A play-by-play typist for an athletic director. A waitress at Red Lobster. A caterer’s assistant. An editor of a textbook for a professor at The University of Akron. A bartender at Applebee’s. A manager’s assistant at Applebee’s. A drywall stippler. A volunteer at a special needs hospital in Bad Honnef, Germany. A volunteer liaison for a cleanup crew on the Presidio in San Francisco. A cross country coach. An editor of a textbook for a professor at Ashland University. A seventh grade English teacher. A basketball coach. A track coach. A summer extern at Wendy’s International. A nanny. An assistant principal. A principal. An adjunct professor. A deputy superintendent. An educational consultant.
There are jobs I thought I wanted and didn’t get, too. As a teen, I applied to work at the Sweet Shoppe, but did not get a call back. After college, I applied to be an insurance agent's assistant and did not get an interview. I applied to the Peace Corps but ignored the follow-up paperwork they sent. I considered being a postal worker but then rescinded my application. A few years back, I applied to be a Director of Domestic Engagement at an education firm but didn’t get an email response. All of which is okay— doors open, doors don’t open. Paths get muddy and weird. They change.
Now, today, I love what I do, and I’ve (mostly) loved everything I’ve done.
But if I’d’a listened to my aptitude test, I would have been a librarian. And I wouldn’t have have loved that. At all.
This summer, I was at a conference and saw a group of students provide an opening ensemble for attendees. One of the performers ended up sitting next to me after the performance. We chatted awhile, and the conversation turned to her future plans. “Everyone thinks I should go to school to be an opera singer,” she said.
“Is that what you want?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I know I have a good voice. A ‘gorgeous’ voice, as my choir teacher says. But I don’t feel all that blown away by having it, you know? It’s a gift I’ve been given, yes. I appreciate it, yes. But I don’t want to feel obligated to use it for my life’s work.” She looked at me, and her eyes revealed a desperation to be understood. “People tell me it would be a waste if I don’t sing for a living. But it doesn’t feel like a waste since I didn’t do anything to get this voice. It just… came. With me. Like a feature on a car or something. Does that make sense?”
Of course it did.
“It feels like I’ve been put in a box, though,” she said. “The singing box.”
“What else have you considered?” I asked.
She shrugged again. “A vet. A pediatrician. A nurse, maybe? Or I have thought about horticulture. And turf management. And I want to be a Mom, too. Like, a Mom whose work is in the home. So, yeah,” she laughed. “A lot of things. I have so many ideas. And none of them involve my voice. I don’t get excited at the thought of standing at a microphone and singing for the rest of my life.”
Her clear-eyed recognition— of her gift, her dreams, and their lack of intersection— was astonishing.
I leaned over and touched her arm. “Sweet girl,” I said. “Please don’t stay in any box. Make your own box.” I was surprised to feel my eyes getting misty.
She smiled the most lovely, grateful, gorgeous smile.
While we do the important work of “preparing students for the 21st century,” let’s not forget that there is rarely, if ever, a straight path forward. It’s quite the opposite, actually; it’s curvy and circuitous and unpredictable. Let’s not suggest to students that they need to know, and let’s certainly not tell them what they should do. They aren’t even nearly cooked yet. They have time. They can find and use their gorgeous voices in splendid and unique ways.
Let’s stay curious—
Jen
P.S. As always, there is no AI used in this newsletter. It’s 100% human generated. And I’m the human.