Well, whoop-de-doo, here I go again, changing careers.
Childcare just wasn’t right for me. It was partly the fact that some of the children started hitting and kicking me when they were woken up, as gently as possible, from their nap time, and partly because I got rather tired of speaking at a “child’s level”, in a “baby” voice to the children all the time, and mostly because I just realised it wasn’t what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. So, while I’m searching for a new job, I will keep working at this job, a job that is not ideal. I spoke with a psychologist and occupational therapist, and together, they will be helping me find a new job. That’s the plan.
Unfortunately, it’s not so easy as that: my mother has threatened to kick me out of the house if I dare to quit, and there is the small matter of my needing the money that comes from having a job, in order to pay the rent and buy other things like food. So I’ll have to try and convince my mother that changing a job will be for the best, that it will be a change for the better, not the worse, and that continuing to work in childcare would result in a mental breakdown, if not worse. I have been through my share of careers—if you count writing, I have worked in a total of five different industries and am only 20 years old. I have worked at a fish shop—in other words, in the retail industry—in the tutoring industry, teaching 5-6 year olds English, in age care, and in childcare, which, considering I am someone who has social anxiety and a host of other neuroses, not a bad achievement. Most people my age are still in university, and haven’t even worked in a single industry, let alone five, although I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything; really, I’m just trying to make myself feel better about the fact that my life seems to entirely lack direction and purpose.
As for what career I shall choose next, well, the world is my oyster. Time and time again, something within me calls to be a writer. I know I’m not the best writer around, but I have finished a couple of books—by which I mean I’ve written a couple of books—so I was thinking something that involves writing would be a good fit for me. I mean, so far, none of my books have been published, but that’s just something that will take some time. Again, I’m not the best writer, but writing is one of the few skills I do have, and to translate that into a job wouldn’t be too bad. I would love to be a counsellor for people, such as schoolkids, but one that uses the written word to counsel children, writing letters back to their letters, providing words of wisdom and advice, or maybe a copywriter, or even a journalist, although journalism is a little too social and fast-paced for me. Either way, I do believe I have a lot of potential—I’m no dunce—and can make it far in life, as long as I put my mind to it.
If there’s anything you can take from my experience, it’s that there’s nothing wrong with trying many things until you find the right “thing” for you, whether that is the right job, partner, friends, or anything, really. There’s no harm in trying. This year, for instance, was the first year I tried dating, and while my experience with two gentlemen was less than stellar and didn’t lead to actual relationships, at least I tried it and gave it a go. The art of giving a go is to have the courage to leap into the unknown, without being aware of what is going to come next. Giving something “a go” is good, not a bad thing. It is better to try something and realise you don’t like it, than to never try it at all. Meanwhile, as a small update, publication is still something which eludes my grasp, and may forever do so. In the meantime, I plan on working hard at a job I dislike while I wait for another one to appear, living my life, writing and dreaming, living and loving—-and giving it a go.