Alternative careers

I read an article in the Irish Times today, about the alternative career choices that some of their readers might have made. It made me think about all the different ideas I had during my youth, for my perfect job. Between the ages of about 8 and 11 I wanted to join the Royal Navy, just like my dad. I used to write to the Royal Naval Careers Office at least once a year and pore over the brochures they sent me. It seemed such an exciting career choice, although it was slightly disappointing to read that I would not be allowed on board a ship. My father, strangely enough, was not impressed with my ambition. ‘Women have no place in the navy; the only ones who join up are lesbians!’ he would say whenever I raised the subject. I had no idea what a lesbian was in those days, but he made them sound rather threatening. No doubt he was threatened by the idea of them, being an old-fashioned Irish man.

When I was at a convent boarding school run by the Sisters of Absolutely No Mercy I worried about whether I should become a nun. The nuns would often talk about their “calling” and how they could not ignore it; and neither should we, they would add menacingly. I must have had a thing about uniforms, because I was fascinated by their long black habits, and the cherry wood rosary beads they used to hang from their leather belts. However, I thought there was something rather sinister about these brides of Christ and I did not want to join them. I was already an insomniac at this stage, and the idea that I might hear some heavenly voice telling me to become a nun, was almost too much to bear. Thankfully I never heard any such voices, which is just as well; I am not the perfect nun material – being an atheist an all.

The school careers advisor suggested that because I was good at maths (I so am not!) that I should perhaps become a bookkeeper or maybe get a job in Woolworths. What was it about careers advisors during the 1970’s? Seriously, what a waste of money they were giving out useless advice based on their five minute assessment of a child’s ability. I don’t know a single person who was inspired to take up an interesting career based on the suggestion of a career advisor.

Anyway, a year or so later I decided that perhaps I should join the police force instead. However, by the age of 18 I still had not grown tall enough, and this was in the days before they changed the rules. Furious with my parents for not passing on the tall genes to me, my brothers are all over 6ft, I briefly considered nursing. By now I was working in the local hospital and the nurses seemed to live far more glamorous lives than I did. Part of my job involved printing up all the training notes for the School of Nursing, so I would stand by the Gestetner offset printer (how I hated that machine) and read all the instructions for giving lumbar punctures and inserting IV drips. When my knees went weak and I thought I might pass out after looking at the black and white images of various bodily organs, I realised I did not have the stomach for such a career.

I carried on working in an office for the next three decades, although not once had I made a conscious effort to do so. It just kind of happened, and all during those years I would continue to think about what my dream job would be. I hardly ever gave serious thought to being a writer even though my head was permanently full of stories and ideas. I think it was because I always thought that you had to be very clever and seriously well educated to become a writer. If I ever made a mistake with my grammar when writing a business report or letter (and who doesn’t sometimes?) it would reinforce my idea that I wasn’t good enough.

It has taken many years to realise that I am actually quite clever, and now I have the education to match. My head is still full of stories and fictional characters that one day I hope to see on the printed page. Writing is the only occupation I currently have, and perhaps I will never earn a penny from it, but I will always have other skills to fall back on if that is the case. My only disappointment is that I don’t have a uniform.

Still feeling slightly guilty for not making a financial contribution to the household I discussed with the husband the possibility of retraining for a career in social care. I had pondered this idea after reading an article on recession proof careers, and sure isn't the world already full of secretaries, project managers and internal auditors already, which is why my current CV seems to be unappreciated. However, the husband said that was a ridiculous idea, I would make a dreadful carer (Cheers, thanks Honey!)and that I should concentrate on doing what I enjoyed and what I am best at. I should make more effort to get my novel published and work on my new projects and finish my MA.

Still smarting at the idea that I would make a dreadful carer (although it's probably true) I missed out on the fact that he was paying me a compliment, and possibly the best compliment I have ever had. For the truth is, he actually believes in me, and that is something I have never had before.