I have been contemplating, belly-aching, insomniaching, various other -ings, etc. over the career path question for years. Although everyone loves to pull out the stat that most of us will change jobs on average 7 times in the course of our working lives, the hackneyed and supposedly comforting mantra does nothing to quell my anxiety.

Little girl dreams began with the typical “I want to be a doctor”, followed by a passionate stint in fashion design (my first full length four season fashion book was created at the tender age of 10). A burdgeoning interest in composing and piano performance was slaughtered by the constant reminder from my mother that very few make careers out of musicianship. What she really meant was that my talent was mediocre. And out comes the most despised word- that P word- *shudders of revulsion*- PRACTICAL. Parental voices everywhere, united, uttering that blasphemous, dream killing phrase to their hopeful offspring- “yes, but is that P-R-A-C-T-I-C-A-L?” I can hear the thunderous clatter of dream bubbles bursting in middle-class homes populated with impressionable teenagers nationwide.

I heard my own bubble burst each time I would play something of my own on the piano and my mother would say “that doesn’t sound like Chopin!” Granted, I was usually working towards a music festival or Royal Conservatory exam of some sort, but why did my musings have to be aborted so quickly? My father, when graced by his rare, and not-always welcome presence, would usually ask “what is that? It sounds great”. He may have not been much of a father, but he at least was able to instill some kind of sense of pride in me.

Not only was I encouraged to abandon my musical aspirations, but my creative writing, and sketching aptitudes as well. My mother was not the only pin pricker: counsellors at my highschool seemed to be instructed to gently (sometimes not so gently) steer their flock towards a sensible and respectable career path in that catch-all field of SCIENCE. There’s another word I despise. Somehow, careers in science are viewed as the epitome of respectful and PRACTICAL academic paths. Although I did enjoy and excel in biology, physics and chemistry classes, they seemed more like a means to an end to keep my options open for University applications. I remember musing out loud to my counsellor about the possibility of attending an art college. She shook her head, exasperated, and pointed out that I could do art “on the side”.

“On the side” really means, “when you retire”. When you retire, you can paint fruit still lifes, and join the local flower arrangement club to explore your “creative side”. When you retire, you can go back to playing piano, relearn all those pieces you had once mastered as a nimble teen, and arthritically try to regain the proper playing speed while maintaining shaky melodic phrasing. When you retire, you can start writing again- at this point, you may want to confine your musings to occasional letters to the editor with cutesy anecdotes. Scientists do not learn how to write- they learn how to analyze data. “On the side” means don’t quit your day job, and make sure your day job is separate from what you do “on the side”.

For a grade nine science class, I handed in a meticulously researched project on schizophrenia, which spurred an interest in psychology. I eventually specialized in psychology at the University of Toronto, and now have a respectable Honours Bachelor of SCIENCE with a not so spectacular GPA, which has barred me entrance from graduate programs. During those four years of formalizing post secondary education, my expectation of achieving excellent grades slipped down to good, and then finally settled into a barely above sea level plateau between average and good. I can’t say that the air was easy to breathe down there. I kept up the artistic hodge podge “on the side” in first year, but my abilities in music, writing and drawing all suffered from that point forward.

All this incoherent ranting to say “choosing” career paths suck - I feel like it is rare that you choose your path, rather it chooses you, based on aptitude, motivation, and opportunity. My aptitude has seemingly declined over the years, my motivation is non-existent and I have only encountered closed doors in terms of opportunity, or could not palate whatever it was that the silver spoon was holding. Perhaps I am simply career-intolerant.

- Zoe Sasha (2006)

I wrote this blog post four years ago, and not much has changed except that I recognize it is up to me to put in the work to get to where I want to be - neither my mother nor my school counselor are at fault for giving me advice that is actually quite good and reasonable. It is my fault for listening.