When I grow up...

When you're a kid, everybody asks you what you want to be when you grow up. Fireman, astronaut, princess, - they rank high on plenty of kids lists, I'm sure. But I never really wanted any of those things. Sure, I liked the idea of being a hero, or of having people running around having to do exactly what I, beautiful beyond belief, wanted them to. But my aim never seemed to be as fantastical as all of that. For a long time, I wanted to be an author. This was back in the days when I actually finished the stories I started (although, based on evidence found in several exercise books buried deep in cupboards when helping my parents move from the family home this month, I clearly didn't finish them all then, either). Of course, those stories ran to 10 pages of illustrated drama - my all time favourite is titled "Murder in the Dark", written at age 10, and featuring dripping knives, things that go bang, and finishing with an arrest after the gruesome death scene - but hey, for a kid, they were master pieces. I was convinced that I would be published.

Once I'd given up on that dream, or at least pushed it further back in my mind, I wanted to be in the Air Force. Blame it on being made to watch The Right Stuff and Top Gun too many times, but I wanted to be a fighter pilot. I had visions of me flying all over the world, doing aerobatics, being an ace like the ones I saw in movies. Reality put paid to that dream when I got to about 16. As an unfit, lazy female, there was no way I was ever going to be put in charge of several million dollars worth of fighter plane. If I was lucky, they'd let me fly a cargo plane; women didn't get to do combat operations. And thank god for that, is all I can say, because the thought now of being in that situation is enough to scare the pants off me.

I think the last dream I had was to be a journalist; yes, the shy kid in the corner who has barely met a deadline in her life and certainly never voluntarily asked a question, you'd make a fine member of the press. One of my class mates did follow this road, into TV news. The other day I saw her interviewing the former deputy principal of my school and having to criticise her; it must have been a kind of bittersweet moment for both.

Notice, though, when asked what you want to be, it's always a job. No kid ever says they want to grow up to be kind, or funny, or anything that involves a personality trait. Maybe I'm noticing this because I'm evaluating what I want to be when I finally finish growing up - because 30 clearly isn't grown up enough. What will I end up being? I'm yet to settle on a dream that fits, but I don't want to resign myself to the idea that I will never find myself somewhere that is truly and completely me. Yes, I enjoy my current job most of the time. I could do without the whinging of a colleague, without the stupidity of people, but as far as jobs go, it's not bad. Somewhere in London, L is picking herself up off the floor at me saying that a job isn't bad. But I conceded long ago that work is a necessity; it just could be more...me.

So the search continues. My recent run-in with writing a thesis has put academia firmly out of my head. I've tried architecture and interior design with some success, but little joy. So the question remains; when I grow up, what will I be? If I figure it out, I'll let you know...