What's Your Dream Job

Last night, when Jen and I were sitting at Frog and Peach (OK, real name is Fox and Hound. I like our name better) having our customary post work adult bev, she asked me “what’s your dream job.”

Now, there’s 2 ways, at least, to answer this.

A) What would be your dream job if, in this real world we live in, you could afford to go back to school for classes/training AND you didn’t necessarily need to worry about making X amount of spondoolies in order to pay the mortgage?

B)  In the magical universe of dreams, what would you like to get paid to do?

Being the pragmatic, reality prone child (OK, ‘old broad’) that I am, my first response was to the A type query AND the answer was immediate. I’d want to teach art to kids -- any age but I’d be pretty keen on teaching the 10-12 range. It’s an age when kids are standing on tippy toes peering into the window of adulthood. It’s when natural talent begins to creep into sunlight. It’s before the elephantine weight of teen hormones crush creativity. Or so I’m imagining.

Perhaps some of this inspiration is because I had miserable, spectacularly crappy art and music teachers in junior and senior high school. They were soul stealing, spirit trashing, creativity enervating, joy crushers -- molto shocking since they were charged, lucky enough to be teaching subjects which, for me anyway, were the very essence of ecstasy. Every last one of these joy assassins should have received a giant slap with a 3 day dead, cold, stinky monk fish and then been forced to go for career retraining as Wal-Mart Greeters.

The teachers I happily remember, who I enjoyed and learned so much from were my 8th grade math teacher (I thought I hated math until Miss Ober’s class), 11th grade geography (thank you Mr. Malacarne!), Ms. Hutton (senior year English), Mr. Ruddock (Geometry) and Mr. Grove (10th grade Astronomy and Aviation/Aerospace). I’m sure I’m forgetting someone but these are the teachers, from an otherwise unbearable time, who inspired and encouraged me.

The point though, one of them anyway -- these were NOT my art or music teachers.

I wonder if I could manage teaching, now that I’m deaf (I’m no longer fluent in spoken English and not yet so in ASL -- I’m between languages, so to speak). I’ll bet I could though -- I’m all smart and crafty. I could find a way.

My response to the B version of the question will probably come as no surprise to anyone. I’d love to be able to support myself through my painting, sculpting and writing. NOT through creating an object, story or painting that’s been dictated and supervised by someone else though. That is, I don’t want to be a grant writer, a portrait painter or a production potter. I want to do what moves me, what fills me with joy and get paid big, mega Benjamins for it. And I don’t want to have to market my work, manage my sales or do anything beyond play in the mud, paint and glorious words.

Yeah, I want to be discovered, like Lana Turner at the Top Hat Cafe and lead a golden Johnny Stompanato free life.

What’s your dream job? Do you already have it?