As the title indicates I am one lucky girl. I love my job. Not blogging- hard to believe this revolutionary (albeit sporadic) blog doesn't pay the bills, huh? The concept of loving one's job has been a hard sell for me. I spent a couple years after college at random retail jobs- working weekends, folding and refolding sweaters and being treated not so much like a person but as a means to an end. Oy. I don't miss it.
These days I am an elementary school teaching assistant- with hopes of starting grad school this fall to become a teacher. For now, I help kiddos with sounding out words, fractions, telling time and following directions without completely melting down.
I so love this job that regularly gets me sneezed on, coughed at and stepped on. I mediate bickering, attend to paper cuts and I wash crayon and glue out of dress pants. I wake up hours before Boyfriend and think about struggling students long after I'm home. I'm planning to take on student loans to pursue a career notorious for it's small paycheck.
But, when was the last time you walked into a room and several small but enthusiastic voices announced your arrival? Sure, they can't quite pronounce my last name, that's part of what makes it great. Random waist-high hugs are a regular thing in my line of work and in five short months I've become completely addicted to seeing that moment when a student "gets it".
It used to be when someone told me "I couldn't imagine doing anything else", I assumed they were exaggerating- they couldn't actually feel that way about their job. A job is something you tolerate in order to do the things you actually like. Apparently it doesn't have to be. Yes, I've been sure some days that my head would actually explode. Yes, I wrestle with the idea that I've chosen a stereotypically "female" career. Does that mean I can't be a feminist? Am I bowing to social pressure? Nope. I just really enjoy helping these small, messy people figure things out.
It may have taken me until almost 26 years old but I know what I want to be when I grow up.
These days I am an elementary school teaching assistant- with hopes of starting grad school this fall to become a teacher. For now, I help kiddos with sounding out words, fractions, telling time and following directions without completely melting down.
I so love this job that regularly gets me sneezed on, coughed at and stepped on. I mediate bickering, attend to paper cuts and I wash crayon and glue out of dress pants. I wake up hours before Boyfriend and think about struggling students long after I'm home. I'm planning to take on student loans to pursue a career notorious for it's small paycheck.
But, when was the last time you walked into a room and several small but enthusiastic voices announced your arrival? Sure, they can't quite pronounce my last name, that's part of what makes it great. Random waist-high hugs are a regular thing in my line of work and in five short months I've become completely addicted to seeing that moment when a student "gets it".
It used to be when someone told me "I couldn't imagine doing anything else", I assumed they were exaggerating- they couldn't actually feel that way about their job. A job is something you tolerate in order to do the things you actually like. Apparently it doesn't have to be. Yes, I've been sure some days that my head would actually explode. Yes, I wrestle with the idea that I've chosen a stereotypically "female" career. Does that mean I can't be a feminist? Am I bowing to social pressure? Nope. I just really enjoy helping these small, messy people figure things out.
It may have taken me until almost 26 years old but I know what I want to be when I grow up.
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