Yesterday, Miss Understood asked what would be my second choice profession if I were not a physician?
Some might think author/writer. I dunno. There was a time I might have said yes, but after I realized there were people who hate Harry Potter (Who can hate Harry Potter?!??!?), I was pretty sure I did not want to have my life’s work trampled about like that.
I made jewelry for a number of years. I like to think I was pretty good at it. But unless you are sleeping with Robert Redford and can get into his Sundance catalog, it is hard to make real money doing it without shameless self promotion. I am awful at self promotion. Plus, after a while people wanted me to do commissions. It is fun when I make what I want to make. It is work when I make what someone else wants me to make.
A teacher? I love to teach. In fact, I adore it, but ultimately I don’t want to work that hard…
Attorney? I like to argue so maybe. I also like to win. I like to win every damn time. I am afraid it would consume me in a bad way…
I joked that I would pick lottery winner but truthfully, I would make a crappy woman of leisure. Given a weekend and a couple of snow days and I stopped bathing. I puttzed around all day in PJs with no make-up. Stubble built up on my legs until I resembled a hedgehog. Hell, I don’t even remember if I changed my underwear. It was downright gastly.
Here it is, my secret heart’s desire…
I would dearly love to be a photographer/writer for National Geographic.
I would be skinny as hell from all of the parasites I picked up on assignments. I would wear a khaki vest with dozens of pockets and wield my giant telephoto lens like a club. I would make love to each country, taking my time to learn the people and lore and food. My long braid would reach halfway down my back and I would not have to wear make up. My face your be weathered (from my neglect of sunblock) but people who knew me would still call me beautiful. At times I would fear for my life. I would have had breathtaking love affairs in Morocco and Argentina and Istanbul (not necessarily with the same man), but would die young and alone, tragically in a hotel room in some obscure place. They would find me with a smile played out upon my cold, blue lips because I died richer than anyone ever realized…. I learned all of the world’s secrets and saw humanity at its worst but also at its best.