by Hannah Wolf

THE FIRST TIME I…

discovered what I wanted to be when I grew up, I was five years old and at a local park. My grandma was pushing me on the swing, and that’s when it hit me. Literally, I was swinging so high I hit a tree branch. But what hit me was the idea that my grandma had the ultimate job at that moment. A swing pusher.

I had my whole life planned out. I was going to spend my life down the street at Arno Park, pushing kids on the swing all day. I was going to charge each swinger $5 per swing, and definitely accept tips; plenty of money to make a living off of. I was going to live at home, a whole 7 houses away from the park, and bring my own picnic basket for lunch every day. Throw in a game of tag or two and this is any kid’s dream. My five-year-old self wanted to love the job I had when I was older, and there was nothing I loved more than swinging. It was perfect.

My world went crashing down when I told my parents my whole plan. Guessing from their laughs, I realized this plan of mine wasn’t going to work. I couldn’t grow up to be a professional swing pusher; there would eventually come a time that my arms would get sore and I would grow annoyed of kids yelling “higher! higher!” And maybe I didn’t like the thought of living at home with my parents for the rest of my life.

So I moved on to more typical Kindergarten aspirations. An astronaut when we were studying the solar system, or a mail-woman when we were practicing how to write and mail letters. Maybe even a hair dresser when I helped cut my friend’s bangs under the table.

Then one day in middle school we had career day. There were no professional swing pushers, astronauts, or celebrities. It was just a bunch of moms and dads, doctors and lawyers, teachers and accountants, real estate agents and secretaries, engineers and architects. I started to realize all my past aspirations were impractical. I thought I was going to be one of the people in this room when I was older, so why not give it a stab.

So I went to the nurse’s table and stabbed an orange with a needle. “The quicker, the better,” she told me. I was officially freaked out by nurses. To this day, I still cry whenever a nurse gives me a shot in the arm. Do they think the same thing when they’re about to prick me? The quicker, the better? No, that flu shot still hurts regardless of how fast you do it. What an evil profession.

Despite this rough beginning with nurses, I now think this is what I want to be when I grow up. Don’t freak out, I won’t ever picture an orange when trying to give someone a shot one day in a hospital. And even if I get light headed and nauseous while dissecting a rat in anatomy class, don’t worry. I believe I’ll fare much better when working with people than rodents.

Now I don’t just have my parents asking me what I want to be when I grow up. My kindergarten teacher or a parent at career day could care less. I now have 5 college applications asking me to declare what I want to major in. This decision carries way more weight than the “career interest” drop down menu gives it justice. Choosing what I want to be now actually matters; there’s no going back now. And although “professional swing pusher” doesn’t show up as an option, I’ve now discovered what I want to be when I grow up.