I didn’t want my first proper blog to be about work, but sometimes life doesn’t turn out how you plan, which is sort of what this blog is about. Stupid, annoying irony!
I’m 31 years of age and I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up. When I was actually growing up I wanted to be a shopkeeper, so I could eat all the strawberry jam; a doctor, choosing biology and chemistry for the Leaving to assist; a psychologist, but my uncle convinced me there was no money in it; a teacher.
After two years (both first year mind) studying French and Irish, the teaching idea long forgotten, I changed course and decided on a degree in Business Studies.
During college I got a part time job, as you do, which involved telephones, typing, numbing of mind, having a laugh, going to the pub and generally flittering away my brain cells and whatever I was paid for my 16 hours a week.
Then suddenly, college was over and I was going to have to get a real job. I figured September or October would be a good time to start looking, being the start of the year and all. By December I had a job, in a real company, earning real money, which involved telephones, typing, numbing of mind and well you can see where this is going.
Luckily after two and a half years, and during Celtic Tiger years I did consider it lucky, I was made redundant. So I escaped a job that gave me some of the best friends I’ve ever made, but little else. Times were good, jobs were plentiful and I tested the water a bit with a job in recruitment before landing back in Financial Services.
Some five years later, here I am, still. I've moved offices, changed roles, but after a few months it's the same thing. I described it best, to a friend a few months ago, by saying ‘I’m not a suit, in here’, while holding my hand to my heart.
I’m 31 years of age and I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up. I dream of a lotto win or some miraculous end to this recession. Or even an idea?