One day several years ago I was sitting at Edmondson Park talking while our kids played. I told her how I’d gone back to college to get a journalism degree, and how I hoped to get a job working with a newspaper.
Oh, no, this woman said. I was far too mild-mannered to succeed in journalism. What I needed was a less stressful job. I should work for a nice place like Group Publishing instead.
Obviously this woman wasn’t aware I’m not a big fan of Christian publishing. Or that I’ve never desired for my coworkers, or even my friends, to be exclusively Christians.
I pointed out to her I’d heard a past editor of the Loveland Report-Herald speak at a public relations event. He, too, was a soft-spoken, mild-mannered person.
Oh, no, she insisted. Her second cousin twice removed went into journalism and it was awful. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. Maybe it was her brother-in-law.
I was angry, though, mild-mannered person that I am, I bit my tongue rather than lash out at her for what, in all likelihood, was well-intentioned advice.
Only later did I realize what angered me. For the past 20 years I’d experienced deep regret for not majoring in journalism in college. It was a decision I’d made as a young woman, a decision rooted in fear. My first semester in college I looked around my freshman journalism class, saw men and women who were so much more extroverted than me, and decided I was totally out of my league. In midlife I was determined to correct what I now believe was the biggest mistake in my life.
This woman had known me for all of 20 minutes and already presumed she had the right to shatter my dreams.
The problem was, the doubts this woman expressed about my abilities so closely mirrored my self doubts that I couldn’t easily dismiss them. Instead, I wrestled with them for several days.
One day, on the way home from walking my sons to Edmondson Elementary School, I encountered this woman’s son walking to school alone. He seemed in no particular hurry, though the playground was empty and the tardy bell had already wrung. Rather, he dragged his feet as if he were marching to his death.
It wasn’t uncommon for this boy to be late to school like this. But this time my heart went out to him. Maybe this was his mother’s modus operandi. Maybe she told everyone close to her they were going to fail at whatever they endeavored to do. Maybe she shattered everyone’s dreams.
Oh, no, this woman said. I was far too mild-mannered to succeed in journalism. What I needed was a less stressful job. I should work for a nice place like Group Publishing instead.
Obviously this woman wasn’t aware I’m not a big fan of Christian publishing. Or that I’ve never desired for my coworkers, or even my friends, to be exclusively Christians.
I pointed out to her I’d heard a past editor of the Loveland Report-Herald speak at a public relations event. He, too, was a soft-spoken, mild-mannered person.
Oh, no, she insisted. Her second cousin twice removed went into journalism and it was awful. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. Maybe it was her brother-in-law.
I was angry, though, mild-mannered person that I am, I bit my tongue rather than lash out at her for what, in all likelihood, was well-intentioned advice.
Only later did I realize what angered me. For the past 20 years I’d experienced deep regret for not majoring in journalism in college. It was a decision I’d made as a young woman, a decision rooted in fear. My first semester in college I looked around my freshman journalism class, saw men and women who were so much more extroverted than me, and decided I was totally out of my league. In midlife I was determined to correct what I now believe was the biggest mistake in my life.
This woman had known me for all of 20 minutes and already presumed she had the right to shatter my dreams.
The problem was, the doubts this woman expressed about my abilities so closely mirrored my self doubts that I couldn’t easily dismiss them. Instead, I wrestled with them for several days.
One day, on the way home from walking my sons to Edmondson Elementary School, I encountered this woman’s son walking to school alone. He seemed in no particular hurry, though the playground was empty and the tardy bell had already wrung. Rather, he dragged his feet as if he were marching to his death.
It wasn’t uncommon for this boy to be late to school like this. But this time my heart went out to him. Maybe this was his mother’s modus operandi. Maybe she told everyone close to her they were going to fail at whatever they endeavored to do. Maybe she shattered everyone’s dreams.
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