There was a time in my life when I was hesitant to pursue the work I do further than I had already. Too deep into one thing. Too committed. Don’t want to get too invested in all of that. Like everyone I assume, I see my life as an epic narrative, and settling into a career in human services, or social work, or whatever you want to call it- might not offer me the full array of experiences due a young Viking warrior. I don’t know who you are in your epic narrative, but I am a fucking Viking.
On the other hand, I was getting pretty sick of carrying a bunch of lousy food to all those crappy people when I wasn’t out questing or berserking. Still, I was intrigued and fascinated by what goes on at the edges of society where people have no luxury of being fake or maintaining pretense. I could provide some kind of support to keep them together when their world is falling apart. Something like a tuna sandwich. Shoot some hoops, make some phone calls, watch Men in Black again. I knew I was going to continue, but part of me, the part that finally crossed the Mississippi river at 23 years-old, wanted something more. That me wanted some kind of insurance policy that it would be an okay decision.
That’s when my English degree finally earned its keep after all those rotten tables and I remembered this…
I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in a big field of rye and all. … Thousands of kids, and nobody big at all, nobody big but me. And I’m standing on the edge of this crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to come and catch them. If they start to fall … and don’t look where they’re going. That’s all I’d do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all.
…and I thought, “If it isn’t what you are supposed to be doing it’s good enough for now.”