This one is also a biggie. I’m not sure why I decided to major in science, except that it felt like what I was supposed to do. All of my high school teachers always said the same things: I was sucha smart girl; I had such a bright future. Smart girls with bright futures didn’t waste their potential on something as fickle and self-indulgent as the arts.
I don’t know exactly which creative field I want to work in yet, but I’m casting a wide net, keeping an eye out for internships in film, photography, art history... anything rooted in creativity. If I keep an open mind, I just know the perfect job will present itself someday.
In person
I added this one after the COVID pandemic. I was doing a few temp jobs in Halifax at the time, and all of them got switched to virtual only. I was obviously really lucky that switching to virtual was an option, rather than just getting fired, but the experience taught me I am just not cut out to work from home every day. It’s nice once in a while, for sure, but I like seeing people every day. And I like having an excuse to get dressed up nicely (and not just from the waist up).
Those three are all I have so far, the only absolutemusts, but today I take out my pen and add a fourth.
Six-figure salary
I know it sounds shallow, but it’s something that’s been pricking at me ever since I looked up those flights to Toronto. I want to be able to enjoy little luxuries—girls’ trips or spa days—every now and then without completely stressing over every dollar. And when I say six figures, I’m not saying I want to earn $999,999 oranything. I would be perfectly content with $100,000. (Perfectly content? Who am I kidding, I would bethrilled.) And I don’t expect to earn that right away. But if I’m going to go back and do another degree, I want to be working toward a career that will give me more financial security in the long run.
I nod at my list, pleased, just as John steps into the lunch room. In a rare moment of interest, he leans over the table.
“What’s that?” He squints and reads the title aloud. “Dream job list.”
I scowl. It sounds stupid when he says it with that tone.
“Yes,” I say with dignity, while simultaneously shifting my hand to hide the “six-figure salary” bit.
“This isn’t your dream job?” he asks, pulling open the fridge.
He doesn’t say it sarcastically, which somehow makes it more insulting. “You think it’s my dream job to be a receptionist in an auto shop?”
He unwraps a sandwich and shrugs. “I dunno. It’s a good job, isn’t it? Pays benefits and stuff?”
Well, now I feel like an elitist jerk. “Yes, it is a good job,” I say tersely. “But that’s not the same as adreamjob.”
He takes a bite of his sandwich and says, through a mouthful, “What d’you mean, a dream job?”
I’m flabbergasted. Partially because this is the longest conversation John and I have ever had, by about a hundred words, and partially because how can he not know what adream jobis?
“It’s something you’remeantto do,” I say. “Your passion. Your purpose in life. Something you love so much it doesn’t even feel like a job!”
John snorts. “I don’t think that’s a real thing. All jobs feel like jobs.”
I roll my eyes. “No, they don’t. You think—” I grasp for a good example, an example he’ll actually understand. “You think professional race car drivers see their work as ajob?”
John stares at me blankly. “Yes. Even if you like what you’re doing, it’s still going to feel like a job sometimes.”
“Is thisyourdream job, then?” I demand. “Or just something you settled for?”
He shrugs. “I like working here. And being happy with your day-to-day life isn’t settling.”
“Well—good for you,” I say stiffly. “Some of us are still looking, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to my list now.”
He takes another bite of his sandwich and wanders off. I scowl at his back and then add another item to my list.
No irritating, one-dimensional coworkers who don’t understand anything aboutdreams
4
The sun is setting as I arrive in Summerside the next night for my date with Arjun. I’m a teensy bit stressed because I’m running late—the shop owner, Fred, showed up just as I was leaving and decided, after nearly twelve months of showing no interest, that he’d check in to see how I was doing—and also because my car wouldn’t start right when I left home. I had to try four or five times before it worked. I wonder if it’s a worn-out suspension, like in Ethel’s car. After I pull into the restaurant parking lot, I step out and kneel to look underneath it, but since I don’t know what I’m looking for (or even exactly what the suspension is), it’s hard to say if something’s wrong.
I brush the dirt off my knees and stand. Before I go inside, I quickly pull out my phone and open Wordle. That’s the other reason I’m stressed. I still haven’t figured out today’s word. After two entirely wrong words (MONTH and PILED), I tried FRACK. The F and R are yellow (right letters, wrong place), and the A is green, but the rest is wrong. I eliminated a lot of letters with my three wrong words, but I’m still completely stumped, and I only have three guesses left.
What word has an F, R, and A in it?
