I used to dream of a glamorous job with lots and lots of travel. I dreamed of living from a suitcase, of knowing the TSA agents by name, of having a favorite coffee place in every city.
In my dreams it was a job, because everything in my dreams is a job. I counted down the days to age 16, not because my driver's license, but because I could officially get on a payroll somewhere. I could officially use my time to earn money.
I've had many jobs since the first at age 16, but I've been at my current one for over six years. That's a general life record for me, only outlived by my residency in this great golden state, and the length of some of my greatest friendships. And I love this job so much. I've passed up other things in these years like being an investigatory reporter, but in the end I circle back to my job that I love.
And while I've managed to grab a trip or two a year out of my workplace--hardly enough to get me free business class upgrades--it really did lack this one dream of mine, this travel one, this life of glamor. But I worked harder and I stretched farther and I grew and grew and grew until suddenly one day I was needed in five places at once.
And so it is too hard to answer the question where would I go because my whole map is green and only a wittle bit blue, and instead I'll tell you where I'm going between today and December 1:
Washington, D.C. (!)
It might not sound glamorous to you, Witchita and Dallas are rarely green dots, but I have never been there and someone else is paying me to go there and they have coffee there and airports and maybe even business class upgrades. I am living the dream.