My Secret Lives

Ever since I found out the famous late chef Julia Child led a double life working for the CIA, I've enjoyed toying with my friends, "You know...I'm in the CIA." They look at me with the kind of discomfort one feels trying to survive a joke told by a stranger who knows your first name.

They say nothing, hoping to end my charade. I push, "How do you know I'm not?"

I can see a flicker of doubt, a flash of curiosity, "Could she be telling the truth?" I breathe victory, then break the awkwardness with my confession, "Oh, of course I'm kidding..."

High stakes espionage is not the only secret career I've declared. Throughout my life, I've been inspired by lives holding the promise of mystery and prestige.

As a child, I remember when I first heard the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I was taken aback, "You mean, I get to choose?" My mind scanned professions I'd heard of, "Doctor, Ballerina, President...that's it...President of the World!" My platform? Throwing all firearms and McDonald's chains into the ocean.

Shortly thereafter I decided I would like to be a gypsy. I had a liking for wearing shorts and a t-shirt in the dead of winter, and fashioning snow-beds to take naps in. I figured this skill could serve me well trying to survive outdoors, wiling passers-by.

In middle school I loved marine biology, though I showed no particular affinity for aquatic life. Equal parts cerebral and esoteric, it solved many problems. I could claim to pursue something that required intellect, but wasn't in danger of being labeled a nerd. The thought of testing core samples while dodging jellyfish and befriending sea anemones sounded so The Little Mermaid with a PhD.

I flirted with writing poetry, painting, dance as well, but by the time I developed vocal talent and got a taste of stardom as a soloist, I chased the dream of being a singer to the exclusion of everything else.

Once I was accepted to college to study music, I spent the next four and a half years living out every facet of my artistic fantasies. The experience of performing live on stages was incomparable, almost religious. Memorizing lines and stage directions was prayer. The smells of sawdust and sweat, cheap hairspray and old makeup, and ill-fitting costumes musty from attics baked into the skin by the heat of stage lights was a creative blessing. The closing of a show, crossing an empty stage and beginning a solitary walk home lugging a makeup case and roses was a purification ritual.

I'll spare the details, but those days ended after a round of failed graduate school auditions and an interview with an investment firm where I was offered an entry level finance job.

While the career I ultimately ended up with put my dream career on hold, it did not detract from my life, but made it richer. I earned a practical education on the job, and was inspired to enter a masters program where I now study finance and economics.

I think it's important to dream of secret careers, and I still do. But now I don't just dream of stages, but of theses. I have tempered my fantasies with reality, in an effort to create a career that is attainable and enjoyable. I still engage in science, poetry, performance, and perhaps even a bit of espionage where benign Google or Facebook stalking is concerned.

I'm clear on what is important to me, and I no longer stake my future career on the dreams of the past. In fact, I've given up on many dreams. And far from being a failure, I'm glad that I've recognized and begun to accept that there is a time for giving up. Letting go, really. I know what I'm willing to sacrifice and what I'm not. I know what I want and I know how I can get there.