How did I ever become old enough to speak at a school’s “Career Night?”
I finished filling out the relevant information on a school’s “Career Night” application this evening. It was placed in front of me after I’d had a thoroughly enjoyable evening with Savannah’s and Dusty’s owners. The application made me wonder what in the world I’m doing, going to a function that makes me classify my lifestyle as “work.” There’s very little about my day that makes it feel like “work.” I have the honor of teaching people how to behave around horses, and I take care of the horses who live at my house. I shovel a little manure, sometimes put T-posts in the ground, and sling a few hay bales every once in a while, but overall, this isn’t work.
Work would be sitting at a desk all day, trying to reason with people on the phone that I know what I’m doing. That I have a work order which needs to be filled, and they’re the ones to do it. Work would be creating spreadsheets and databases that have no relevance to my life other than to give me a paycheck. (Which I would promptly spend on my horse.)
By my own definition, I don’t work.
Yet off to Career Night I’ll go, with horse equipment, pamphlets, photos, and smiles. I’ll explain what I do for a living, and if anyone asks what my “job” is, I’ll give the usual answer.
“I play with ponies all day.”