What Color is My Parachute?

I was seriously hoping it would be rosey apricot or periwinkle, because those colors look really good on me.

But it wasn't that kind of a book.

In my quest to find a new life, I borrowed a copy of What Color is Your Parachute from our downtown library. (I use the downtown library now that I'm in the city. No more 'burbs for me. I left the suburbs when I ditched the Volvo station wagon.)

The subtitle of the book is "A Practical Manual for Job-Hunters and Career-Changers," so I thought it would give me some good advice. I was wrong. Instead, it made me feel, well....useless. Washed-up. More than halfway to death. Seriously, there's a whole chapter on "50+" and how employers will think I'm old and boring. After all, why would I bother to switch careers now? Why don't I just keep plugging away at what I've been doing, even though I am philosophically, intellectually and morally opposed to what education has become? Can't I just keep going a few more years?

The answer is no. And if you don't think I'm good enough to do your job, you're wrong.

This Explains a LOT!!!

In my quest to find out what is next in store for me, I decided to take some of those aptitude/personality/interest surveys available on-line. (Only the free ones, though--I'm not paying for pseudopsychology.) One of the tests I let my students take at the beginning of the year (when we read and discuss "Flowers for Algernon") is the Myers-Briggs.

Which brings me to the dreaded ENFP.

(Here's my prior experience with Myers-Briggs.)

Let me ask you: if I'm told that no one wants to work with someone like me, what kind of work should I want to do?
I probably need to work alone.

Add to that, the fact that words are my life, and what do you have?
Reading and writing. Both are perfect, as they are solitary activities. No one will be forced to deal with my ENFP self. The only folks who will have to deal with the craziness are the folks who read my writing. All three of them.