If our childhood dreams of what we want to be can point to the careers we
I used to spend hours on the floor in front of Scotch-taped sheets of stark white paper and several sharpened pencils to draft my floor plans. Even in the 1980’s, as a 10-year-old who grew up in a quaint six-room home, I knew I wanted my new house to have at least four bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms. I also went as far as design the interior, drawing in fixtures and furnishings: always a washer and dryer, a sectional and a fireplace. And my home needed to be situated right on a beach and have a huge sunroom to house all the lush greenery that I’d eventually kill as an adult.
I vaguely remember the brown beach house I drew on poster board and submitted to a school contest accompanied by a short “poem” on why I wanted to live on the water. Oh, yeah, I wrote stuff back then, too. I recall that it placed – maybe first or second – in the competition and ended up in the home of a classmate.
When I applied to college, I indeed declared architecture as my major. I excitedly filled the list of required supplies and was well-prepared for the first day of class. Or so I thought. It didn’t take long for me to realize I was ill-prepared for the demographic and actual coursework.