The Next Phase (Or, I Didn't Know What I Wanted Until My Parents Almost Died)

"I was once told that I nurse like I breathe. I can see that in you," she said to me while curled up in a ball on the couch. It was the end of May, 2015, and I had no idea what the heck I was about to get myself into.

Yes, I've used this on the blog before. Don't hate, it's adorable.

People often go to college based on their aptitude, assuming it's going to be the thing they do for the rest of their professional lives. My best skills were performing: not only was I a strong singer, I was mercilessly diligent in study and memorization, and I kept composure both on and offstage (aside from those years of chaotic mental health, but that's a different post). So, when college became a subject (heh), obviously the choice was voice.

I poured myself into the endless study of music: first opera, killing myself to fit into a subjective mold, where my voice was constantly criticized and could change in color simply because of the barometric fucking pressure; then musical theater, where I learned to carry my voice in different ways, and really honed in on how to read and respond to people.

Best $80K I've never spent.

Never had I thought about working in medicine. It wasn't that I had an aversion to it; it just never seemed to land on my radar.

So when my mother casually said, "I think you'd be a phenomenal nurse," my brain exploded.

Because maybe, maybe, she was right.

Maybe my discipline, focus, and ability to assess wasn't meant for just music.

And maybe the speed at which I learn can be used for more than Wagner. Or tassels.

And now, looks like I get to find out if she's right (she's usually right).

Jesus Christ.