The Career Oracle Speaks

When I was a kid in high-school, we had to make one of life's major decisions. In preparation for our final year of school, at the age of 16 or 17, we had to decide what subjects to study so we could choose a university course, so that we could embark on a career, so that we could plan the rest of our lives.

I am in two minds about that system. On the one hand, high-school aged kids are at the apex of their learning careers. Kids are like sponges, they soak up information and retain it. The older you get, the more difficult it is to learn and retain information. I am not going to link to some website that shows statistics and studies about this issue. If you are over 30, you already know this. If you are under 30, learn something now before it's too late. But despite their tender age, or because of it, a 16 or 17 year old needs to seize the opportunity to learn. Waiting for life experience to shed some light could delay the decision indefinitely.

On the other hand, a high-school kid has absolutely no life experience. It is almost impossible to really know yourself and understand the way your own mind works if you haven't been tested. In any case, we all know that a person is likely to change careers a number of times early on before he settles into his career for life. But at 16 or 17 you have to make a decision of some sort, to at least set yourself in the general direction of the rest of your career.

Schools offer a variety of services to aid the youngster make this decision. In my case, the whole process began in ninth grade. If I remember correctly, before ninth grade we had to take whatever subjects the school foisted upon us. From ninth grade and beyond we were able to choose between certain subjects. By the time we got to twelfth grade, we already had a pretty good idea of whether we were destined for a career in the sciences or the humanities. In other words, a doctor or a lawyer. Those poor souls who hedged their bets and studied both chemistry and economics finished high school none the wiser and went on to study double degrees in bio-chemistry and law.

Aside from our obvious orientation towards either the legal or medical professions, our school provided career guidance services. To us, the career guidance counselors were like oracles, with some supernatural power to predict and determine our futures. At the time we all knew that we were at a very important point in our lives. What we wrote on university course application forms would frame the next 40 years. These career guidance counselors held the key to those all-important words.

It was during lunchtime that I met with the guidance counselor, 12:30pm, if I recall correctly. I clearly remember thinking to myself that this meeting was where the counselor would seal my fate. I couldn't be late. Johnny had his appointment scheduled for 12:35. I sat down at the table, answered a few benign questions about my schooling and was handed a questionnaire. Apparently, the guidance counselor collective mind had developed an efficient method of properly evaluating a person's character in the form of a 50-question multiple choice test.

I paid careful attention to every question, coloring in the dots to indicate whether I strongly agreed, strongly disagreed or agreed somewhere in between. I decided then and there that I would only either strongly agree or strongly disagree. There could be no room for ambiguity.
  1. Do you enjoy the outdoors? Strongly agree (I love water sports and football, two activities my parents had forbidden inside the house.)
  2. Do you enjoy nature? Strongly agree (we just completed a two-month social studies unit on the environment.)
  3. Do you like sitting at a desk? Strongly disagree (the hard-plastic chairs they give us in school are uncomfortable. I live for the five-minute breaks between classes.)
  4. Do you enjoy bookwork? Strongly disagree (the minute high school is over, I'm partying, man!)
I reverently handed the completed form back to the Oracle. He sat down at his desk, rested his forehead in his hand and pored over the results. I tried not to let my nervous twitching interrupt his concentration as he scratched numbers in the margins of the form.

After a few minutes, the counselor looked up at me and slid a brochure across the desk. He told me that I should seriously consider a career as a Park Ranger. This answer mystified me, but who was I to argue with science, intuition, magic, or whatever it was. I took the brochure and left. I soon discovered that all of the kids who already answered the questionnaire were standing around, holding Park Ranger brochures.

The next 40 years were going to be very competitive.

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