There are days when I wonder, “Why am I doing this? Why am I not in a ‘real’ job with benefits and a set schedule?”
By the way, I hate the phrase “real job.” If you work, you have a “real job.” Full stop. My definition of “work” includes paid work, raising children, caring for parents or other elderly or ill family, volunteering, attending school, or looking diligently for work.
But I digress.
Then, there are days when I get to watch a teenage boy with a severe developmental disability play the triangle and conduct an invisible orchestra while Ferrante and Teicher’s “The Little Drummer Boy” plays on the radio. Moments later, I see a teenage girl who rarely expresses emotion or interest in her surroundings smiling as she watches her classmate’s impromptu performance.
That’s when I think, “Ah, that’s why.”
I am so blessed.