"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
I watched as the 10-year-old boy mulled over the question.
We were seated on a pair of worn plastic chairs, the lazy evening breeze swirling gently around us.
The park was alive with the sounds of children—shouts, laughter, and the rhythmic pounding of feet on the grass. Like the boy in front of me, they had just finished participating in my team’s library outreach project.
The project had been a resounding success. We’d delivered free books to the children in the community and helped establish a library system for them.
The boy’s brow furrowed in concentration before his face lit up. He turned to me, his eyes dazzling with excitement.
I smiled, bracing myself for the usual responses—Doctor, Lawyer, Engineer, Football Player.
"Pilot," he declared.
I raised my eyebrows and nodded. A pilot. It wasn’t unheard of—certainly a popular choice for kids with big dreams.
"Why?" I asked, curious to hear his reasoning.
He grinned and replied, "Taxis can only carry four people, so they make small money. Planes carry many people, so more money."
I blinked, caught off guard by the sheer practicality of his answer.
The boy, seemingly pleased with his logic, beamed triumphantly. His slightly yellowed teeth caught the last rays of sunlight.
A voice called his name from behind us, breaking the silence that had stretched between us.
He turned quickly, then bolted off to join his friends, leaving me sitting there, struck by the unexpected wisdom of his answer.
His logic, though flawed...worked.
But beyond the reasoning itself, I found myself dwelling on his motivation—money.
I slowly surveyed the village. It was quaint, simple...and poor. The boy probably hadn’t been exposed to much beyond what he saw daily. He had seen taxis. He knew taxi drivers (in our context, at least) didn’t make a lot of money. So he’d done some basic math, multiplying and maybe adding, in order to come to his conclusion.
His reasoning made me reflect on my own motivations from childhood.
The first career I remember wanting was one in accounting.
Don’t ask me why—I have no clue. Maybe I too was drawn to the idea of money, but honestly, that seems unlikely. I think I just liked the word accountant. It sounded sophisticated to my young ears. I didn’t know what accountants actually did, yet I proudly declared it as my dream job.
The accountant phase fizzled out by the time I was 14. That’s when I started telling people I wanted to be a robotics engineer.
I blame Iron Man.
I vividly remember saying to a friend, “Just wait. You’ll see me on the news, flying in my armor suit.”
Was I foolish, or was I simply a dreamer? In hindsight, I was both—a foolish dreamer.
But dreaming is good. I don’t regret it.
Just like accounting, I didn’t know what being a robotics engineer entailed. Robots were cool, and that was enough for me at the time.
Medicine, on the other hand, sort of fell into my lap. In the time between robotics and medicine, no other careers crossed my mind.
Wait a second...
There was something between accounting and robotic
When I was about 12, a teacher asked our class what we wanted to be when we grew up.
I confidently locked eyes with her and declared, “CEO.”
She raised an eyebrow. “CEO of what?”
Panic set in. “Errr…Coca-Cola."
Her expression shifted to a mix of disbelief and amusement.
“You can’t be the CEO of a company someone else started,” she said. “You have to build your own.”
In hindsight, she was wrong. You absolutely can become the CEO of an established company. But at the time, her comment crushed my CEO dreams. They didn’t last long anyway—I didn’t research that path either.
So how did I end up in medicine? That’s a story for another day. It was a series of fortunate events, not a calculated decision.
Yes, you read that right—fortunate events.
I love my job, even on the days I don’t.
Still, I wish I’d done some research back then. If you’re curious about my thoughts on the effects of that, I’ve written more about it here.
Here's my major point: I’ve seen many people choose career paths without truly understanding their goals or the journey ahead. Bright lights, full of potential, can end up dimmed in a place they were never meant to shine.
This isn’t limited to medicine. I’ve seen it happen in law, engineering, architecture—you name it.
So here’s my advice: if a child tells you what they want to be, ask them why. Help them explore their interests. Guide them gently. Expose them to opportunities that let them understand what they’re truly drawn to.
But don’t crush their dreams. Let them dream, let them breathe. Pray for them, guide them, and help create an environment where their potential can flourish.
I’m starting with myself. My next step? A conversation about “planes and taxis.”
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