What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?
- Catherine Addor
- Jul 12
- 7 min read
When we are little, adults love to ask us, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
For a while, the answers are usually a mix of fantasy, imagination, and whatever feels exciting in the moment. Astronaut. Singer. Veterinarian. Teacher. President. Broadway star. Professional athlete. Sometimes all of them in the same week.
For me, the answer did not really begin to solidify beyond fantasy until middle school, when I met Mr. Clausen, my 7th grade science teacher.
He taught science, of course. That is not the only reason I remember him.
I remember him because he taught kindness.
I remember the way he made students feel like they belonged in the room. I remember the patience. The humor. The steadiness. The way he could teach content and humanity at the same time. I do not remember every lab, every worksheet, or every test, but I remember the feeling of being in that classroom.
I remember thinking, even if I did not yet have the language for it, that this was what school could be.
A place where learning mattered.
A place where people mattered.
A place where an adult could shape the way a child saw themselves.
That is a powerful thing to realize in 7th grade.
I do not think Mr. Clausen simply inspired me to want a job in education. It was bigger than that. He gave me a glimpse of what it looks like when work becomes connected to purpose.
That is where the difference between a job, a career, and a calling becomes important.
A job is work you do.
It has responsibilities, expectations, schedules, duties, and tasks. It provides income. It creates stability. It keeps systems moving. There is nothing wrong with having a job. Jobs matter. Jobs support families. Jobs give structure to our days and responsibilities to our lives.
A career is something you build.
A career carries a sense of direction. It includes growth, learning, professional identity, new opportunities, and sometimes advancement. A career asks us to think about where we have been, where we are going, what we are developing, and how our experiences are shaping us.
A calling feels different.
A calling is connected to purpose. It pulls at you. It is the work that feels tied to something larger than a paycheck, a title, or a promotion. In education, calling is often tied to service, advocacy, care, and the belief that what we do can change a child’s life trajectory.
Educational leadership sits right in the middle of all three.
It is absolutely a job.
There are budgets, schedules, policies, evaluations, meetings, reports, deadlines, paperwork, supervision, compliance, and hard decisions. There are things that simply have to get done because the system depends on them.Some things simply have
It is also a career.
There is a path. There is growth over time. There are roles and responsibilities that shift and expand. There are certifications, interviews, appointments, transitions, accomplishments, failures, lessons, and the slow building of a professional identity.
For many of us, it is also a calling.
That is the beautiful part.
It is also the dangerous part.
When the work feels like a calling, we can start to justify almost anything in the name of doing what is best for children.
We answer the email late at night.
We take the call during family time.
We say yes when we are already well past capacity.
We carry the emotional weight of students, families, staff, and systems long after the school day ends.
We convince ourselves that this is just what dedicated people do.
Sometimes, leadership does require sacrifice. There are seasons that ask more of us. There are moments when we need to step in, stay late, solve the problem, make the call, or hold the system together. Some seasons ask
Sacrifice cannot become the entire operating system.
I think back to Mr. Clausen often because what stayed with me was not that he seemed exhausted by us. It was not that he made kindness look like martyrdom. It was that he made teaching feel human. He made care feel steady. He made the classroom feel safe enough for learning to happen.
That matters.
The goal of a calling is not to disappear inside of it.
The goal is not to become so consumed by the work that there is nothing left of the person doing it.
In educational leadership, that distinction matters more than we sometimes admit. When your calling consumes your well-being, it eventually impacts the very people you are trying to serve. When you are exhausted, reactive, resentful, distracted, or depleted, that energy enters the system. It affects your decision-making. It affects your relationships. It affects your patience. It affects your ability to listen.
It affects the staff, students, and families in your care.
That is why innovation in leadership cannot only be about programs, technology, strategic plans, schedules, data, or new initiatives.
It also has to be about self-awareness.
We have to understand the difference between what we do, what we are building, and what we feel called to protect.
We have to be able to say, “This work matters deeply to me,” without also believing, “I have to lose myself to prove it.”
We have to stop confusing constant availability with commitment.
We have to stop treating exhaustion as evidence of dedication.
We have to stop passing burnout down through the system and calling it leadership.
The adults in schools set the weather.
That does not mean leaders are responsible for everything. It does not mean we can control every pressure, every mandate, every crisis, or every conflict. But it does mean our wellness, or lack of wellness, does not stay private. It shows up in our tone. Our decisions. Our pacing. Our expectations. Our ability to be present.
Students do not benefit from burnt-out adults.
Staff do not thrive under depleted leaders.
Families do not feel supported by systems held together by people running on fumes.
Purpose should ground us.
It should not swallow us whole.
Before we can lead others well, we have to be honest about how we show up in the work. These questions are not meant to make us feel guilty. They are meant to help us notice where purpose may have slipped into overextension.
Do I see my current role as a job, a career, a calling, or some combination of the three?
Where do I feel the greatest sense of purpose in my work?
Where do I feel the greatest sense of depletion?
Am I using the phrase “doing what is best for kids” to excuse unhealthy boundaries?
When I am tired, how does it show up in my leadership?
Are the people in my care getting the best of me, or only what is left of me?
What parts of my work still energize me?
What parts of my work have I allowed to define too much of my identity?
Do I know who I am outside of my title?
What would sustainable leadership look like in this season of my life?
What kind of adult did I need as a child, and am I able to be that adult from a healthy place?
Who was Mr. Clausen for me, and what did they model that I want to carry forward?
Awareness matters, but awareness alone will not protect our well-being. Once we recognize the differences among job, career, and calling, we have to make choices that allow us to lead with clarity, health, and intention. Small shifts can help us protect both our purpose and our humanity.
Name what the work is for you right now.
Write three columns: job, career, and calling. List the parts of your work that fit under each one. Seeing it on paper can help you understand where your energy is going and where your identity may be too tightly attached.
Identify one boundary that needs strengthening.
Choose one specific place where work has been allowed to take too much. It may be email at night, weekend calls, skipped meals, missed family time, or never truly taking a day off.
Pay attention to resentment.
Resentment is often a signal that a boundary has been crossed too many times. Instead of pushing it away, ask what it is trying to tell you.
Separate urgency from importance.
In schools, almost everything can feel urgent. Leadership requires the discipline to pause and ask, “Does this need me right now, or does it simply need a thoughtful response at the right time?”
Reconnect with the people who shaped your why.
Think about the educators who made you feel seen, capable, safe, or inspired. Let their example ground you, but do not turn their influence into pressure to be everything to everyone.
Model sustainable leadership out loud.
Say things like, “I am going to respond to this tomorrow when I can give it the attention it deserves,” or “I am stepping away tonight so I can come back clear tomorrow.” Staff need permission to be human, and leaders often give that permission by modeling it first.
Check the impact, not just the intention.
You may intend to be dedicated, available, and supportive. But if the impact is that you are short-tempered, distracted, exhausted, or emotionally unavailable, something needs to change.
Protect something unrelated to your title.
Read. Walk. Make something. Sit with your family. Watch the game. Go to the show. Take the trip. Be unavailable for a little while. Remember that your life is bigger than your work.
Ask yourself what you are teaching by how you work.
Mr. Clausen taught science, but he also taught kindness. As leaders, we teach through our calendars, our boundaries, our tone, our presence, and our pace. Make sure the lesson people are learning from you is one you actually want to pass on.
The question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” is more complicated than we realize as children.
The answer is not just about a title.
It is about who we become in the process of doing the work.
For those of us in education, the work can be deeply meaningful. It can become part of our story, our identity, and our sense of purpose. I think that is why educators like Mr. Clausen stay with us for so long. Not because they simply delivered content well, but because they showed us what it looked like to use a role in the service of something bigger.
That is the gift of a calling.
We have to be careful with it.
A calling can guide you, but it should not erase you.
Your job, your career, and your calling may overlap. They may feed each other. They may all live inside the same work.
Or they may be different.
That is okay.
Your career and your calling do not have to be the same thing in every season of life. What matters is that you know the difference. What matters is that you are honest when the work you love begins to impact your well-being. What matters is that you notice when your exhaustion is no longer just affecting you, but also affecting the students, staff, families, and communities in your care.
Leadership is not measured by how much of yourself you can lose in the work.
It is measured, in part, by how well you can remain whole enough to serve with clarity, kindness, courage, and care.
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