I quite frankly don’t remember what I wanted to be at that age. I remember at various points in my childhood wanting to be an architect (inspired by legos), a filmmaker (Jurassic Park III), a historian (the History channel), and otherwise I had a rather absent vision of my future. While I recall various economic pressures in my childhood, my parents always attempted to provide for us all that we could need or even ask for. In that way, I never felt an abiding pressure to do anything particularly lucrative or aspirational, and indeed I probably lived an accidentally bourgeois lifestyle, instigated by a specifically lax ambition set up for me by a perhaps overly affectionate parent who encouraged me in all ways except pragmatically.
I had a rather privileged childhood and that failed to changed for many years; indeed it wasn’t until my mid-adolescence that I started to gain a more comprehensive worldview or understanding of what a profession really means. I tend to look back rather dismissively at my formative years, flinging platitudes of disgust at my unevolved, uncultured, undistinguished, and unmotivated eight year old self (as well as nine, ten, really through fourteen or so), and I do see it as the result of an overly privileged lifestyle, one where I was always taught that there were people who were worse off than I, but never made to understand the actual degree to which that was true. Or perhaps I was made to, and simply failed. I’m more than happy to heap the blame upon myself. There’s (probably) no better scapegoat than someone who has ceased to exist for twelve years.