“Let me warn you, Jonathan,” the woman who taught me how to write began. “This path you’re going down… it has a high burn-out rate. Many people can’t handle the emotional toll it takes---” She stopped.

Moments before, I poured out my heart to this woman whom I barely know. I revealed that I’ve always wanted to write literature excerpts for standardized tests and that those authors were my childhood heroes. Then I told her why I wanted to be a lawyer.

Wait.. No I didn’t. Few people know why I want to be a lawyer.. But I told her what I wanted to do with my law degree: prosecute child molesters and rapists.

“People can’t do that sort of thing for too long.. And don’t expect to make a lot of money off of it either---”

“Thanks,” I interrupt with a faint smile. She turns to me and, shrugs her shoulders, and continues.

“Having said that… it’s a job that someone has to do and I’m glad that you want to--- but.. Why?”

“ . . . If not me, then who?”

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I forgot how to write.


Well.

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