IF ONLY (a short litany from a stubborn commoner)
Some people collect careers. I collect stories of what could have been. Not because I couldn’t commit, but because every path I considered had a catch—a quiet little “if only” that wouldn’t leave me alone.
1) Medicine — if only time were medicine
I would’ve pursued medicine—if only I were fluent in math and chemistry (and, once upon a time, Latin). More than that, if only the average visit I observed lasted longer than five minutes. If only new patients weren’t just “inherited” from retiring physicians and kept on the same meds out of inertia. Re-evaluate the person; don’t just keep doing the same things—if only that were the prescription.
2) Ministry — if only practice matched preaching
I would’ve been a minister—if only so many I met weren’t mostly about themselves. If only they could show what they believe instead of telling everyone to accept it by faith. If only they knew what they professed to confess. If only they didn’t contradict on Tuesday what they sermonized on Sunday. Say what you believe, believe what you say, and live like both are true. If only.
3) The kitchen — if only dignity was plated, too
I would’ve stayed a chef—if only feeding a dining room didn’t so often starve the dignity of “the help.” I couldn’t stomach a culture that seasons the plate and salts the staff. If excellence requires humiliation, it isn’t excellence.
4) The law — if only proof was truth
I would’ve become a lawyer—if only I could make peace with caring less about truth than about what I could prove. The law loves its clean lines and clever reasoning; I kept seeing the human in the margins. Also, what a racket: many get paid whether they win or lose. And the only thing more secure might be a Supreme Court seat for life—thanks to that evergreen phrase, “shall hold their Offices during good Behaviour,” dressed in more than a little legal fiction.
What all these “if onlys” taught me
They weren’t excuses. They were x-rays. Each revealed a fracture between the ideal of a vocation and the habit of its institutions:
Speed over care (medicine).
Image over integrity (ministry).
Control over dignity (kitchens).
Proof over truth (law).
I’m not naïve. Every field has constraints. But constraints become cages when we forget to ask whether the practice still serves the purpose.
The commoner’s credential
I’m a “commoner,” sure—no white coat, no collar, no toque, no gavel. But being outside the club doesn’t mean you’re outside the truth. It can mean you’re closer to it. You can still study, weigh, think, test, and—when necessary—refuse. You can still write. You can still build. You can still RESET.
A different pursuit
Maybe the point isn’t to collect stuff and titles; it’s to collect integrity. To keep asking the stubborn questions:
Who is this for?
What does this serve?
What did we stop seeing because “that’s just how it’s done”?
If only we asked those more often, we might not need as many “if onlys.”
Your turn
What path did you almost take—and why didn’t you? Where did the ideal and the institution part ways for you? Drop it in the comments. Let’s compare near-misses and maybe—just maybe—turn them into a better hit.
