Never too late to change your career

Losing my job at 52 has really been an eye-opener in so many ways. You hear so many people tell you that after 50, the job market is pretty much downhill and, as long as you are on the “cooler” side of 50, it doesn’t pertain to you and you simply think it’s nonsense.

Try turning 50 – and then lose your job - and see what happens. It’s not fun, I tell you, because it’s hard to find a job. I know. I have a lifetime of experience and experiences to bank on. I have people skills, talent, smarts and that” je ne sais quoi” that you simply can’t possess at a young age. I don’t know if such commitment is born of fear, or simply commitment by rote, but older workers take their jobs much more seriously and unless you work for a totally anal, micromanaging creep who is adversely affecting your health, you hold onto your job no matter what. Chances are, by 50, there is no place to go but down if you fail. You will let your family down if you are married and have kiddies to feed... or if you are on your own, as I am, the next place to go is straight into the welfare line.

It was while imagining my possible life as a welfare recipient (and I’d really prefer to die first) that I decided I needed a career change. Actually, the thought germinated following a conversation I had with a former boss, who commented that “your line of work is the first job to be cut during hard times.” It didn’t hit me till later that she was right. I am a writer, one with PR experience, but a writer pure and simple. If you look back through history, the pathways of cemeteries take you past the graves of untold numbers of writers who were tremendous craftsmen... and who died either relatively unknown or paupers, likely both.

They “made” it after death. Irishman Bram Stoker was huge after he died, but during his lifetime the author of Dracula, Lair of the White Worm and other tales made his money first as a clerk and later as the manager of Europe’s greatest thespian, Henry Irving. Providence, Rhode Island’s H.P. Lovecraft, arguably the author of the most frightening and disturbing literature ever, died almost totally unknown, his stories published post-death by friends who made them extremely popular from the 1940s onward.

I am a very good writer and have had a modicum of success at it throughout my life to date. And if I keep going in this direction much longer, I’ll die a pauper, too. Not what I want for myself and, so, I realized it was time for a change. A good friend works at the English Montreal School Board and he apprised me of courses offered by the EMSB that assist people in changing careers. You can be an auto mechanic, he told me, as my eyes glazed over instantly... or a chef. Chef? I have no idea why I reacted so strongly on the spot - maybe I’d been watching George Costanza’s attempts to realize his architectural ambitions for far too long, or maybe my inner Chef Ramsay was outed - but when I heard I could study to become a professional chef, basically at no charge, I decided there and then that was what I wanted.

I enrolled at the Pie X Culinary Institute yesterday and people have told me they haven’t seen me this excited about anything in a long, long time. I feel excited, on top of the world, in fact. And even though I know this is going to be a veritable “battle royale” (classes from 5-10 p.m. Mondays – Fridays for 14 months, 1,400 hours worth, starting in late August), I know I have it in me to bare down, grind it out and come through with flying colours. Many people are thrilled for me and quite encouraging, while other comments range from “HUH?” to “Are you crazy?” I spoke with an acquaintance today, a restaurant owner here whom I respect and who has always seemed to truly care about my welfare and I discussed this career choice with him. He told me that the only thing that mattered is how much I enjoy my training and the subsequent work I do. “In the end, you may find you hate working in commercial restaurant kitchens, but the good thing about being a chef is that there are 50 ways you can go... as long as you enjoy it, you will be okay.”

And, you know, he is so right, and I thank you, Peter, for your insight. I can work in a mainstream restaurant or a hotel kitchen. I can find a backer and start my own establishment, which is where a mature age comes in quite handy. I can cater. I can give cooking classes. I can become a professional critic who really knows his stuff. I can write my own cookbooks. And I can certainly cook really, really well for myself, booting my trusty microwave into oblivion. I know I won’t be unemployed, because I can cook anywhere in the world, a logging camp if need be.

The fact is, I will have a career that I can bank on. I will always be a writer, till I die if I keep my brain sharp enough. But chances are better that you won’t meet me on the street one day, begging for loose change, while I am wearing my chef’s hat. No, it really never IS too late, and I am going to prove it to you. Beef bourguignon, anyone?