If you are lucky in this life, you find a job that you love. Sometimes, as with any love, your passion for a job may die and you must either remain in an unfulfilling relationship or leave to seek another.

I have been very lucky in my lifetime. Every job (well, almost every one) I have had has begun with bright promise. I taught high school. I ran a newspaper. I worked as a radio commercial writer, a legal secretary, a textbook editor. But each ended. Sometimes the job became boring--I had learned all I could in that position, and each day became rote and monotonous. Sometimes I gave too much, crashed and burned, and had to leave for my own health and sanity. Once I was laid off when the work ended. Each time I left a job, I found another with bright promise, and began the cycle again.

The only job that has remained a constant passion (other than motherhood) has been freelance writing. After 40 years of putting pen to paper, the thrill is still new each day as I face a new page. I may be frustrated with many things--with the housing market (will I ever sell my house?), with politics (how did that moron ever get elected?) or even sometimes with my family, but writing never disappoints me. It is always there, ready to embrace me, bolster me, entertain me, and remind me that I am indeed very lucky.