“What do you want to be when you grow up?” At five, I wanted to be a famous astronaut or artist. I had ideas, but no single response. Now, at 25, it’s still the simplest, yet hardest, question to answer. What do I want to be? Who do I want to be?

What is my vocation, my calling?

I first heard the term “vocation” in confirmation class when I was about 13 years old. The definition that sunk straight into my soul the first time I heard it was this: “Your calling is the place where your great joy meets the world’s great need.”

My closest friends and I have spent the last few years in pay-the-rent jobs and have finally accumulated enough experience and earned enough credibility to follow our hearts.

We used to think our vocations, or callings, were to do things like lobbying for infrastructure in rural Chilean towns. We wanted to see our names in lights and in print for doing great things in the world. Can we reclaim our dreams, or do we just keep the soul-sucking but decent jobs that let us lead the social and spiritual lives we want outside the office?

My friends, college-educated women in their mid-20s who were raised in communities of faith, in this year alone will be getting promoted, getting married, having children, buying houses, and going back to school.

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