I am a 39 year old intern.
It’s not a label I would have used. But this Christmas over a heartfelt walk with my father he named it, I was doing a year of internship.
As we walked around my sister’s farm catching up on my visit home, I sheepishly tried to excuse my lack of perceived career direction and explain how I filled my days that produced no pay check. I felt shame and guilt as I tried to articulate following my passions. My father simply looked at me and said, “you’re doing a year of internship”. Continue reading