At the time, it felt like a magical question. A Firefighter. Teacher. Doctor. Professional Athlete (if I grew taller than 5'5"). Now at 63, I’m still working on that answer. And if I’m honest, that question might be part of the problem.
Because “What do you want to do?” centers the task.
It centers the title.
It centers the paycheck.
It centers the “thing.”
If you press most adults with the Four Degrees of Why, you often end up here. To make money. To be secure. To be respected. To have something. And while those aren’t wrong… they aren’t very inspiring either.
What If We Chunk the Question Differently? In education, especially when working with our ELL families, we learn to “chunk” language. We rephrase. We simplify. We phrase it differently so the meaning becomes clearer. So what if we rephrase the question of a lifetime?
Instead of: What do you want to do when you grow up? Try: Who do you want to SERVE?
That changes everything. Suddenly, the conversation shifts from occupation to impact. From status to significance. From income to influence.
That question is much easier for me to answer. I didn’t get into Catholic education for the money. (Unless we’re secretly the Vatican and no one told me.) There isn’t any.
I got into Catholic education because I want to serve children.
I want to serve families.
I want to serve the Church.
I want to serve communities that deserve dignity, opportunity, and hope.
That’s a much clearer compass.
Hypothetically, let’s take an auto mechanic. If you ask, “Why become an auto mechanic?”
You’ll likely hear, “To fix cars.” Okay. Accurate. Not exactly stirring.
But ask: Who do you want to serve as an auto mechanic? Now the answer might be:
“I want to help families get to work safely.”
“I want single moms to know their car won’t break down on the highway.”
“I want elderly people to feel confident driving to their doctor’s appointments.”
“I want people to get from Point A to Point B safely.”
Now that’s powerful. The wrench becomes a ministry. The garage becomes a place of service. The transaction becomes a mission. The job didn’t change. The meaning did.
Reframing Creates Meaning. We do this all the time in leadership.
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A custodian doesn’t “clean floors.” He creates a safe, welcoming learning environment.
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A cafeteria worker doesn’t “serve lunch.” She fuels growing minds.
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A principal doesn’t “run a school.” He shepherds a community.
The words we choose shape the way we see ourselves. The way we see ourselves shapes the way we show up.
Maybe we’ve been asking the wrong question? “What do you want to do?” can feel overwhelming at 18… and strangely hollow at 63.
But “Who do you want to serve?” That question works at every age. At 8 years old. At 28. At 63. Because service isn’t tied to a job title. It’s tied to identity.
And here’s the beautiful part: When you know who you want to serve, the “what” becomes clearer.
If I want to serve children, I might become a teacher.
If I want to serve the sick, I might become a nurse.
If I want to serve families, I might become an auto mechanic, a financial advisor, or a parish leader.
Imagine asking our students:
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Who do you want to help in life?
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Who do you feel drawn to protect?
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Whose problems break your heart?
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Whose success would bring you joy?
That conversation goes deeper than career day. It invites purpose, especially for our ELL families, who often come from cultures rooted in service, sacrifice, and community, that question may resonate more deeply than a title ever could.
At 63, I'm still Growing Up!
Still refining the question.
Still rephrasing.
But I know this much: I want to make a difference in someone’s life. I want to serve well.
I want the work I do to matter because people matter.
Maybe growing up isn’t about landing the perfect job. Maybe it’s about becoming the kind of person who knows who he’s here to serve. Maybe the better question isn’t what do you want to do when you grow up, but who is God calling you to serve? Jesus never asked His disciples what careers they planned to pursue. He simply said, “Follow me,” and then showed them who needed healing, teaching, feeding, and love. Vocation, at its core, is not about position; it’s about permission. Permission to be used. Permission to be sent. Permission to love in action. If I keep that question in front of me, Who is God asking me to serve right now? Then growing up becomes less about achievement and more about discipleship. And that, at 63, feels like the most grown-up answer I’ve found yet.
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