I could probably write half a dozen posts on this topic and still have more questions than answers. And I’d probably leave it all alone and write about something simpler if I could. But we have this decision to make, and these issues are right in the middle of it.

This morning, just as I was getting up the gumption to grapple with this topic, I found comfort and wisdom in an unlikely place: the White House. Jodi Kantor’s profile of the Obamas’ marriage in the New York Times magazine is fascinating and intimate. She captures the ongoing negotiation behind the glossy fairytale that is their public image. Through this article, you see the hard work that it takes to sustain a marriage between two ambitious, uncompromising people. You see the cost of the tradeoffs that they have chosen, and you especially see that although Michelle plays her part with grace, she is not entirely okay with the sacrifices she has been asked to make. Which is reassuring to me, because I’m not entirely okay with what’s being asked of me either. And somehow it makes me feel better to know that as our family works through these issues, we do it in good company.

A bit more background here: I am about to become what you might call a “trailing spouse.” My husband’s career is specialized and geographically restrictive. He loves his work, and he’s good at it, and we have known all along that we would come to a point when following his career would be the only sensible option. I signed on for this and have had nearly a decade to get used to the idea. And still I’m not entirely okay with it.

I guess I have been spoiled by equality. Up to this point, we have made all major decisions on equal footing, so I have no experience in sacrifice, and my feelings about it are all muddled. One script in my head says that all kinds of people—men and women both—follow their partners’ careers at some point. (And probably most of them do it with a lot less angst than this.) Two careers cannot take equal precedence simultaneously. I believe that a solid marriage is built by striving for equality whenever possible and taking turns leading when necessary. I know that it is my turn to follow. But there is this raging feminist inside of me who is so totally not okay with that, and who rails against all the structural forces that have brought us to the point where this decision is inevitable. I don’t know what to do about her.

Let me be clear here: My husband has been tremendous through this whole process. He is wholly on my team and doing everything in his power to make sure that my career and happiness are well-served by any move we make. I have absolute veto power over any opportunity I am not comfortable with, and he would be okay if I used it.

I should also be clear that I’m not being asked to move to a godforsaken outpost. The opportunity in front of us is, in fact, quite romantic. (My friends get these quizzical looks when I express any doubts about it.) I’m fairly sure that this move would prove to be a great adventure for our family, and maybe in the long run a boon for my career too.

But I’m being asked to leave a good job in a city that I love to move to a place where most business is conducted in a language I do not speak. I have no guarantee of a job there, and in fact not much notion of how to find one. And I’m scared. I’m scared that my career will get derailed. I’m scared about having my identity revolve around home and family as I try to make friends and build a network in a new place. And I’m scared because this feels like a pretty major alteration in our life course, and I’m not sure when I will get my turn to lead on a decision of this significance.

But then I think about the Obamas and I feel better, because, jeez, if they can work it out, anybody can. As Michelle Obama said at the close of her New York Times interview, the equality of any partnership “is measured over the scope of the marriage. It’s not just four years or eight years or two. We’re going to be married for a very long time.”

Justin Minkel is an elementary school teacher. He’s pretty good at it. He has won state and national awards, including becoming the 2007 Arkansas Teacher of the Year and one of four finalists for the National Teacher of the Year, and has hobnobbed with educational bigwigs from former governors to the Deputy Secretary of Education. But if you get him into conversation he will eventually let slip that teaching is not his only occupation. Justin is also a writer. He writes fantasy novels for readers in the middle grades (kids ages 9 to 14). He has written three of these novels, in fact. (It’s fun to watch this conversational exchange. People recover pretty quickly, but there is always an instant of slack-jawed wonder as they absorb this news.)

Justin is devoted to both his teaching and his writing, and he agreed to be profiled here as part of an occasional series on the ways that people blend multiple passions in their careers.

Let’s start at the beginning. Tell us about your books.

All three novels are part of a series called The Calamon Chronicles, named for a town where sorcery and commerce mingle in the docks and taverns each night.  The most recent novel is about five kids with powerful magical abilities who run away from home to start their own Academy of Sorcery—a magical school designed, built, and taught by children.  Every one of my students has at some point daydreamed about what school would be like if it was run by children instead of adults, and this novel sprang from that idea.

Why did you first decide you wanted to write a book?

I think the book decided it wanted me to write it, and I went along for the ride.  Indian musicians have this concept that musicians don’t make the music, they just channel it for awhile—the music goes on whether they are there to play it or not.  Writing has always been that way for me.  When I sit down to write a novel, I feel like an archaeologist—I’m not creating these cities and ships and mountain ranges, I’m discovering them.  They were there all along.

A lot of people would be daunted by the prospect of writing a novel. Were you intimidated at first? How did you get started? And how do you keep going?

Each plot had its origin in a single moment.  The first novel came from a story my dad told me when I was seven years old about a dragon shrunk inside her mountain to the size of a gem.  I wondered one day, “What would happen if she got out of the gem, and started returning to her original size at a terrifying rate?”  That single ‘I wonder’ led to the manuscript of my first novel, Shammara’s Story.  Once I discover the characters, they seem to do things on their own, and I just follow them until my part in their story ends.  Phillip Pullman, author of The Golden Compass, has a simple but profound quote: “Responsibility and delight can co-exist.”  Writing and revising a novel takes discipline and time, but there is no greater sense of wonder than watching a world unfold.

Your books have a lot of detail. How do you get to know your characters and the fantasy world they inhabit?

I write down a lot that never goes into the manuscript.  In my second novel, The South Beyond, the main character is an inventor.  Before I ever began the manuscript itself, I described the clothes hanging in his closet, his daily routine of inventing, his experiences on a gnomish fishing boat years before his part in the novel begins.  That backstory would be far too detailed to include in the book, but it helped me to inhabit this character, named Pockets, until I felt I could sit down across from him in a coffee shop and buy him a cup of tea.  Once the characters are that familiar to me, I don’t have to pause in the writing to wonder “What would Pockets do here?”  He just does it.

How has your teaching affected your writing, and vice versa?

If you’re going to write for children, you have to know children, and teaching has helped me to do that.  Each week, I meet with five of my former students (now 5^th graders) to get their feedback on the manuscript I finished this summer.  They read a chapter a week, and then tell me what they liked, what they think I should change, and why.  Children aren’t just smaller versions of adults—they perceive the world, everything from time to friendship, differently than we do.  Gaining that perspective is critical to writing books they’ll want to read.

Is your writing a hobby, or a career, or something in between?  What do you see as the long-term balance between your teaching and writing?

Writing is a career for me—I just don’t get paid for it yet.  I approach the craft of writing with the same scrutiny I bring to the craft of teaching.  I set aside the money and time to attend writers’ conferences organized by groups like the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators.  I hired a local novelist I respect to help me revise my second novel, and spent three years on those revisions before deciding the manuscript was ready to submit to agents and publishers.  One of the wonderful things about teaching is that it leaves you with plenty of time and imagination each summer.  During June and July, I write for three or four hours every morning, and I think more about dragons and dwarves than math lessons and seating charts.

What will the cover of your first published novel look like?

My students asked me that question last week.  When I asked them for suggestions, Gizelle wanted the cover to feature the heroine of the book—a twelve-year old Weather Sorceress named Agony Illyria, daughter to a murdered pirate lord.  Jacob thought the cover should depict the main male character, Griffomere, a carousing teenage satyr.  So maybe the publisher will go for both their ideas—Griffomere with his lute and a flagon of elderberry wine, Agony standing beside him with sword and wand drawn.

Justin Minkel can be contacted at justinmink@yahoo.com.  He is also developing a website for the novels, CalamonChronicles.com, which will be active in a few months.

But what do you do when confronted with a real whopper of a decision—one whose scale justifies all the angst that you could possibly devote to it?

Welcome to our life right now. We have been offered an opportunity, and we have a decision to make. It will dramatically shape the future of our lives. It is complex, with many variables and many unknowns. It’s exciting and scary, and I am completely at sea. I usually cobble together some combination of logic and intuition to guide me in big decisions, but neither my head nor my gut is serving me well right now.

Rather than spending another evening running mental laps around this issue, I thought it might be helpful to consult the internet and share any useful findings with you. Not surprisingly, there is a lot of info about decision-making out there in the ether. Depending on your preference, you can use complex mathematical functions or a spiritual visioning process, or anything in between.

Here are a few tips that I found helpful for this particular decision. (You will note the prevalence of clichés in this list. As a writer, I am a bit sheepish about this, but as a human being I’m not. Sometimes the most important advice is overlooked because it is too familiar.)

1. Don’t try to do it all—Big decisions often get tangled up with lots of secondary decisions. This gets messy really fast. Trying to anticipate and optimize so many outcomes at once is paralyzing. Keep the focus on the core decision at hand, and gather as much information about that decision as you possibly can. You can figure out all the other stuff later.

2. Imagine the worst case—This is age-old advice, of course, but it’s useful to stop and actually do it. Fear is a driving factor in decision-making, and this exercise helps you factor it out. Often the worst outcome is not nearly as bad as you’d think, and having considered it gives you confidence as you make your choice. (This is especially helpful if you are leaning toward a particular option but hesitating because of fear.)

3. Trust your gut—Research shows that 90% of decision-making is intuitive. Leaders in business, medicine and the military have all acknowledged the importance of intuition in decisions. This is hard for me. I’m a pretty analytical person, but I’ve realized that going through the rational part of my decision-making process often just clears the way for me to discern what my heart is telling me.

4. About that fork in the road—We all know the Yogi Berra-ism: “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” Partly, of course, this just means that you’ve got to stop dithering and make up your mind. But to me it also implies permission to be bold. I’ve never totally bought into the business about regretting the things you don’t do more than the things you do, but I do believe that you build an interesting life by seizing the opportunities that are presented to you, even if they’re a little scary. Given the choice, I’ll err on the side of adventure every time—but only after I agonize about it first!

Emma Bowen is a student of design history, and a world traveler extraordinaire. She has a master’s degree in the history of decorative arts and design and teaches courses at Parsons The New School for Design in New York City. She can discourse with knowledge and passion on the domestic design of Eastern European nomadic Roma and subversive printmaking during the Mexican Revolution. But she has always had another love: baking. Alongside her design studies, she has maintained a steady stream of catering jobs and special baking projects. (Full disclosure here: Emma baked our wedding cake. It was heavenly.)

I visited Emma in New York a couple of years ago and she confessed to a pie-in-the sky idea: starting a baking business that would deliver treats to people’s homes on a weekly basis. She had a gleam in her eye when describing this plan, but she was in the midst of graduate school and preparing for international travel. I told her it sounded like a great idea, and promptly forgot all about it.

And then, a few weeks ago, I got an email from Emma announcing the launch of Dulcinea, a baking service featuring sustainable ingredients and specializing in weekly delivery to homes within New York City. I was delighted to hear that she is putting her scheme into practice, and I invited her to be profiled here—the first in an occasional series on people pursuing their passions.

Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me about Dulcinea.

Dulcinea is the home for all of my baking projects. I wanted to encapsulate the freelance baking I was doing, as well as a few food-related things I really wanted to do, in one semi-tangible place. At this point, Dulcinea has two main components. The first is a continuation of my freelance work: I make baked goods, including specialty cakes, for events of two people or 100. The second component of Dulcinea was what really pushed me to start the business. It’s a service in which baked goods, inspired by the best seasonal produce available, are delivered to your home each week. It’s like a baking CSA! Sign up is month by month.

Where did you get the idea for this business?

It’s hard to know the moment when you first have an idea. But I remember clearly the first time I spoke about the idea for a weekly baking service out loud. It was about three and a half years ago, and I was living in Prague. I went for lunch to celebrate Chinese New Year with two very good friends. I was telling them about this concept I had for a business in which I made only one type of cake each week, in two sizes–images, a description of the cake, and ordering would all be online. Over Kung Pao chicken, we tried to come up with names. In the end, we settled on Five Cakes. I never went forward with the idea, but now, back in New York and finally finished with graduate school, I morphed it into something for which it seemed people might actually have a desire. I still love the cake idea. Maybe that will be next!

You have loved baking for a long time. What made you start this business now?

I finished school in January of this year and entered a less-than-forgiving job market. I was so fortunate to be offered the wonderful opportunity to teach at Parsons, but I was still looking for something to supplement this work. Since I was baking for business and pleasure so often, I figured it was time to take my hobby to the next level.

How do you know that you’re doing the right thing?

I never know if I’m doing the right thing! But I do know that my goal is to do things that bring me happiness. If you’re happy, you inevitably make other people happy! My philosophy lately has been to just keep moving forward, even if at times moving forward feels uncomfortable.

You are also an instructor of design history and theory. How do you balance your multiple professional identities?

I have always loved to do many different things. My multiple professional identities mesh well with this piece of my personality. What’s interesting is that I know so many others who are incredibly passionate about food and design. I think it’s a quality of life issue. We’re thinking about how to have the best possible sensory experiences on a daily basis. Sometimes it does get confusing, but since I’ve gone ahead with Dulcinea, I’ve tried to limit the other extras to which I have given my time in the past. I’ve discovered that I can do approximately three things very well at any given time. Fewer and I get bored. More and I get frazzled.

Do you expect to someday make a living through your baking? If not, why are you pursuing this project?

I have no idea, but that’s why it’s fun! There have been moments in my life when I’ve imagined my future perfectly, behind the counter of a small bakeshop (preferably somewhere on a cobblestoned street!). But I have so many ideas—design related, as well—that make me excited. I think if I keep doing the things I love, my life will take one obvious direction at some point, even if that direction is to continue spending my time balancing two professional worlds.

What do you love most about your business? Have there been any surprises?

People have asked me in the past what I like about baking, and baking desserts in particular. I try always to do a good job and put a lot of love into what I’m making. When someone takes a bite of something sweet and delicious, they never frown or grimace. On the contrary, they are happy and, often, blissful (really!), even if for a split second. Helping to make that happen is what I love most about my business.

The biggest surprise thus far has just been, even with a small business, the massive organization needed to keep things productive and efficient. I thought writing a master’s thesis had been tough! Okay, it’s different than that, but if you really want to stay on top of things, you need to spend time a good amount of time getting things in order.

Do you have any words of wisdom for others who harbor a secret itch to start an entrepreneurial project like this?

Just start. Give it a try! I used to think something had to be perfect before you presented it to others (whether it be words, a business, a cake). I realize now that nothing is ever perfect. You might think it’s close to perfect, but then when you actually put it out there, you find there is still so much work to do! It was intimidating for me to put my name on something and be in the position where others would (and should!) critique it. But it has been an incredible feeling to push my nerves aside and just go for it.

For a mouthwatering experience, check out the Dulcinea website, but be prepared to envy those lucky enough to live in NYC!

I have recently abandoned the idea of a tidy career. Sometimes I long for a real job title—one that elicits respectful nods at cocktail parties. But if there was really a single job that encompassed all my interests, I think I would have found it by now, so my new attitude is, ‘the more the merrier!’ I am a career polygamist.

Which means that I have learned to embrace the slash. I am a writer/environmental communications specialist. I enjoy and take pride in both parts of my identity. Making peace with my own non-linear career has opened my eyes to the many-splendored career paths of those around me. My immediate circle of friends includes, among others, a conservationist/photographer, a teacher/fantasy writer, a musician/judicial advocate, a green entrepreneur/engineer, a graphic designer/limnologist, and a web developer/carpenter/entomologist. And those are just the first few that come to mind.

I don’t know whether my peers and I are indicative of some broader societal trend or whether we’re just unusually indecisive. But I do know that the people I know who are pursuing multiple or blended careers are interesting, passionate, and genuinely excited about what they do.

I want to learn more about how people build satisfying careers that meld disparate interests, and have decided to employ that time-tested writers’ trick: pointing a lens at those around me.

Starting next week you will find on these pages, from time to time, a feature interview with someone whose career intrigues me. We will begin with Emma Bowen, an architectural design instructor who recently started a sustainable baking business.

I also took my student assistant out for coffee to talk about her career goals and what she can do to build her skills and resume in this job.

How’s the mentorship quest going for all of you?

Basically, the gist is that a little kid shows up to a get-together at the author’s house wearing a crown and announces that he is the King of Pretending, which over the course of the day he proves, in fact, to be. And the take-away lesson is that we should celebrate our talents and cultivate them, rather than trying to shore up our weaknesses. The “fix the weaknesses” strategy can only lead to mediocrity, while focusing on gifts breeds greatness. (Examples: what if Tiger Woods had opted to improve his auto mechanic skills or Einstein had spent his time trying to be a pianist…)

A little sappy, perhaps, but not bad for bathroom literature.

I’d never thought of it quite this way, but this is why I write. I’m really good at writing. I like it. A lot. I love the process of fitting words together–I lose myself in it and find joy in getting it right. I’ve gotten compliments on my writing for as long as I can remember.

I hesitate to call my writing a gift or a passion–those are some pretty loaded words. But it’s the closest thing I have to either one. I started my writing business (and this blog) because I decided it was time to commit to the thing I do best. It was a good decision. Maybe someday I will be the Queen of Words.

There’s tons of research showing the importance of mentors, in everything from sports to legal careers to the military. I’ve seen its value in my own life–when I’m focused and jazzed about a project there is usually someone in the wings inspiring me and guiding me and cheering me on.

Mentors are valuable in many areas of life, but what I seek right now is career mentoring. I don’t mean to imply that I don’t have any professional mentors at all. I have quite a few “silent mentors”–people I admire who I watch and try to learn from. But some of them don’t know I exist, and none of them know I am spying on them. I also have friends who I talk shop with–we hash things out and learn from each other. This is more of a peer relationship, though.

What I’d really like to do is populate my High Council of Jedi Knights, to borrow a term from Pam Slim of Escape from Cubicle Nation. I want wise and powerful mentors who know exactly what I need and the best ways for me to learn it. I want them to care about me and be deeply invested in my success. I want them have noble lives as well as laudable careers. I recognize that maybe I am being a bit unrealistic here. But I do have a couple of people in mind whom I admire. I have questions that I’d like to ask them.

There’s plenty of smart advice out there about how to be a good mentee. (Here’s some, and here’s more.) I think I’ll do pretty well. The hard part, of course, is getting up the gumption to ask in the first place, which is where the mentor challenge comes in.

I’m committing, here and now, to ask at least one person to mentor me before August is over. And while I’m at it, I will offer to mentor someone else too, because mentorship is a two-way street. If you’ve also been yearning for a little more guidance, maybe you will decide to take the challenge with me.

Back in college I was an outdoor education instructor–rock-climbing and camping and such. Outdoor educators are a singularly warm, nurturing and process-oriented bunch, and they taught me several important lessons about feedback that I have carried with me.

Upon reflection, these principles are applicable in other arenas too.

1. It must be consensual. Uninvited critical feedback will pretty much always be interpreted as an act of aggression. The purpose of feedback is to help someone grow. They can’t do that if they’re on the defensive. Constructive feedback is a delicate process and should be undertaken with care and respect, and only when all parties are in the mood.
2. There’s more to it than the climax. Good feedback isn’t just about dropping in and delivering a revolutionary insight on someone’s behavior or performance.  You have to work up to it, and you shouldn’t cut and run afterward. The G-rated outdoor-ed folks call this a feedback sandwich. You can call it what you like. But start out with something appreciative and genuine, do the deed, and then give it some nice satisfying closure. Needless to say, this is more likely to go well when you’re not in a rush and can give it your full attention.
3. It takes two to tango. If you expect to give feedback you have to be willing to accept it too. That’s how the game is played.

Here is a link to a good and thorough article about feedback in a work context, if you’re interested.

My paranoid side can spy my boss–and all of my potential future bosses–reading over my shoulder here, so I would like to state for the record that I am happily employed, I work hard at my job, and have no plans to leave it. Here are a few things I enjoy about it.

1. Learning new stuff–No two days at my office are exactly alike. If I get bored, I dream up new projects and different ways to reach out to people.  My boss is open to these ideas and my job has evolved with my skills and interests.
2. Helping people–Okay, let’s be clear here.  I’m not saving lives or rescuing kittens from trees.  But I do work directly with people who have questions and seek resources.  I can usually deliver what they’re looking for, with a smile.  It’s satisfying to exceed expectations and make somebody happy.
3. Committed coworkers–I work in the public sector. None of us are in this work for the money. My colleagues are smart, diligent and charming. They challenge my ideas and principles and are fun to work with besides.
4. Flexible schedule–When I had a baby I was able to negotiate a part-time return to work. With the money that’s no longer going into my paycheck, we hired someone to job-share with me, and a student assistant to take care of the boring stuff that neither of us wants to do. It’s fabulous.
5. Culture of trust–I don’t fill out a timesheet.  The assumption at my workplace is that we’re professionals who will get the job done. In my experience, we always do. I set my own hours, and can even do some work from home, which lets me accommodate the quirks of a kid-centered world.
6. Big shoes–Flexibility notwithstanding, this is not a fluffy little part-time job.  My colleagues and clients depend on my work, and there’s always way more of it than I can possibly do well. On bad days this makes me despair. But I thrive on challenge and responsibility and I know that in the nice mellow job that I sometimes fantasize about, some vital part of me would atrophy.

As it turns out, I’m entirely predictable. In 2006 the National Opinion Research Center at the University of Chicago surveyed people about their job satisfaction and overall happiness. Not surprisingly, people like jobs that help others, use creativity and have a manageable level of stress. Clergy, firefighters and physical therapists have the highest job satisfaction. Roofers have the lowest. Perhaps the most surprising part, though, is that on a 4-point scale of job satisfaction (4=very satisfied), the average rating across all occupations–even the lousy ones–is 3.3. Think about that next time you’re griping around the water cooler.