When I was in the third grade, I decided that I wanted to be a bricklayer. It seemed like the best job in the world.
Think about it. You get to stack things up, stick them together with mortar, and gaze upon your finished work.
I even read the want ads. Then I realized that (a) I lacked the requested bricklaying experience, and (b) no one would hire me anyhow because I was eight and couldn’t move a wheelbarrow full of bricks.
Well, I’m not eight anymore. But I probably still can’t lift a wheelbarrow full of bricks. Fortunately, I didn’t have to, because we were barely moving the bricks at all–they were already in place (plus the house came with a lot of spares). They just weren’t stuck in place. But we fixed that!