Walking home after work last week, I had an epiphany. If you know me—and if you're reading this, I imagine you do—then you know that every two weeks, I find another dream job that I'm going to pursue. And it's always some cool great thing that I would probably be very good at, and you, my friends and family, say nice, supportive things, and then in a few days, I've changed my mind.
So then I had the epiphany.
I am never going to be anything besides a writer.
That might mean that I have crap jobs, like working at the museum, for the rest of my life. And it doesn't mean I'm going to be a good writer, or a successful writer. It just means that I'm going to write, and everything else I'm interested in is probably just fodder for writing.
Whew. I'm also giving myself permission to explore all those really cool things that interest me—without saying they're my dream job. Because, hey—art classes and yoga classes and whatever other weird junk I get into all give me something to write about. And a girl's got to have that.
It feels good getting it all off my chest.