Pretty much as a rule, I do what’s easiest. Short-cuts abound, excelling marks indicative, I have always chosen the easiest road. In school, I attended the classes that I got As in without needing to work for them: math, French, English, journalism, creative writing, photography, fashion. In college, I chose majors based on what I already knew, what textbooks I would consider reading anyways, just for kicks.
I grew up knowing I’d be a single parent, and I am. Maybe that was a self-fulfilling prophesy, but I think it’s more likely that I recognized an inherent need to do what I had littler chance of failing at, over working and possibly coming out wrong in the end. I don’t get along with others, especially in my own space, and trust me, the loneliness, frustration and stress of being a mommy alone for 90% of the week far outweighs the caustic feelings an open cupboard door or coffee grounds on my counter provide.
So, this writing stuff. I’ve been struggling, not with writing, per se. But with the onslaught of compliments to do with it. I don’t consider myself a writer further than I would consider myself a professional toothbrusher. I sit, I type and stuff comes out and sometimes I get paid for it and sometimes people take notice. Apparently, that makes me a writer, but really, it’s just breathing and I could take or leave it.
But it’s been a plan to be a writer. Again, not because I want to be, not that I crave a life obsessively weaving tales and wowing, but because it will pay the bills and then some, one day, and the work I’ll have to put into it will be largely research or marketing-based. That is not conceit speaking, it’s just fact. I type fast.
It’s that I sat down and said, “okay, I’m going to write a novel and the main character will be scarred by something in her life that will change everything she knows as true.” Then I started writing it. I have one sentence worth of plot in my head, and it’s writing itself, with my fingers as it’s tool. That’s it.
Trust me, this is something that has bothered me for a long time – that I was looking for appreciation and respect, and to make a name for myself, when really, it was only the reactions I was craving, not a reaction to something specific, my passion.
I didn’t have a passion. I saw people going off to university, knowing always that they wanted to be a doctor or a teacher or a writer. Not for the money or the ease at which the subject matter came to them, because they needed to be a doctor or a teacher or a writer, if they were going to fully live their lives.
Me? I could throw an outfit concept together in 32 seconds based on a keyword. I could do math in my head. A sort of photographic memory made remembering a lot of stuff really easy. I could read into people. I knew everything about dieting and fitness.
Every job or career I’ve considered or dipped my toe into has just been based on whatever I could do, not wanted (or even better), craved and needed to do.
Until this morning. When talking to a friend who sent me a link to a blog for an unrelated (to what? you’ll see.) reason. And I thought, upon seeing this site, “Oh my god, this is beautiful. But maybe I’d move this, and make that a little smaller. That’s not symmetrical, and it could use some more white space in here.” And do you know what I was doing?
I was redesigning the site in my mind, considering how I could do it, what coding would be needed. How I could make something that beautiful.
And the largest of all damn lightbulbs turned on, 100 watts blinding, and a message ran across the inside of my forehead, where apparently lives a ticker of epiphany: I want to make beautiful blogs. Then I want to make beautiful landing pages for businesses.
I want to tell a VP of Marketing exactly what she needs on her business’ website, what will make her money and bring in a new, improved customer base with less work needed for her team. I want to create interfaces with programmers that make my beautiful sites completely customer interactive, so they need never call or email a salesperson, and should never want to, again.
And because my first thought after those impassioned lines ran left to right was, “it would be a lot of work, a huge chunk of time invested, I probably wouldn’t understand it,” it was clinched. I finally found something I can fall in love with, and it scares the shit out of me.
∞
- Do you know that the nominations are open for the 2009 Blogger’s Choice Awards? I bet you’ve got 12 people on your ‘roll that you could throw out to the wolves, right?
- A photo I took of Isobel on Halloween was featured on Just Miss‘ photo blog, Just One Look. Check out the other contributor’s amazing photos that sandwiched my freshman effort.
