There are a lot of things that I’ve been known to want to “be” in my nearly-35 years.
In grade 6, I wanted to be a pediatric endocrinologist. I literally have no idea what that is, but I was certain I wanted to be one. I think it’s a doctor for children. No clue. Probably a good sign that I should never have wanted to be that.
By grade 11, I was certain that I wanted to be a prosecuting attorney. I wanted to put away the bad guys! I loved learning about how the law works and it was probably around this time I started watching Law & Order. And if anything was going to push me into something law related, it was going to be that show. My best friend and I consistently “dressed the part” (or what we thought that was, anyway) nearly every day at school. If we weren’t in our cheerleading uniforms, we were wearing pant suits. 1997 was a weird fashion year for me. For most of us, honestly.
Then in grade 12, I had to write a novel for my AP English class and I discovered I wanted to be in the CIA. I big time wanted to be a spy. My same friend from grade 11 had the same idea as I did. We’d recently seen the first Mission: Impossible and, well, we were going to be spies. And it was going to be awesome! I’m not sure about her, but by that time, I was already in love with travel and language, so it seemed I was on the right track.
Then I went to college and everything sort of went haywire (as if it hadn’t seemed that way already). I wanted to be a wedding/event planner, a sociologist, a social worker (another Law & Order-fueled idea…what is my deal?!), something to do with hospitality, and then finally…a writer.
Eleven years, five colleges/universities, and five major changes later, I ended up with a degree in writing and editing.
Hilariously, I found myself back where I started. If only I’d have known about this when I started…I’d have saved myself a hell of a lot of time, effort, and – maybe most importantly – money (which is the portion of this tale that makes me the most angry at Congress. I digress).
So someday, I think I would like to be able to call myself a professional writer. It would be pretty awesome. “What do you do?” “Oh, I’m a writer.” And then for fun, I’d like to be able to add “…for Vanity Fair” or “…for Huffington Post” or “…for the President” but I’ll take what I can. And for now, that’s just me spewing my thoughts at a laptop, hoping someone will read it and maybe find it interesting.
“I coulda been a contendah!”