On déjà vu…


Day 4. My Dream Job. Well, I guess since I think about it pretty much all the time, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to write about it. Weirdly, the thing is, sometimes I don’t know which of my dream jobs I really want. There are a lot. I have this thing where I watch random TV shows and think, “I want to do that!” It’s how I ended up majoring in Social Work at one point. I watched an episode of SVU that was especially heartbreaking to me and declared Social Work, like, the next week. Every time I watch Nashville, I wish I could just sing for the rest of my life. Sing and make money doing it, that is. I’ve thought about going back to bartending, but at a swanky, prohibition-style bar. Man, I’d love that. And I’d be good at it.

But the dream job I always come back to? Writer. I just want to be a writer. I want to write for Condé Nast Traveler. I want to write for Vanity Fair. I want to write a blog that makes money. I want to write for the White House. I just want to write. I don’t know that I’ll ever give up on that dream, but I also don’t really know how to go about doing any of it, specifically the Vanity Fair one. I’m also amittedly kind of lazy. I have all these big, fun dreams, but DAMN. The work involved makes me want to cry!

I make the most ridiculous excuses not to go for it. I don’t have the time. I’m too busy being a mom. I’m too tired. I’m not good enough. You name the excuse, I’ve probably made it. All of them are equal parts valid and invalid. I also feel like I’ve talked about this a thousand times before. I’m beating a very, very dead horse by now.

So yeah. That’s my dream job. Now to get to it…

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