I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, soul-searching if you will, during my recent stay in the land of the unemployed. As my nest egg dwindles, my anxiety grows.
When you're a kid, people always encourage you to have big dreams. Why is it that once you're in the double digits you're supposed to put those dreams away for “real life”?
Recently I saw the woman who used to live in the house directly behind my childhood home and that brought back a lot of memories. Suddenly, I remembered that well before I could actually write I used to make up and deliver newspapers for my neighborhood. I would scribble made up stories on notebook paper, then roll up the pages and go from house to house delivering what I called “the news.”
This is a picture of what my neighbors were kind enough to pretend was what they had been waiting for “all day!”
I learned to read and write when I was five. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with “One Fish, Two Fish” by Dr. Seuss for hours that night. I was determined to figure out how those symbols were deciphered into words that made sense to me. I wanted to be able to put down on paper all the stories that were in my head and all the feelings that were in my heart.
Once I learned how to read I was insatiable. I read by night light, had my head on my desk (to read the book that was on my lap) and my two favorite gifts were new books and fresh notebooks.
I was in the 5th grade when my English teacher asked for my permission to use one of my stories as a worksheet for future classes. The feeling I got from that experience is indescribable.
I seemed to have been born with a passion for the written word but then another bug bit me…acting. My mother brought me to acting classes and I found I had a knack for “becoming” my character. I was good at it and it became what I dreamed of doing with my life. My parents divorced and money was tight so those classes, unfortunately, were one of the things that had to be cut. As a teenager when I joined the workforce I did go back for awhile and got good reviews all around. I got pregnant with my daughter at 19 and theater just no longer seemed to be an attainable occupation. I always meant to start writing again but it just never seemed to be the right time.
I find it incredible just how fast the years fly by. Suddenly you look around and say, “What the fuck am I doing here? I hate my job! What happened to all the plans and dreams I had when I started this adventure that is my life?” It seems like it was just last week when those dreams were within reach.
My point is that I need to find a job which, considering the present state of the economy, I fear will be no easy task. Do I really want to jump right into another job that I hate? Is it alright to chase after the dreams that seemed so possible just yesterday? Is the fact that I’m daring to entertain these thoughts just downright selfish? Is there a time when it’s just too late?
I’d really love to hear any thoughts and/or opinions on this.
