I’ve got to try something that scares me. I’m about to take a course; I’m making a commitment. It’s something I know I can do and will manage to excel at, yet I’ve got the jitters of an 18 year old realising she has to take on the big, bad world (and that becoming a stripper won’t do the family proud)…
As a 33 year old, the prospect of diving into a potential career change is a scary one. But then, I kind of tackled that monster once already by quitting my job and becoming an expat.
The past year has been a strange one for me, career-wise. I moved to the UK knowing that I’d be doing some web work, (code etc.), nurturing some creative outlets like writing and painting, and learning a new way of life in general. I have had the perfect opportunity and taken advantage of only half of it. I have let myself down due to a lack of initial structure, but I’ve prattled on about that flaw in plenty of past posts.
I do know more code than I knew before, and what I know, I’m pretty fucking good at. I want to continue to grow that way. The geek is still strong in me and I am a mix of proud and embarrassed to say that I was the first to plug in the computers after returning from holiday. I am a sad little monkey. I hadn’t even taken off my shoes…
In the creative category, the writing pours out more steadily now than it has in ages. And it’s of a better quality. I’m so much less ashamed of what I pen, and this blog seems a testimony to at least some of it. I keep an old Powerbook (Pismo 500, for my geek peeps), for writing. You don’t see any of the projects here because they don’t fit here. I have an alternate blog that I may unveil before winter closes and it’s purpose just might be to give these words air.
I guess I could say that I’m taking my love of language a bit more seriously these days. I don’t struggle to write most of the time‚Äì not for myself anyway. The hurdle has been going from sharing the blog to sharing the true creative writing. I have read some of my work to my mom. That was the tallest and most intimidating inner barrier to overcome. You see, she reads. She reads like most of us breathe. Without effort, she devours books on complex subjects, oftentimes dealing with futuristic physics and sci-fi of a terrifyingly intense nature. This is her beloved genre and one that I could never write for, but the fact remains that she is the most well-read person I know and also happens to be my worst critic/biggest fan rolled into one. I adore this woman and I am finally getting brave enough to let her read my words. The rest of the world can laugh or sneer at the sentences I string together, but I, like so many kids, just want my mom to truly like what I do. Not in a ‘pat-the-head, there-there’ sort of way. Nope‚Äì I want to deserve the spot on the refrigerator door, not be there by default.
It’s for you that I take this course, mom. It’s for you that I will refine the ramblings and unleash powerful words. And it’s for me that I will succeed.