What do you want to be...

when you grow-up?

After seven years, a leap was taken. Notice given. May 27th marks the last day serving. 


Walking to get a coffee and write a bit, my fingers found their way strolling through past words written. Words from a year ago, this is what was found: 





5-3-2011
Recently I was sent an e-mail. Attached was a preview for a movie Pause, Press, Play. I can't really say why the last few words, "this changes everything, the industry's dead," inspired thoughts for writing today, but with the recession we're all in at the moment, and my continuing three year search for a career, I find myself truly asking: "What do I want to be when I grow-up?"


Having recently celebrated my 32nd birthday some may find this question funny. Haven't I grown-up already? But I'm realizing more and more, we are always growing-up, and this is a question one never stops asking. Whether you're in elementary school, graduating high school or college, or near the process of retirement, the question remains.


So what do I want to be when I grow-up? A lot of the work I have been thinking of lately is my own. Pause, press on, play. It's my future and my past combined.


When I was seven, I wanted to be a writer. I remember my Mom coming into my second grade class to read a story she had written (one I hope she will submit soon). I found story fascinating--and still do as those who know me are bombarded with my ramblings on the subject everyday.


When I was eight, my idea changed all because of a puppy from Santa on Christmas day. I wanted to be  a Vet. I thought it would be all "fun and games" playing with all types of animals. Then when I was 10, my Dad got me a Veterinary Dictionary for Christmas. It wasn't one of those little kid ones, but the college level type that gave the Latin names for all the diseases animals could possibly have. This for some reason moved my desire to a new realm (o.k. lets face it, the dictionary overwhelmed me, and I realized pets might not be that cute and cuddly when disease ridden).


So I turned my sights to be an artist. This ambition was short lived as I realized, though I could draw--I didn't draw well. 11 and 12 my sights were on Olympic swimmer, amazing Rock Singer, or Journalist. Obviously, this was my pre-teen years and my mind was getting jumbled by the on coming hormones. 


Which gives reason for 13 and 14 being a bit blurred on what I wanted to be when I grew-up. I do believe my sights were more fascinated with boys (as seems to be the case still, though I pretend I manage it better now) than on my own dreams and desires of self achievement.


At 15, I went back to science, but I Incorporated the pool, thinking I would be a Marine Biologist (I mean come on, who didn't). Even my job aptitude test told me I would be great at this profession. Though I don't think it took into account I lived in a desert.


16-18: I was going to be (and was) an entrepreneur. Business licence purchased, I promoted rock concerts in the rural south-eastern corner of the "L" shaped Utah state. This was my focus for years, it was the direction for my early college education, and then I turned 20 and I was back to books. I wanted to be a writer, but added the possibility of editor of children's and young adult literature.


At 25, college grad, a book slinger, and ambition still driving my forces, I went back to school for a second degree. And then I found myself 30 and confused, because I still hadn't grown-up and somehow all that questioning of what I wanted to be when I grew-up had made me a master beer slinger. Lost. 


And now at 32, smack dab in a recession, options and opportunity abound. So here's the dream at the moment: submit writing to publishers, examine the entrepreneur projects you've been thinking of for years now, meet with colleges and see if they want a quirky-fun-and enthusiastic woman as an adjunct professor in children's and YA literature, and begin the process of submitting for PhD candidacy.


It seems like a long road travelled to get here, and I find it funny that at age six I knew writing would be the crux, story the glue. Sometimes we just have to remember that our young selves knew us better than we thought. They weren't confused by all the crazy distractions the years bring. They saw open doors, unlike our adult selves shutting and locking us in.


So maybe the question isn't ,"What do you want to be when you grow-up?" Maybe the question needs to be, "Who did you want to be when you were young?"

And now, a year later after writing these words--33--I'm back to my six year old self. That girl who took gymnastics and tumbled and leaped to her hearts content whenever she heard a story. It's a balancing act, doing what you love and working to survive. But I leapt. I'm taking the risk on myself with the hope that I can write the net that will catch me.

A New Tax Bracket...

... And yes people, I'm talking about dating here.

On Tuesday, I was a good American citizen and I did my taxes, much to my dislike. I wrote out two checks, one to the Feds and one to the State, neither of which covered the full cost. But hey, they were filed right.

And then today I came to a new analogy on dating as I sat having coffee with a long time friend I haven't seen in over a year.

Dating in your 30's is like jumping into a new tax bracket. 

You think all is good. You're making more money, right? And then tax time comes and you realize all that great pay just places you harder into the doom of the high middle class. Specifically... all your money goes to the government.

Now I realize that by writing this, my future prospects in the dating world may be slim. But really, let's face it--If a guy can't laugh at this, I don't think I'd really want to date them anyway.

But let's get back to those [brackets].

In your teens, dating is all dramatic and over the top (which I've also found somehow lingers as time goes, but whatever). In your twenties and dating, you're all full of hope and wonder as you travel along the path with a person to not only develop a relationship but find yourself as well.

In your thirties... Well lets face it people, you pretty much know who you are, know where you want to go and are trying like crazy to get there. You've had love and heartbreak. The wonder-lust is still there, but you have to some how find the time for it in your already developed and heavily busy scheduled life, and well... goodness gracious it's a lot of work to find that person who fits with you and wants to put the time and effort into making things progress.

I wonder what I will be saying on this topic in my forties?

Who knows, but like this years taxes, I won't give up. I might not be able to pay it all right away, but I'll chisel away payments each month, with the hope that one day I'll hit that high tax [bracket] and be able to bask in the sun on vacation.

(If any of this doesn't make sense to you, try reading a tax pamphlet and you'll recognize I make a lot more sense than the government.)

To Err is Human...

Right?

Many questions have been going through my mind as of late. Non of which need posting here, but truthfully I want to know what we're doing? What is the story you want to tell?

I keep thinking of different things, and lately my mind has been a bit boggled by emotions, questions, and the what not.

I know I shouldn't say this, but whiskey became my friend awhile back and I haven't turned around since.

On my walk home tonight, I looked at all the passing cars, the people on the street, the trees changing suit from winter garb to spring, and I thought, "I need to write more."

To be a writer... well that's a tricky enough business. And isn't that what it all is? Business. People are in your business, your trying to show your business, and well... you pretty much just stumble around hoping to find your way, your voice, yourself.

The business of self discovering can be tricky. Lets not forget the moment in the Neverending Story where Atreyu is about to step foot in front of the second Oracle. It's the Oracle that shows the true self, and lets face it, do any of us really want to see it?

I think of myself as a kind person. A person that can relate and empathise with others. But really, I'm out there fighting. Fighting for me. For what I want.

But what I want, I haven't clearly defined yet. And above anything, this scares me. Because at the moment, I feel reckless. I feel as though I'm playing with fire and about to set the biggest fire storm known to man.

I am one lone girl, lady, woman... or whatever you want to say. But in my mind right now, I'm a child trying to put the puzzle pieces together. And I don't know if they're fitting. So I use a proverb to make myself feel better...

To err is human...

Right?

And is it ever truly an err?...

Drummer Man, Lemon Chicken, and a Place Called Home...

I'm learning to find comfort in myself...

To make time for all the things I love to do...

And "home" is what I make it...

The one thing I love in life is seeing people happy...
Doing the things they love...
Making the most of life in the time we have...
Sharing experiences and being ourselves...

Yesterday, I was exhausted after a long (and may I say fun) weekend of work. Driving to have lunch with a few co-workers, I found myself stopped on 4th South and 300 West in downtown SLC.

Stretching my neck, I turned and saw a gentleman in his beat-up work truck, wearing his fluorescent work vest and beat-up white work shirt, practicing the drums by pounding drumsticks upon the dashboard to the beat of a track--I can only assume--was playing on his stereo. It wasn't as if we were there long, or that he saw me, but it was a moment of life. He was his job, I was on my way to relax from mine. He was an individual with talents and goals, making the time for each wherever possible. I had taken the steps to achieve mine with my new job. I left smiling.

Tonight, after a planned coffee with a high school friend I haven't seen in 15 years, I found myself out to a forgotten dinner planned with the girls. Catching up over Chinese food, we laughed at our passed frustrations and disscussed our new worries, goals, jobs, boys--you know girl talk. Each of us reached for our chocolate fortune cookies with anticipation, and found ourselves in disappoitment. None of us received what we wanted (you know the fortune that says... "You will win a million dollars tomorrow." And it actually happens). Instead I received...

"All the water in the world can't sink a ship unless it gets inside."

O.k. Thanks for that.

So I left dinner and met up with a friend for dessert. Through our conversation I found myself telling one of my favorite stories during my last trip in Europe. I realized this time in telling, my moral in the story--"If you miss your train to catch your plane, there is always another way back home."--was like my fortune cookie. And the fortune cookie was like the stranger playing the drums in his truck.

I saw something in passing yesterday...

I received a fortune from my fortune cookie at dinner tonight...

I told a story to a friend over dessert and coffee...

And each melded together to a strange and comfortable realization.

There may be hiccups in achieving my dreams, but if I see the moments around me then the few seconds of waiting for a light to change from red to green will open my eyes to reflect upon my fortunes, and a story told many times before, can show the foundation to the home I plan to live in.