The backup plan

It hit me today between flipping back and forth between three different spread sheets, assisting with a new hire and covering for the receptionist This was so not what I thought life was going to turn out.

Not at all.

Granted I actually never really thought about life in the future. But I am pretty sure it didn't involve spreadsheets. Rather it probably involved kids, since for the longest time I swore I was destined to be a teacher. Then again, my older sister at the time was studying to be a teacher herself. My mom a school bus driver. Which naturally meant I was totally going to follow in the family footstep.

Six months into college, I discovered teaching really wasn't for me. A thought I still regret to this day. Because in all actuality I probably gave up on this thought way to easily after being told I was in no way my sister, and so I would not get off easier than the other students.  I should have probably discovered this was bound to happen, since after all we did go to the same college. Still I let it discourage me.

Even so, I don't think I was ever meant to be a teacher. It just isn't my style.

I always figured something would fall into place, that I would find my niche and things would truly be alright. And yet, now in my early thirties I find I seem to be no closer to this than I was back at twenty one.

Why?

Probably because I live off this pipe dream. I have always dabbled in writing. I took a creative writing English class back in high school and picked up a couple of best writer in the class-voted on my peers-awards. I dreamt of words and pictures and scenes.  I have kept a journal since I could remember. Yes writing has always been something I have loved to do. And the idea that I could someday be a writer has always been in the back of my mind. It wasn't until I started writing about some of my experiences with my disability, more specifically after a date when I came home and started a piece revolving around it. I was working on it one day when I accidentally left it on the table where my dad picked it up. I came home to my mom sitting at that table, saying for the first time in years, my dad had literally cried.  Even if it was my dad, there was something about it, the feeling that I got, the emotion that I got. It was then that I realized it was something more than just a hobby. It was something I actually wanted to do. Like for real for real.

So why not be one right? I mean it has to be easy?

Except its not. My mom has always told us to follow our hearts but to have a backup plan, which is why my sister teaches anyway. Since her dream of being on Broadway hasn't really panned out. Yet. And because the likelihood of becoming the next Jodie Piccoult often takes time, time in which I don't always have with a son, a full time job-hey something has to pay the bills-and my school at night. And while I would to think the first piece I send out will automatically get picked up and published, I am realistic I know it may not always happen. Which means I have to figure something else out.

A backup plan. One that doesn't involve spreadsheets all day would be preferred.

At least until that book finally gets finished and that publishers deal comes through.