The path not taken, or at least not taken for over four decades, left me wondering about all the what-ifs. Back in the day, experiencing my first full-time paid job as an in-house copywriter, did I really have a choice to A: keep writing ads and speeches and catalog copy and training materials, or B: earning a lot more money managing projects, learning about computers, opening business offices, traveling the world setting up partnerships? No, it was a no-brainer; I had lots of kids to raise alone and all our many bills to pay, and writing, though enjoyable (how frivolous I might be to have fun working!), would not sustain us.
I chose the well-trodden economic road instead of the creative one, but my writing chops served me well no matter the overpasses and interchanges on my path. I knew how to meet deadlines. I learned to research the interests of my audience. I took in all criticism from those above and around me and negotiated the final output. I embraced the power of succinct words, the slow reveal, the punch line. They earned me the security of knowing I wouldn’t outlive my funds and become a burden on my children.
The corporate economic road eventually narrowed and then closed as I aged out of the competition. It took me a while to get over the change of pace, the change of life I’d acclimated to over decades. Then I went back to writing. Back with a longer view, a different perspective, a different relationship to words and their meanings. But back with a restlessness baked in by relentless challenges, accountability to others, times and structures dictated by the demands of the current corporate job goal. So, I set lofty goals for words and hours, built rigid structures to keep me on task and on target, and I was wracked with guilt if even my daily goals weren’t met, chastised myself for activities that didn’t contribute to my “productivity.”
I’d modeled the writing life I’d romanticized on an inappropriate premise, like a bohemian lady garbed in a business suit, pantyhose, and high heels. No wonder I felt uncomfortable. I had to redefine what the writing life meant to me, and to do that I had to juxtapose it against the past:
- Then I worked for income; now I write for satisfaction.
- Past corporate goals were set to measure my performance plan progress; my current writing goals are flexible and I make the rules, I can change the rules, and I’m in charge of the calendar.
What has this new paradigm taught me?
- 😊I know writing feeds me, because if I haven’t done something writing-related on any given day I can feel something is missing in my mind and body.
- ☹: Writing takes me from other things I think I should be doing (few of which are critical, like raking leaves, keeping up with the news, reconciling bank statements, et al).
- 😊 I’m fascinated by all the ideas and stories my brain can conjure up (not all of them good), and I’m glad it still works most of the time.
- 😊Researching is fun.
- 😊I enjoy helping others write and learn how to improve their writing.
- ☹: I don’t wanna work. I just wanna bang on the drum all day (preferably on an island). So I trash the guilt and go out and play when I feel like it.
