Quitting my job and then coming home for the holidays is a lot like being a senior in college or high school. It’s a practice in being constantly inundated with, “So what are you going to do next?” It is as overwhelming now as it was then and despite my alphabet’s worth of plans, I don’t have an actual definitive answer. I do not have a job lined up at (fill in company here) where I will be (insert skill here). I know that I don’t want to teach, at least for a while, though that hasn’t stopped many from offering up teaching suggestions. That’s so nice of you, I say and then with an extra chest puff of confidence, but I am actually hoping to be a writer!
“OH THAT IS SO WONDERFUL!” everyone has said. And it is usually especially boisterous as it is the holidays and cocktails are close at hand. “How will that work exactly?”
And that is where my confidence deflates a bit and I swig my own close-at-hand cocktail and respond, Well, I’m not exactly sure.
Because the truth is, I have NO idea how to become a writer. At. All.
I have fantasies that blogging on this site, mixed with a bit of freelance will be my future, but even that is filled with so many unknowns. For starters, I don’t even know what category in which to put this blog and everyone from facebook to bloglovin wants me to fit into a nice easy category. I’m not a travel writer and my other site is for writing about music. I have no offspring so I can’t be a mommy blogger. I am not well versed in tech or the news or have a cat who looks disgruntled all the time. I think that crappy diner coffee is THE BEST especially when served in a beige ceramic mug! I am clearly not a foodie. That leaves “lifestyle blogger” which as far as I can tell means clothing, beauty, craft and diy advice.
I would be a terrible lifestyle blogger. My style is about sundresses or flannel depending on the season. My two favorite stores are Anthropologie and LLBean. I own fewer shoes than anyone I know. My makeup routine involves a quick brush of powder foundation and some mascara. Blush and eye liner for special occasions. I have no need for DIY crafts because I live in a minuscule apartment and I don’t like having a lot of things. I can’t even be a minimalist blogger because the entirety of my advice is “don’t own shit.” I have no household tips that I didn’t learn from The Hip Girl’s Guide To Homemaking or from buying the most potent chemical agent available because I am light green about the environment at best.
What I can give you is a little anecdote about inviting a gentleman over only to have our romantical activities interrupted by a giant cockroach running laps in my kitchen light. Incidentally, it was with this same fella that more romantical activities were interrupted by an embarrassing display of my lactose intolerance. But that story is for the book I am writing. Oh yeah. I’m writing a book.
I have never fit into categories well and since I refuse to tell you about all the things you can do with old discarded wooden pallets, apparently neither does this blog.
But that’s ok and I am going to trust that you will continue to enjoy my anecdotes about Tinder dating and exploring the world outside my comfort zone despite my lack of defined future or category. Some of us (and our blogs) are not meant for definitive answers. I will cross my fingers and hope you will be so kind as to pass this along and share it with your nearest and dearest if you find me entertaining. I hope you will subscribe to my vlog on which I will strive to bring your moderately entertaining snipits. I have lots of ridiculousness in store for you both here and there as soon as the holidays are over. Like my own life, the vlog is a work in progress but I’m figuring it out.
I am sorry that I cannot help you arrange a great outfit, craft the best holiday ornaments or apply your makeup like a Kardashian. There are so many amazing ladies out there doing that and you should follow them, though I don’t think any of you need to look like a Kardashian. What I will give you is a glimpse of the edge of life and adventure as I stand with my toes dangling and wondering what is going to catch me at the bottom when I jump.
Because here goes.