I go from day to day. I know where the cupboards are. I know where the car is parked. I know he isn’t you.
Tori show last night, the first one I’ve seen since Florida. I knew she’d be in New York, but wasn’t planning to go. That part of my life feels long since over, the Florida show I went to with Liz six years ago one last grasp at adolescence. The theatre released a block of tickets Monday morning, though, and I logged onto Ticketmaster for the hell of it and ended up with a seat five rows from the stage.
The show was epic. Instead of the band she had a string quartet, and those boys played like they’d bought their instruments from the devil himself. I sat next to a little fae boy, who had been to the same show at Great Woods in ’99 that I’d been at, and who confessed that he missed seeing all the teenage girls in their wings and their glitter.
We’ve grown up, I told him, put aside the wings in favor of careers and husbands.
I am finding myself, more and more, feeling as though perhaps I made a left turn when I should have gone write. My husband told me he thought of my writing as a hobby. I tried to explain it was more, that I need words the way most people need oxygen. As so often happens when I speak, though, I got it wrong, and the upshot of the conversation was that the student loans get paid off and then we can think about leaving the city.
It frustrates me to be unable to explain why writing is unlike, say, gardening or model aircraft building, but he has something of a point. I write in my free time, in the extra hour I have when I leave work before 9 pm or on the weekends when he is working. I write on vacations, and in the odd spaces, but only when I have time for it. It’s hard to justify switching to something as a career – especially something with no guarantee of earning you a living – when you don’t treat it as such. And so, instead of spending my Sunday night relaxing on the couch watching TV, I edited.
Words are your passion. Use law to build a financial safety net, while you practice your craft at night. My grandpa told my Father: l always have two opposite careers at the same time, and you will never be in danger.” When the corporate model shop was shut down, he went back to carpentry… While that same employer paid his private home business to create models. Now he happily accepts a pension, but still builds models for private clients. He should be set for life.
Another, potentially more relatable tale: my friend is 73. She spent her working days as head nurse at a hospital. She grew up living horses, but her mother discouraged her passion. In her retirement, she has become one of THE most notable equine photographers in the industry, and a local celebrity (that can’t see what all the fuss is about). She’s also a mother of 3.
So you see, if you remember your passion, and you practice your craft, you too can achieve your personal dream, no matter what any more practically minded folks think.
Your friend,
The trapeze artist 🙂