My parents had a dinner party shortly after Ronald Regan was shot. All of 10 years old, I memorized a diagram of the scene published in Time Magazine and proceeded to relate the story to my parents’ guests in excruciating detail.
My fascination with true stories never waned, and I spent my time reading “In Cold Blood,” “Helter Skelter” and the essays of Tom Wolfe, a writer who makes punctuation more fascinating that any fairy tale.
When it came time for college, my career path was clear – journalism. Life, in all its messy glory, rendered beautiful with my talented prose. I would be Anna Quinlan, Bob Woodward and Nora Ephron, all rolled up into one urbane package.
The reality was much less exciting. I wound up at a small community weekly newspaper, reporting on the zoning board and the high school prom.
Boring, small-town news.
Of course there were pockets of darkness – murder, rape, and tragedy. I bore witness to them all, the mundane and the mercenary.
After five years, I left. A part of me died in that newsroom, waiting for the big story that would lead to my big break. It never came, and I gave up.
I just gave up.
I packed up my steno pads and my dreams, and left for an air-conditioned cube in a huge impersonal corporation, where I spent another five years trying to force myself to be the kind of person who wears suits and uses words like “deliverable” and “proactive.”
I left that place – and that person – behind when The Poo was born.
I’m never going to be a world-famous journalist. If I’m lucky, I’ll be a working writer who makes a few clams selling other people’s stories using my own words.
And it’s my own fault. I waited for something to happen to me. I was afraid to take the risk that I might try and fail. So instead I took the easy way out, and because of that my dream – which might have been a reality – withered and died, leaving me with nothing but the ink under my nails.
Someday, when she’s older, I’ll take The Poo into the basement and show her the dusty bins that hold the old newspapers littered with my byline. I’ll tell her that they were my beginning, and that I let them be my end.
I’ll tell her that sometimes it takes more than desire and talent to make your dreams come true.
I’ll tell her it takes courage.
[tags]newspaper, journalism, excitement, writing, journalist, teaching, daughter, courage[/tags]
Photo graciously provided by Kazze, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved
20 responses so far ↓
Slouching Mom // Aug 21, 2007 at 5:08 am
Wow. This is powerful. But I wonder if you aren’t being a little too hard on yourself here?
Still, I agree that drive is everything.
A.L. Hatch // Aug 21, 2007 at 6:17 am
I had a chance to go to a bigger paper in a big East Coast city, and I turned the job down.
So no, I am not being to hard on myself. I definitely made a bad choice.
But that said, had I left town, I would never had met and married my husband, and I would not have The Poo.
So there are good things that came of my decision, as well.
Toni // Aug 21, 2007 at 7:09 am
Wow! Great post on how we must chose our own destiny.
amanda // Aug 21, 2007 at 7:16 am
Oh, you! This is a shadow from the cloud you’re trying to wrestle from your shoulders. Beyond this gloom is a world of what can still happen. There is no “never”, just an endless stream of “still” and “yet” and “when.” You just need a bit of sunlight to be able to see them*.
I know you’ll get there. Just you wait, and just you remember that the Poo needs to see a mama that believes.
*This is said with all the compassion and understanding I have, no judgment, just a reminder that there is hope. Be tender to you, please always, be tender.
MeMo's Mama // Aug 21, 2007 at 7:46 am
hey, hey! you’ve still got an entire life to live! but i know what you mean – i am still struggling to reach my dreams… they might just be on hold for a bit!
Binky // Aug 21, 2007 at 8:33 am
I think you will have a very different story to tell the Poo when you take her down to the basement when she’s older. One that isn’t about endings at all. Knowing what you’ve been accomplishing lately with your writing, I see your education and journalism experience as a solid beginning that you now have the–to use your word–courage to build on.
flutter // Aug 21, 2007 at 9:07 am
It does take courage, friend and you have it, in spades.
MammaLoves // Aug 21, 2007 at 9:12 am
Your dream doesn’t have to die now. Why don’t you show her the courage? You know you have it. You do!!
PS–The Reagan shooting–my tenth birthday.
lbotp // Aug 21, 2007 at 9:30 am
Wow. I can relate in so many ways. You’ve given me a lot to chew on and something to remember.
Ally // Aug 21, 2007 at 10:10 am
I can relate, too. I think you’re a gifted writer, and I agree with SM that maybe you’re being too hard on yourself. I know you’re in the middle of a feeling-trapped funk, so maybe that’s contributing? But you’re not too old, it is never too late. Refashion your dream and go after it! You deserve it. We’ll be standing, right over here, cheering and waiving our signs of encouragement.
carrie // Aug 21, 2007 at 12:05 pm
Oh, it isn’t the end. You are a talented writer and I agree that you might give yourself a little pat on the back — you deserve it!
Emily // Aug 21, 2007 at 2:07 pm
I relate. A lot. I am not a closer. I am smart and hard working and maybe even brave, but I am not a closer. And that makes all the difference.
Jess // Aug 21, 2007 at 2:37 pm
Aw, quit yer whining.
Jen M // Aug 21, 2007 at 7:14 pm
Yep – you’re being too hard on yourself. As long as your mind holds out (yeah, with kids it’s always questionable, isn’t it) you can write until you’re 100. WE love your writing – you’re reaching a great audience just doing what you’re doing.
Nan // Aug 21, 2007 at 7:44 pm
My grandmother published a book when she was 90. What are you going to do when your babies don’t need you to wipe their noses anymore, huh? Get botox and a sportscar and empty nest syndrome? No! My youngest is going into his second year of school soon, and my life has entered a whole new and exciting phase. I, like you, am lucky. I can freelance. I can take the whole summer off work. I can pick the kids up from school and stay home if they’re sick. But I love, LOVE my work. Keep reading, and your mind will stay on top of current events till you are ready to plunge back into what you loved. Or maybe something different?
SusieJ // Aug 22, 2007 at 6:00 am
You really are young –and this is a dry period. You’ll have springs again — you’ll see.
Megin Hatch // Aug 22, 2007 at 8:20 am
Are you standing in the middle of the road with a bus headed at you? And are your bare feet super-glued to the pavement?
The thing is you did make a choice to meet and marry and create and that has changed your life.
A different path, yes. A path of family. Your writing may have changed and you might be writing different words, but hello… you are writing every day. Your online life is opening opportunities for you – if you can open up your brain to the possibilities you’ll claim a different destiny.
Unless of course there is a bus about to plow you over.
In that case, I’ll miss you much.
A.L. Hatch // Aug 22, 2007 at 4:21 pm
Here is the writer, at a loss for words.
Just … wow.
And thank you.
Stu Mark // Aug 22, 2007 at 4:22 pm
I can empathize. Certainly I agree with Megin, open your brain to possibilities, and if you need to, go to a certified optometrist to fix your myopia.
Having said that, here’s the post I would have written had you not beaten me to the punch:
I was a writer. Specifically, I was a paid writer. First, I wrote for a spiffy magazine, then for a large toy company. Then I fell in love with a woman with two kids. And, after a month of trying to balance my work with my feelings of sadness about seeing the kids, and knowing they were sad about day-care, I gave up my work. A paid writer, my fantasy come true, and I walked away from it. And now it’s five years later and I regret nothing. My kids are happy, healthy, well-educated, and ready to become President of The United States (or something worthwhile, whichever)… Certainly it was a tough choice, and there are days when I miss getting paid for stringing nouns and verbs together, but those days are few and far between. I find that great report cards outweigh any of my bylines.
Chicken And Cheese Two Words You Don’t Want To Hear In The Same Sentence // Jul 1, 2008 at 10:01 pm
[...] He’ll tell you that if the opportunity came for me to move somewhere for my dreams, he would drop everything and we’d go. That’s very convenient for him to say, because, frankly, the odds of me landing a job at The New York Times or The Boston Globe ended the day I tendered my resignation from the small-town newspaper I worked at for five years. [...]
Leave a Comment