So I had this fabulous metaphor, about how changing careers was like steering an ocean liner (no, really, it made a lot of sense ... just bear with me for a second) because there's this feeling that you're cranking on the rudder to change course, but the momentum is keeping you from switching directions right away. I was going to wrap this up all inspirationally, too. Something about how when that new course is finally set, you'll have all that riveted, massive, smoking energy fully able to commit to your new fabulous intent. You just needed to be patient and that ship would eventually turn, sound its horn and you could get all Titanic on the bow. It came to me while doing dishes. It was going to be an awesome piece of writing.
Except that today there was no ocean liner, or rudder, or direction, apparently. No, today there was just this crappy lashed together life raft bobbing alone out there with me on it and I still haven't decided whether I was watching the metaphorical ocean liner veer away or bear down on me, but let's just say ... it wasn't a high confidence day.
I think I need to get out more. Or do less dishes.
If you've considered changing careers maybe you already know that the pity party of how you've spent years working hard at something only to walk away from it is, well, one of the more lonely parties; that people want to be supportive ("What?! But you were so good at that job! But that was such a fun job!"), but are secretly probably -- no, definitely -- wondering if you'll ever stick to anything meaningful ever again. And that ultimately, when it's time to move on from something you've 1.) wanted for years, then 2.) did for years, and then 3.) questioned for years, you know in your heart that it's the right decision, even if you can't make it happen right away.
And for the record, I do stick to things. For 12 years, I did this:
And for 14 years, I did this (not full time, I cranked out an MFA and two kids too, but still):
And now I think I'm doing this:
Okay, so I'm taking a year to explore this last part with all my heart and riveted, smoke belching energy and then see where the journey takes me.
I do still love children's books. I still do not love wedding gowns. Do NOT ask me to make a wedding gown. I will put you on that life raft if you ask me to make a wedding gown.
Artist in Anchorage, Alaska, sometimes blogging about the collision of history, family & art, with the understanding that none exists without the other.