A couple of nights ago, I got a call from a friend who's now living in Georgia. We haven't talked in a little while, but she's the type of person you can chat with and pick right back up where you left off. She told me she's driving a cab for a living. And I got one of those "A-ha" moments where it made perfect sense. You have to understand. I could plunk this woman in a foreign country without a map, and she'd still find her way home by the shortest possible route. She has an impeccable sense of direction (not to mention a knack for finding the greatest little out-of-the-way places to eat or hang out). She's also a very sociable person. So driving a cab is the perfect job for her, and I found myself a bit envious that she got to do something she's made for, for a living. And she loves it.
Which brings me to writing. I decided, after a layoff, that I want to start pursuing things I want to do, rather than stuff I have to do. I still have my "day job," and I'm not fond of it. For now, I can't argue, because I need to pay bills. But I've added some things to that mix, particularly looking for projects on Elance, and an editing job with The Wild Rose Press. (More on that in a later blog, once the dust settles.)
Let's face it. We have a limited number of years on this planet. What fun is it doing a job you hate for that entire span? Do what you're made for. If it isn't financially feasible to do it full-time, at least do it on the side until it becomes feasible (I'm not gonna have those college loans forever, by golly). Then, on the day you kick it, you can say you did something satisfying with your life. So there, world. I came, I saw, I wrote books. 'Cause I'm cut out for that.