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Six years ago I quit my corporate marketing job to launch a career as a writer. I rolled over my 401K, said goodbye to my PPO, and took a part-time retail job to bridge the gap until I got my business up and running. It was a huge leap of faith, but I've never looked back. (Well, okay, maybe I've looked back once or twice, but I still know I made the right decision.)
Not everyone I know thought this was the smartest move I ever made and I still come across people now and again who just don't get it. I come from a family of workers - we are people who get an education, get a job, and then work our way up through the ranks, taking night school classes, earning promotions, and doing the "right thing." We are not people who up and quit perfectly good jobs to follow some hare-brained idea of a dream. Because of this, it took me a long time to own my new life.
When I tell people I'm a writer, they inevitably ask what I write. It ought be a simple question to answer, but "what do your write?" really means, "What do you get paid to write?" In the early days of my fledging career I experimented with all manner of genres and media, looking for my niche. I was always trying to strike a balance between what I wanted to write (fiction and creative non-fiction) with what I could get paid to write (web copy, newsletters, articles about windows and doors.) Instead of simply explaining this whenever anyone asked, that little voice that told me I was crazy to give up a real job would bubble to the surface and I'd mumble that I write "all kinds of things" or say something stupid like "whatever I can get paid to write." I could never say, "I'm writing a book" or "I write a blog" or "I write for blogs, websites, businesses and in my spare time (ha ha) I'm working on a book." In other words, I didn't own my decision and I didn't own my dream.
Recently, on a trip to visit my family, I mentioned something about going back to work when the trip was over. My young nephew looked puzzled and said. "I didn't know you worked. I thought you just wrote stories." For a moment, all those old insecurities about frittering away my education, or not meeting my potential, or about living in a fantasy world instead of knuckling down and getting a real job came rushing back at me. But then I took a deep breath and I told my nephew that just because I don't go out to an office every day, doesn't mean I don't work. I explained that being a writer is more than just writing stories, and I told him about my typical day and how I divide my time between building a career and making a living. I wasn't defensive, just informative. In other words, I owned my decision.
My nephew is 11 and it won't be long before he's thinking about his own future. I hope I'll be a role model for him, someone he can look at and say, "I don't have to follow convention; I can follow my dream and live a different sort of lifestyle. It doesn't mean I won't work hard; it just means I'll work differently."
The road less traveled is lined with naysayers and it takes guts to step out into a new life, when those around you-particularly those you really care about-don't understand what your doing. If you chose to walk a different path, you have to walk with confidence. You have to hold your head up and stride confidently along. You have to own your dream.
