Back to Basics

And it wasn’t even a whole commercial. It was the half a second of some commercial (I didn’t even see what it was for) that I happened to glance at as I walked past the bar at work. That stupid half a second that caused me to spend the rest of the night questioning myself. It was just an image of some kid with the question “Would the 10-year-old you be proud of you?” And the knee jerk response from that sarcastic voice that lives in my head?

Not friggin’ likely.

Sure, there are some things about my life the 10-year-old me would enjoy. Like the three lovable, spoiled mutts that rule my house (So I still don’t own a horse, my dogs are pretty friggin’ great). Or that I met the love of my life and soon-to-be husband (So he’s not Johnathan Taylor Thomas, but he’s awesome and puts up with me. Win). Or that I escaped my hometown and have lived in the mountains and at the beach (I haven’t exactly traveled the world, but I do have a passport and plane tickets to Barbados).

There’s one aspect of my life, however, I’m pretty sure the 10-year-old me would not enjoy. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’d roll her eyes and call me a loser.

See, the 10-year-old me liked to imagine things. She enjoyed inventing characters and watching them play out their lives in her mind. She liked putting their stories down on paper to share with others. The 10-year-old me wanted to be an author or a journalist. She did not want to be a waitress.

So it’s the commercials fault that I spent my night with this one thought resounding repeatedly in my head. This stupid thought that I’ve tried for years to lock away in some box in my head and throw away that key.

I failed.

I failed that little girl who just dreamed of being a writer. I spent most of my life working towards that singular goal. I got myself accepted to a top university with an excellent journalism program. And when I had to admit that my dream school was financially out of my reach, I picked another (much more affordable) school and forged ahead. I was going to work my tail off, make good grades, graduate, and get a job at a newspaper or magazine. I’d work my way up to having my own column or beat. Maybe one day I’d publish a book.

I thought it was a great plan, and it was, until my plan derailed after graduation. I applied to job after job after job only to be turned down because I lacked experience. But the bill collectors weren’t going to wait around for me to land my dream job (or at least a stepping stone to my dream job). So waitressing it was, and waitressing it remained.

I never really allowed myself to give up on my dreams. But I let them take a backseat to things like responsibility and obligation. Over the years I spent more time focusing on surviving life than creating the life I wanted.

Until that stupid commercial.

So where do I go from here?

My high school English teacher taught me that one of the most basic rules of writing was this: “Write what you know”. So, I’m taking it back to the basics and starting with what I know, and how I feel, and what I see, and what I think.

That 10-year-old me might be disappointed in who I am now, but I think I’ll be okay.

Because I’m not done yet.