Some people seem to know exactly what they want to be from the time they are very young; others seem to find their path somewhere along the way; while others yet seemingly stumble into a profession, more by knowing what they don't want to be rather than what they do. I was and am a stumbler, still not certain of what I'd like to be when I grow up. (I know, I'm running out of time, you needn't remind me!).
I've had many dreams over the years of things I would have enjoyed doing and I suppose there is still enough time to pursue some. But the truth is I'm not willing to make the sacrifice necessary to achieve many of them. I don't relish going back to school to become a dolphin trainer, for instance, though wouldn't it be fun?
Writing is one of the things I stumbled into. I never imagined being a writer, and in many ways, I still don't consider myself to be one, at least not a "real" writer. In my world view, a real writer has had their work published in a magazine or has had their name printed on the spine of a book. When visiting the library, I sometimes wistfully run my hand along the shelves, taking in the names of all those authors and dreaming of being such a gifted storyteller.
I started writing early in my 'career' when I worked for a big accounting firm in New York. I researched companies and industries, summarized the information and wrote reports, bringing to the forefront the most relevant findings I had uncovered to help fuel the business decisions of the firm's clients. Over the years, I've continued to write for business purposes, and while I am paid to do so, I do not consider myself a real writer. Why exactly?
But could I be a real writer? Whenever I read a novel or enjoy a well-scripted movie or play, my thoughts drift and I wonder if I have it within me to create something unique and worthwhile.