Yes I am. Still trying to get used to the sound of the words. Dancer and interior designer is more familiar, but this? When someone asks what I do for a living, this is my response now. I have been writing for years, but always as a hobby. This time it’s for real. I knew that I came to this great city of opportunity for a reason. Obviously, I have dreamed of being a New Yorker for much of my life, but in an entirely different capacity; this is newish territory.
Life is funny how it works with the unforeseen decisions and circumstances. Like many others, I have been on a long and laborious journey. I need to trust that it will all be worth it; the same way that I trusted my imagination could be strong enough to turn a dream into reality, and now I live in New York City.
Last year, I wrote about a young gentleman who sat next to me on the subway. With an enormous suitcase, he was obviously traveling to stay in Harlem for a period of time. “Elton’s apartment” was scribbled on a piece of paper with an address and a phone number. This may have been his temporary or permanent residence. Just five minutes on that train gave me years of thought. This guy was considerably younger—probably in his mid-twenties. But then again, age doesn’t really matter, does it? I had no idea what his real story was, but still I had conjured up the gist. A total stranger inspired me.
My own story was very different at that time. I had a big job with a big title. I was earning real money, and not an allowance. I was also playing a part that was not really me; much like an actor trying to be a waiter. I turned 45 about six months ago; I knew that it was finally time to get real, despite the consequences. Rejection has always been a huge fear of mine. Negative comments are not much fun either. As a dancer first, and then an interior designer, I have experienced my share. Creative fields require critiques; no one enjoys their drawings tacked on the wall for all to criticize. Often, I think I put off writing because I couldn’t bear the rejection. What’s changed? I still can’t bear it. But if I don’t write, I will be stifled and stuck in a place much darker than the rejection itself.
How will I deal? How will I handle the negative feedback? What if no one likes what I write? What if I suck? What if I spend years refining a craft that is simply not meant for me? I ask myself these questions on a daily basis; just like I ask the routine question, “What’s for dinner”?
I don’t always have the answer to that one either. But I open the refrigerator, get my creative juices flowing, start cooking along, and then I eat something anyway.
Many of us have aspirations—some are realized, and others are locked in a closet. Forty-five years from now, I don’t want to open that closet, stare my dream in the face, and only realize that it’s too late.
