Sometimes I wonder "If I had it to do it all over again, would I do it the same way?" Having just graduated law school, I've spent a majority of my summer studying for the bar and questioning if I really want to be a lawyer (although not in the typical "I hate the law, I don't know why I did this" kind of way). I mean, sure, I enjoy it. Specifically, the securities world excites me, and the more I learn about it, the more tasks I complete, the more I realize just how much I could see this being my life. And that's reassuring, definitely.
But then I think about all the other things I enjoy doing (insert typical girly things like makeup and fashion, as well as exercising, music and baking); writing being the most important of them of them. I've always lived for writing. But I can't really say that, can I? Because I don't actually live it. I write something everyday, but it isn't my livelihood. In high school, my father and I would argue about my career choice and those arguments generally ended with something like "Writer is not a valid career choice." However, back then, nothing could deter me. I was going to write a best seller and write a clause into my will denying all filmakers the movie rights (Salinger much?). When I learned that JK Rowling lived out of her car for a year, I thought "Well that's not so bad." I created these characters that lived apart from the page and I truly enjoyed writing their inspired stories. I chose Journalism as my major when entering university, later switching to Comparative Literature and then English and then finally got the nerve to declare Creative Writing. And then, well, I just stopped. I don't know how or when, and I surely can't remember why. But somewhere along the line the intense dream, one I had once considered an inevitable reality, just drifted away.
So I suppose I just regret not really trying to be a writer. I mean a balls-to-the-wall-everything-on-the-line shot at a "writer" job title. Sure, I can still write. I mean, who's stopping me, right? But even if I did, even if I published my own book or ended up writing a column in the New York Times or something, I'd still be a lawyer who writes - not a writer, period. I wish it was as simple as saying that it was my parents' fault, parents who pushed me to choose a practical career (one of which was an eye doctor - ew!). The truth is that me not taking that shot, it was my fault. I didn't believe in myself. And that's such a sad realization to come to.