As most of you know, my day job personality presents itself in the form of an overtaxed, high-strung paralegal for a very, very, very bordering-on-ridiculous-very busy law firm. Every Friday we have a meeting about the past week's events and those of the week to come. Cases, calendars, who's doing what depo where and, oh my gosh, we did notice everyone for that, right? Sometimes we're praised. Sometimes our butts receive an aggressive chewing. Sometimes it's both simultaneously, which... well. I work with attorneys.
Go ahead. Permit your imagination to run wild.
Fact is, I never know how long this meeting will last. So, breakfast beforehand? Totally important, if I don't want a bunch of embarrassing stomach growls making everyone snicker for the next one to three hours. This morning I stopped by good ol' Mickey D's and ordered a breakfast burrito. Quick and easy. When I pulled up to the first window, the nice lady took my money, said, "Good morning." I returned the salutation, to which she responded with a very quick, "What's your profession?" Excuse me? "Your profession," she repeated. "You're always dressed up so nice."
"I'm a paralegal," I told her. "I work for a lawyer."
Here's the problem: Why on earth did I not say, "I'm a writer."
That small part of my day has bugged me since. Because why didn't I? I am a writer. I write and have written. It's what I want to do with my life; what I was born to do. Speak your dreams into existence, right? But for whatever reason... today... I didn't.
I made a vow to never let it happen again.
I am a writer.
I write novels. Create stories. Characters. Scenes. Plots. I write because I have to. Because I don't get the same pleasure out of doing anything else.
I am a writer.
I am living my dream.