So it goes like this…
“Hey, you’re going to Uni now, aren’t you? How’s it going?”
“Yeah, I am. it’s great, thanks.”
“What is it you’re doing?”
“Oh, cool. What are you going to do, teaching?”
Because I’m too embarrassed to say, “No. I want to be a writer.”
Because it sounds ridiculous. I might as well say, “No. I’m going to be an astronaut.”
Because in the time and place I grew up, that sort of nonsense wasn’t encouraged. You had to get a proper job. If you weren’t quite smart enough to go to University, you had to get a trade. So I tried that, and I hated it. So I wandered.
I wandered through life, not ever knowing what I really wanted to do.
But I’m 51 now, I’ve been here for over half a century, and I think I’ve found it.
It was there all along. I want to be a writer.
There, I’ve said it. I’ve said it out loud.