What's Your Point?

I've been coming up with a lot of blog post ideas lately. And while earlier posts tended to be snarky and extremely opinionated, as of late I'm all about inspiration. Kind of like when Oprah made the announcement some time during the '90s that she was going to give up the traditional gossip/talk show format and go with shows that did nothing but share information to help people out. Yeah, kind of like that.


Anyway, I was thinking today about American culture, the American dream. I was thinking about the kind of culture I grew up in. The Midwest culture. And I was thinking that it infused me with an idea about the "point" of it all. See, where I grew up the point seemed to be, by and large, to get a job, get a family, live in a multi-bedroom house that was at least "nice" and raise your kids in it, nicely. If you did that and were paying your bills without serious struggle then you'd done it. You'd followed the point.


I remember being a kid and thinking of myself in a white house with a picket fence and some kids and a dog and for whatever reason let's say I failed to see the appeal. And though I knew that wasn't it, I didn't have any ideas what the alternative point "should be." I remember coming to the realization in late adolescence that I would never be able to read all the books I wanted to in my lifetime because work would inevitably get in the way. And so I started to fantasize about decades of retirement spent in a log cabin in Montana surrounded by books, with nothing to do but read them. Still, "the point" eluded me because retirement plans were after it.


When I moved to NYC a different kind of "point" came into view. Sexy, glamorous, moneyed lifestyles seemed to be it. Be as hot as you can be, no matter what it takes, get as much money as you can, travel as much as you can. Okay, fine, how do I do that? While New York's point seemed more appealing than Michigan's point, I still didn't quite know what to do.


And then today it hit me. Last night was a flurry of activity, I was writing my butt off, applying for more writing jobs, looking up resources for my website project and when I finally quit I was so tired, yet exhilarated, that all I could do was crash into my pillow. I woke up this morning excited about the possibility of hearing back from the jobs I applied to last night, about working today, working tomorrow, and what the future would bring with all of these balls I have up in the air. 


Last week I got my first copywriting job for a series of beauty lines and products. My writing is going to be on the packaging, sitting on store shelves. The week before that I got an opportunity to write a bio for Mary Shelley for a publisher who focuses on classical literature. They're also looking for writers to do forewords for their books. I put my name in and the contact happily assured me he liked the bio, and that he would keep my name on the foreword list. To have a foreword, I wrote, introducing a great piece of literature is almost too exciting to contemplate. To have a foreword I wrote on a book shelf in a book store, is just, the end.


And then today I heard back from a small, niche, print magazine I'd applied to over a week ago and got offered the opportunity to write a fashion article for them. My first article in print. AHHH! I felt like I'd "made" it. I felt like some of my hard work was maybe paying off. Did I mention I'm currently -330 dollars in my checking account? By paying off I meant that I seem to be making small steps toward being a real writer, a successful writer. Someday...someday...


And then something became crystal clear. It's not about someone else's point. Never that. It's about yours.