I sometimes wonder whether I'll ever do a job that I'm actually extremely good at. I know everyone shares the same sense of being an imposter in their job, as though they're just waiting to be found out and outed as a fraud. All very natural, I've heard. However, seeing as I'm yet to work somewhere where I can go home at the end of the day and feel like I've done something right (let alone good), I think this is starting to become the impossible dream. Oh, and did I mention I'm now 30? Yeah, I thought so. The 'I don't know what I want to be when I grow up' proclamations aren't so cute anymore.
It gets me wondering about education. I look back and wonder what the hell possessed me to choose English with Journalism at University. I may not have faced the £9k a year tuition fees that the poor souls of today are, but I still have student debt for a degree that was...well, a bit pointless really.
My degree pushed me down a certain road that I'm still travelling down, but what if my calling in life was something different?
In college, my psychology tutor tracked me down on A-Level results day to congratulate me. Upon opening the results I saw what I expected - a B grade (I messed around FAR too much in first year so it was the best I could hope for). However, when I examined the breakdown of the marks I saw that I achieved 93% on an exam and 100% for my coursework. Quite easily the best marks I'd ever received for anything. EVER.
Did I celebrate? Nope. I'd been rejected by two universities for a psychology degree (that bad first year really messed things up) and so I'd already accepted my fourth choice (out of five), which was the pointless joint honours degree at the unimpressive Salford University just down the street from my home. I don't mean to be disparaging of the place, but it just wasn't for me. I knew I needed a degree so that I could prove to my parents that all of the A grades through high school weren't a complete waste of time, plus a little birdie told me it might be quite useful when it came to getting a job.
I chose a career that used my average writing skills and just worked hard to try and move up a ladder that could have led to Narnia for all I cared. I still think about that amazing grade for my psychology A Level. It may not sound like much to the better students among you, but it was a ray of hope that I perhaps had a natural flair for something. And better than that; something I loved.
Going back to 'school' is never going to happen now. The fees are too high. I missed my chance. I never wanted to be a cautionary tale for anyone - I can't think of anything more depressing - but here I am.
Apologies the last two blogs haven't been the most upbeat - it's my mood.
Monday, 4 January 2016
Here we go again. Another year, but more importantly, another January.
I've been absent for a while on this blog due to a lack of writing, which I'm putting down to trilogy fatigue and getting a new (very busy) job. I'm venturing back on here, not to talk about particular writing projects (I've started four novels, God knows what's next), but about this time of year.
You see, January is not a great month. There's been no past trauma or any great disaster that resonates with me so I've put it down to simply having the winter blues. Christmas is over, New Year sailed by and now...what? Back to work for another year with a holiday shoe-horned in to break it up? Pretty much. We're still a good two months off seeing the lighter nights and it's going to get colder. Really bloody cold.
It's at this time of year that I start to get irritatingly melancholy. Just tonight I had a familiar interaction with Andy while we were brushing our teeth:
"I'm feeling blue."
"Because I get down in January and I'm worried about when it's going to properly kick in."
"I realise that's stupid."
My fixation with Boston has picked up speed (queue changing my profile pictures to happier times spent there) and I've been looking at apartment prices and what we could afford if there was a parallel universe where we had the same jobs over there.
Boston isn't the answer of course, it's just a distraction of which there are many. Coding being another at the moment, but that might actually prove to be useful.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that it's a depressing time of year where I withdraw from the world. My mum even sent me a lovely letter and a gift in acknowledgement of it. That's why I'm back on here - to have mini rants when things are feeling extra crappy. I don't feel bad though as I've not been in author mode for a while so it's quite likely I'm talking to myself.
If you are reading this and the ramblings don't make sense, don't worry - they're not meant to. See the transcript above: I don't even understand what the hell i'm going on about.
Should sleep x