I'm 32 years old and I don't know what I want to do when I grow up, Part 1

Okay. I won't actually be 32 until April.

And I guess I know what I want to do when I grow up, what I don't know is what I want to do to in order to pay the bills as I continue to age.

What I want to do is write (If this comes as a shock, you've probably never read my blog before, and you probably don't know me at all, in which case...please, read my blog. If you're an agent or editor, and aren't a figment of my imagination, please contact me, I have manuscripts to sell). The problem with writing of course, is that unless your JK Rowling, or Neil Gaiman, or Margaret Atwood, or some other notable figure, you probably can't make a living off your work.

The other problem is, I like having clean, safe housing, a healthy bank account, RRSPs, health benefits, insurance, etc.

If I could do without the latter I might be able to indulge/humor myself by working some quirky part time job that pays little, but give me lots of time to write. But I can't. My father was an accountant. Apparently my parents paid off their first house in 4 years, the second (much larger) in 12 years, and they haven't even begun to dip into my Dad's RRSP, even though he retired...3, 4 years ago? Therefore, I have a few grains of financial responsibility deeply seeded inside me, and my desire for financial stability supersedes the desire to have unlimited writing time.

As of late, with Andrew nearing the completion of his PhD, I've been thinking more about what I actually want to do for work. I've yet to come up with a clear answer. So, interspersed with my posts on discussing my character flaws, I will also investigate work. What I want to do, what I could do, and maybe what I will do.

In the meantime I will float something (without further explanation): Pain a la Panier.

“Find a job you enjoy doing, and you will never have to work a day in your life.”
~Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)

Ciao,