Expectations

When I was sixteen and trying to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up, I had pretty much settled on a doctor. My dad talked me into being a writer. I remember the conversation, in our living room. He had a scotch, was sitting in the blue chair. I remember it like it was yesterday. "I don't know, Erica, about being a doctor. All that science--you sure you have a passion for it? I really think you should be a writer. You're a good writer. Very good." Now, in thinking about it, I don't know whether that was somewhat cultural, i.e., he respected the great "classic" writers as a Russian. Or gender (he was convinced I would never get married if I was in medical school and then a residency until I was almost 30). Or he just thought I was a decent writer. But what still amazes me is encouraged me to pursue a profession where it's pretty much guaranteed you'll always be hustling for work or starving.

However, what REALLY got me thinking about parental and familial expecatations is TWICE this week someone said to me the third-most often comment when they hear I am a writer. Number one is, of course, "I have a great idea for a book." Number two is the old, "So what do you write?" And coming in at number three . . . "I always wanted to be a writer, but my father was a lawyer and it was expected that I go to law school" (you can fill in any other profession . . . or if no profession then, "My parents encouraged me to find something you could count on.")

And when they TALK about writing, their faces get almost . . . euphoric. And so I always feel a bit sad for people who aren't really doing what they want to be doing. And of course, there's this idea that they DON'T do it because it's not paying (i.e., they abandoned it entirely and aren't even writing for pleasure or with an eye toward breaking in as a second or side career).

So often, we let others' expectations alter our sails. We start shifting in the water, steering toward some other island, some other place than our heart's true desires. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the first time I got married it was because that's what was expected. It wasn't anything outright (all right, there was ONE conversation that stuck in my mind). But at every family gathering, people asked, "So have you met anyone yet?" and "You're not getting any younger, you know"--and for the record, is ANYONE getting any younger?

I don't ever do that anymore. I try to take a quiet moment with myself and discern what it is I really want. Without the pressures of what I think everyone else wants. It isn't always easy. But after years and years of practice, my internal voice is pretty damn loud.

So tell me, on this path of writing, have you ever been swayed by others' expectations? How did you choose your "day job" if you work at something else? How do you stay true to yourself?

The Day Job

See the title of this post?

I don't have one.

I haven't had one in 12 years.

I take some freelance. Some editing. But mostly, I make stuff up for a living.

And it dawned on me . . . when Baby Girl took over the blog, she and I talked about poetry. A lot. We are going to get that book Ewoh suggested. (And everyone go to his blog and wish him well--he's been training and today's his first RACE.)

Anyway, Baby Girl and I read poems. Then I suggested that she be a poet when she grows up. "You could write poems all the time. Maybe teach college English." And then we talked about other things poetry-related. Then it dawned on me later . . . I always do this. By "this," I mean I never encourage my kids to get real jobs. Teaching college English, yes, is a real job, but just being a poet? Chances are you'll starve--but I think that's totally, wonderfully cool. Not starving, but pursuing art, not beholden to the day job. Oldest daughter? Musician. Oldest son? He writes AMAZING comic book ideas (can't draw well, and doesn't like to draw, but those storylines!!!!!!). I've even, in the past, encouraged him to write a comic book with Baby Girl, and have her be the illustrator, since she is a wonderful artist. Demon Baby? I expect him to become leader of the free world. But even that? What do you put on your resume?

DEMON BABY
Job Objective: To lead the Free World, perferably over to the Dark Side
Job History: Demon mischief, general naughtiness. I have a lot of experience with hurling things off the balcony, pouring syrup on the floor, adventures with a can of whipped cream, and climbing on furniture. I have painted purple dragons on the carpet with permanent marker, so I guess that makes me an artist.
References: My mother. Her gray hair? That's my work.

Anyway . . . I just realized with Baby Girl that I encourage adventure more than security. Creativity more than practicality.

Were you encouraged as a child? Do you have a day job? Did you give up a day job to write and did it feel scary or freeing? Share with us.

AND . . . this is a day of monumental importance. The collective loves of my life are in the SUPERBOWL. GO GIANTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Day Job

I've been watching my daughter agonize over career paths. At 17, she thinks she would someday like to be a working violinist in a symphony, but as symphonies close across the country, those spots become harder and harder to come by. Me? I tend to tell her to go for it anyway, as job security has never been very important to me. (And for those of you pulling for her . . . she was accepted into the music program at the university she auditioned at . . . and they will put her name in for a scholarship. I am beyond delighted and she is thrilled. Thank you for your well wishes.)

Job security. Hmmm . . . . I once was fired from a day job. A little background. I was making a ridiculously low salary in publishing as an editor and left, briefly, for greener pastures in human resources. I got a job at a bank in H.R., and made a very, very nice salary--well more than double what I had made in publishing with bank holidays, great benefits, and I was out the door by 4:30 every day. All was well and good. I thought, "I have a day job, and when I go home, I can write." But the bank where I worked was a veritable Peyton Place. This was the free-wheeling 1980s, when money seemed to grow on trees at financial institutions. The bank president arrived around 10:00 and left for lunch every day--by limo--never to return. The VP of my department did pretty much the same (minimum three-hour lunch each day). His right-hand woman was single-handedly one of the most trecherous people I have ever encountered. Ever. She disappeared for hours-long lunches with a gaggle of secretaries each day--they'd go for massages and manicures on the bank's dime, and their being gone for so long thus meant the H.R. people (a.k.a. me, the corporate recruiter) had to cover the phones--in a manner such that I and the other two recruiters couldn't have lunch except at our desks. She and her secretaries all smoked . . . and apparently, it would take them an hour or more to smoke one cigarette TOGETHER. So they would be gone for an hour, pop back in for a few minutes . . . and leave again. Departments were full of employees sleeping with each other, and not a few bottles of vodka were stored in top right-hand drawers. Add to that whiffs of racism and classicism in who they wanted hired as tellers . . . and I knew I wouldn't last in such an ugly place. And I was right. My bad attitude got me fired . . . and I have to say, when the bank folded two or three years later, when the president was fired and the whole house of cards fell down, a victim of the era's excesses, I was delighted. Karmically, I know it's not nice to delight in others' failure, but I was a weaker person then. And the fact is, the firing bothered me a LOT for years afterwards. I was always a success--from scholarships to GPAs, always did well. I did my job well. So how could I be fired by such dishonest people?

And it was my father who set me straight. "Who gives a cr*p about a bank job? My God, take it as a COMPLIMENT that you are honest enough and bright enough that you annoy the sh*t out of them."

And when, years later, I realized I couldn't--just couldn't--put my kids in daycare . . . and I am NOT denigrating the people who do . . . I just didn't have it in me to do so after my second child was born, and I decided to try to freelance edit full time from home and leave my publishing job, I was terrified. But my father told me, "Jobs? They're a dime a dozen. There IS NO JOB SECURITY anywhere. So if you don't make enough editing, you can bartend again. And if you have to one day take a day job again, you'll find a new day job. Go for it." So I leaped in with both feet, tripled my salary as an editor at that time, and have never looked back.

Do I work more hours than most people who have an outside-the-home job? Yeah. But have I ever regretted it? Nope. The lack of a safety net makes me work harder. I'm not rich by a long shot . . . but I have been the primary breadwinner for 10 years. Solely from fiction for 5. So it can be done.

And for me, not having that safety net pushed me harder. And I didn't have the safety net of a spouse who could support us either. And there's SIX of us. So . . . yeah, it's not the choice for everyone, but it was for me. And I've always had editing and freelance writing to fall back on if I needed . . .

And I've also decided that I don't know if I would have the ENERGY to pursue fiction after a long day at the office. I just don't think I would.

So tell me? Work a day job? Made the leap? Don't want to make the leap because you like the day gig? Afraid? Working up courage? Long-term goal? Do tell.