‘Liya over at To My Pen, Forgive Me For Typing and I had an interesting exchange the other day that really made me think. I had commented on one of my posts about taking Creative Writing in College and Calculus with Analytical Geometry which she asked me about.
This in turn led me to the following explanation:
The math–my hubby (then boyfriend) tutored me–hes a math genius–just “gets it”. The writing-cake class. That teacher was the one who said I should write, but I was pre-med and couldn’t be persuaded at the time. Wished Id listened. Segwayed into a career in genetics, which was interesting, but when I had three babies in 11 months, I ended up at home. Which landed me here, blogging.
So this got me to thinking. I truly wanted to go to medical school. A college professor for creative writing tried to talk me out of it. I didn’t get in to med school the first time around, and so I took a job in Genetics (hey, a girl has to eat) planning to reapply. My then boyfriend (now hubby) began to talk about our future together and what that might look like. He was transferred to New Orleans, and I had to decide exactly how badly I wanted to reapply to medical school. Apparently, not that badly because I chose marriage and a career in Genetics.
When we moved here I thought that I would continue working in Genetics, but when I was available, there weren’t any openings and by the time there were, I had three babies. Then one with medical problems. Then two with special needs. Three times the director of the genetics department called me (even as recently as a couple of years ago) to see if I was interested in working. Two of those times I knew the boys still were greatly needy, the third, hubby said, “I think Buzzard still needs you at home.”
at home. I had written a few things, and had a published friend look at a couple of them who said, “You know, you should actually show your work to someone at some point.”
Still I was too chicken. I don’t even remember the impetus to start the blog, other than to feel like I was “talking” to someone other than the four men in the house who in any case weren’t really interested anyway. Even then, I wasn’t terribly dedicated to it. It was off and on for two years.
Then something changed in me when my dad died. And I decided that this was the year I would give it my all. Words cannot describe what it has felt like these last few months. I’m happier than I’ve been in a really long time. Part of this is because of the people who have touched me through what they write. But the other part is truly believing that I can do some small good deeds through my words for others. And while I try to do good things and say good things to/for/about the people I know, there is something a little bit different about doing it for a stranger.
So where am I 22 years after insisting I needed to be in the medical field? I’m writing. The path that was presented to me time and again, and I chose to take a different path. Yet still, here I am having decided to just go with it. After all, I’m right where I’m supposed to be.