How do you figure out what you want to do with your life? What if you wake up in your 40s and realize the thing you’ve been doing for twenty years isn’t what you want anymore? Is that a crime? A misuse of your time? Were you wrong?
None of that. Your dreams shifted.
It happens to a lot of people. And if you’ve got a community full of friends and relatives, they may have plenty to say about it. So… don’t tell them. Not yet.
When you plant a seed, you don’t want a flood washing over your garden and wiping out all the tiny sprouts. Sure, some people might have helpful suggestions, but until you ask for help, you don’t need anyone stomping through your seedlings before they’ve taken root.
How do I know this? It happened to me.
It’s the same as writing a book. In the early days, you just want to mull it over. You might write twenty thousand words only to realize you need to shift directions. Maybe those words belong in another book. Maybe they don’t belong anywhere. Does that make them worthless? To an onlooker, maybe. But to the writer? Absolutely not. You needed that work. It helped you develop your characters, your story, and yourself.
Now here’s where it gets tricky. If you let the cat out of the bag too early, you invite commentary. Imagine announcing to your whole family that you’re writing a book. Then they see no evidence of you writing a book. You go to work, you come home, you sit on the porch after dinner. Sundays look the same as always. And that one Nosenheimer thinks, “She said she was writing a book. I don’t see her writing a book. She must be lying.”
That goes down like a fart in a space suit.
I’m fond of a story about James Thurber. He and his wife were at a cocktail party—everyone dressed up, drinks in hand, hors d’oeuvres everywhere. Thurber stood alone in the middle of the room, staring at the ceiling, holding a drink and a crusty piece of toast. People flowed around him like water around a rock. His wife sidled up and hissed, “Quit writing!”
So keep your mouth shut until you’re ready for a proofreader. And when you are ready, be prepared to pay for one. My husband asked me to proofread his book. I said I would, but you know I write a lot too. When he told me he was going to pay me six hundred dollars, suddenly I had a green pen in my hand and a whole new level of enthusiasm.
Pay attention to your journey toward this new dream. It’s going to meander. Yes, you could go back to school. Yes, that costs money you don’t have. There’s always another way. Get a textbook and teach yourself. Absorb whatever the internet offers. Find like‑minded people. They may not live in your city, but we’re a global community now. And at some point, you’ll need to reach out. Prince Charming doesn’t have your address.
Whatever your dream is, I hope you follow it. And thanks for listening.
Pauline Evanosky
Where I Am
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