I have decided, very firmly, that I want to be a writer, so now I think it makes sense to move to Italy for 6-9 months, around September.
Yes, it’s sometimes exhausting to be me.
I will explain and, in doing so, hopefully touch on themes ripe for us all. I acknowledge these themes may only apply to my crazy mind, but humor me and pretend like you think about them during commercial breaks watching Gossip Girl too.
I am currently a Sponsorship Account Manager at the Tribeca Film Festival. Corporations give our Festival money. I develop and execute programs to enhance the Festival with that money and also provide the corporation with exposure and a platform to market themselves at the Festival. It’s a good job that I’m very fortunate to have, and it has me on track for a “successful” career and secure life. Problem is, I don’t want that life.
I want to be a writer. I have since I was 7 (according to my Mom). Reason: there is nothing in the world I find more fulfilling. Maybe dancing at bars, but that is not a respectable career for a Boston College graduate.
Unfortunately – breaking into writing is very challenging. Establishing enough regular freelance assignments to support myself will take time. Plus they don’t come with guarantees, or health insurance. It’s a risky life choice, and I’m not the poster child for risk-taking (outside of bars and clothing stores). That said, if I don’t tuck in my balls and give this one a shot, (is that how it goes Kev?), I’ll never forgive myself. And that is even more risky.
Now I can stay at my current career path as a safety net and try to fit writing in while here until I’m secure enough in it to leave my job, or I can shake things up a little. Move, live life, work somewhere crazy, try to make a little money along the way all-the-while contacting editors, pitch stories, and writing. And if this plan B is my plan well then I may as well move to Italy because it is perfect there. What’s six months of derailing a career I didn’t want it in the first place? Maybe it’s the makings of a novel – or 8 part magazine series.
Retirement savings? Place to live? Work visa? Boyfriend? Plan to fall back on? Details, details. We’re talking life calling here – isn’t the rest just plot points along the way?*
*This question is not rhetorical