Maybe it's all the motivational talk at SoulCycle or the new introspective group of writers that I follow on Instagram, but I've been thinking a lot recently about what I want to be. I don't mean this in the broad spiritual sense, which may be how the people inspiring me are thinking about it, but in the day-to-day sense. Like a what-do-I-want-to-be-now-that-I've-officially-grown-up kind of thing. The conclusion that I've come to is that I want to be a creative person. A person who writes books and decorates her home with her own artwork and understands her six-year old's obsession with Rainbow loom color combinations because she's equally obsessed with throw pillow combinations. And what I love about this broad viewpoint is that I'm starting to see how all the parts of my life can work together. I can be the kind of person I want to be without having a degree to back me up or a NYC publisher to promote me. I can just be me.
I understand this is all a little on the cheesy side, but this title thing is no small obsession of mine. Like many closet creative types, I went to law school directly from college because I didn't know what else to do. I literally have no memory of really thinking through this incredibly big decision. But alas, I did it and it was fine. After law school I got a job as an Assistant District Attorney. I liked the job, but I LOVED the title. I felt pretty bad ass telling random guys in bars that I was an ADA. And chances are I would know some cop or detective sitting a few bar stools over. But then I moved states to be with the one guy that I loved most in all the world and I became jobless at the age when all my peers were working their butts off building careers. I felt so lost not working that I even wrote a novel I titled "What Do You Do" about a girl who leaves her job to be with a guy. Don't judge - this was in the days of "Devil Wears Prada" and "Bridget Jones Diary." Chick lit was big, I was bored, I loved to write, and I needed an outlet.
Flash forward several years to the time when my big girls were babies and you would always find me with knitting needles in my hand, or pieces of a quilt laid out on my dining room floor, or dirty paint brushes in my sink. My craft obsessions cost a small fortune, but they literally saved my sanity during those tough years. Then we moved to our current house and I threw myself into decorating it. Starting off with some help from the professionals, I continued on by myself devouring design blogs and obsessing over paint colors and furniture choices. And through all this time I was writing. Always writing.
What I'm getting at is that I can now see how all of these parts of myself are related. Just last week, my home was filled to the brim with an amazingly talented team from NYC who styled and photographed it for a national magazine feature that will run this October. And as I talked to the magazine editor about my books and my house, I felt really, really complete. I could see who I'd become and how I got here. I wasn't worried that I would come across as a Martha Stewart wannabe (which I totally am, minus the cooking part) because I sewed my own quilts or painted the oil paintings in my dining room. I wasn't embarrassed that I published my books independently, rather than through a big name publisher. I didn't care that my business cards have no title, just my name. Because I'm finally at the point where I am who I am. And it feels pretty darn good.