When I Grow up I Want to Be

When I was younger I wanted to be everything; growing up in an academically motivated house (from the ages of 8-18 between March and June my entire life was given over to a strict regime of revision and studying) meant I was fluent in university prospectuses whilst my peers were flirting, partying and sleeping. Even watching T.V became a gateway into new and exciting jobs outside of the lawyers, doctors and receptionists that surrounded me in my Northern cocoon. This meant, growing up, on any given day, I wanted to be a forensic anthropologist, a speech writer at the White House, a doctor, a high powered attorney living in New York who still has time to see her friends and live in a small yet tastefully furnished apartment on the Upper East Side. I made proud declarations, oscillated spectacularly and had a new career plan at least monthly. However, then I went to university and suddenly the immense competition of the working world and the swirling unknown of the dark and, now, confusing future loomed large, creating shadows and darkness where before there had only been light. The future was neither bright nor was it orange. So I spent University trying to get good grades (which proved difficult given that in an subconscious surge of masochism I chose a subject I had hated for my entire school career) and on graduation got a wonderful job which unfortunately has very little career progression. However, the past six months have really made me think about what it is I want to do. I love my job, but it will never be my career and whilst I want a career I also want a life; I do not want to slave over my computer every day and night, eyes made blurry by data and confused by spreadsheets. And my only real talent, is writing. I love words- reading them, speaking them (as my friends will exasperatedly assure you I fit more words into a minute than most normal people) and writing them. I believe words are important, that they can have a deep, meaningful and intense impact on the world. It’s why I am inspired by Aaron Sorkin and exasperated by Take Me Out (a show that surely suggest a decline, at worst, or a stagnation, at best, in human evolution since cavemen.) So I want to be a copywriter. Now, I know this does not sound particularly glamorous, but it’s a job where I will be paid to write well. To advertise, to promote and to be creative with my words. I can elaborate, suggest, and pontificate. It’s nice to, at least, have an idea. Of course turning this idea into reality is, unsurprisingly, difficult. Top-selling, number one singles are made with a guitar, a microphone and YouTube, artists can make millions with raw talent (and, ideally, a slammin’ hot body.) I’m hoping for a livelihood, enough to raise a family, live comfortably and perhaps even an abroad summer holiday. But, copywriting firms are clever- they don’t want to pay me for my work, rather they went a minimum of six months free where they, in their benevolence, will pay my travel expenses and lunch. However I am undeterred, I searched for inspiration on Pinterest and Instagram last night and I now feel fully prepared to fight this battle. For I have a dream, no-one can hold me back anymore and apparently I should have nothing to fear but fear itself. (I think it says a lot about Americans that the country with the highest obesity rate in the world also seems to have produced the majority of the world’s inspiring quotes, but I digress.) So wish me luck, let me know if you know of any copywriters I can pester and don’t stop believing!


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