A question that I keep coming back to in regards to my pursuit of a career in publishing is whether or not I actually want to do it. At this point in my life, I feel like I should start to cultivate something more permanent and stable. And given the loss of certain idealist mentalities, I decided that it wasn't so much the what of all but simply the act of committing that I needed to embrace. It's not the end of the world if your job or career isn't something you love, despite what people say about not ever working a day in their lives when you do the thing you love. That was, unfortunately or fortunately, the belief I carried around with me for a long time. I saw settling for something stable, secure, and expected as being a sell-out, choosing the comfortable life over the meaningful one.
But let's be real here. There is too much chance in the world, and people too complex, for life to be so black and white. A meaningful life can be made, found, created, stumbled upon in infinite and abundant ways.
And while I wish I had a single driving force and focus of my life, I acknowledge that I simply don't. I have, to my credit and despair, several interests. Books being one of them. I don't need my job to be the thing that defines me. Because it doesn't. It is a means or even a part, of what I hope will be a small, but meaningful life.
But I still can't help but wonder if I'm romanticizing publishing. I love to read. Books are incredibly important to me and the life I lead. And so I can't help but wonder if I actually want to get into publishing, or if its something I think is logical for me, or if I just think it would be super awesome to work in publishing. The reason I keep coming back to this question is because I still don't know that much about the book world, and don't read as much as I should, and how can I dedicate myself so wholeheartedly to publishing when I don't know what's its about. I can't really see myself working up the ladder, mingling and networking, to be successful in the book world. I can't envision going to work everyday at a publishing house.
Do I do it because I love it, or because I haven't been brave?
Some people might call what I've done by coming out here as being brave. But it's not bravery, it's foolishness. Going all in on something is hardly new to me. A good friend kindly pointed out to me several years ago that once I get an idea in my head, I'm stubborn enough to not let go of it and to throw myself into whatever it is. At whatever cost.
Being brave would entail something else entirely. It would entail, I would think, not feeling like a fraud all of the time. It would entail diving into something you know you could do for years on end, something you could envision yourself doing. It would entail not doubting yourself and not caring about not having all of the skills necessary because, damn it, this is IT for you.
That's what I think, at least.
And it seems like I haven't let go of my idealist ways after all.
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