Many years ago, when we were still teenagers, my best friend C and I were talking about what we wanted to do when we grew up. She wanted to travel the world and I wanted to be a magazine editor. Our dreams came true, despite our various situations — she didn’t have the money to travel, and I did not hold necessary qualifications that would make me one up for the job.

I look back fondly over the last few years when I became involved with publishing, and the chances that I took when I was climbing the ladder. And somehow after four years I am wondering to myself whether it was an accidental career that chose me instead of the other way around.

After reading a post by this lady I started thinking of the various paths that I might have carved out for myself had I not been in publishing:

1. Artist/illustrator
2. Art gallery curator/owner
3. Florist
4. Pilates instructor
5. Surface designer
6. Costume designer
7. Calligrapher
8. Interior designer
9. Creative Director in an advertising agency
10. Ballet dancer

Of course, being a magazine editor was an important part of that list — I just never thought that it would end so soon (clearly by my own choice, though I had wonderful opportunities in the form of my last employer who believed in me). I just thought that it was time to move on after listening long and hard at what my heart was telling me.

I thought I was on my way, until one day as I was having lunch with a friend, R, who casually mentioned, “since it’s very clear that you love art more than writing, shouldn’t you concentrate more on your art as a means of earning a living, as opposed to writing?”

Her statement stuck with me for the longest time, because right now I freelance as a magazine/newspaper writer, and I also have a part time job as a writer/editor, along with Pikaland, which leaves me very little time for my own self-development. As my pace slowed down during these few days after weeks of rushing one deadline after the next, I am again haunted by what she had said — it made me think hard; resonating in me the missing link that I had never thought was absent in the first place.

Perhaps she was right. Maybe I am still scared of fully immersing myself in just making. Maybe it’s my fear that I might find out that I have nothing much to say or to express. Maybe I’m scared of the bills I have to pay? Or maybe I’m still just chicken? Or maybe i just need a shift in direction; a corrective measure made to my sails as I go through the murky waters of self-discovery that I’m currently bobbing about in.

p/s—what about you? Do you ever think of where you might land if you weren’t doing what you are doing right now?