When I didn’t get the job at Pitt last week, I realized I needed to decide what it was I wanted to do. When the Pitt interview came up out of the blue, I thought maybe that was where I was supposed to be. The pay was good, the benefits even better, and if they had offered me the job, I would have taken it. But it was not to be.
For awhile I wondered why, but yesterday it dawned on me. I’m a writer. I’m supposed to write. I’ve taken for granted the fact that I have a part-time job that gives me the time to pursue my God-given talent. I believe that everyone is born with some kind of talent, even if not everyone is fortunate enough to know what that talent is. It should not be wasted.
I have to admit I’ve gotten lazy about writing. It’s too easy to go home from work and put it off, finding other things to do. No more. It doesn’t take all evening to make dinner and throw a load of laundry in the washer or dryer. In between those things, I should be at the computer writing something. If I’m not working on my book, I should be drafting an article or short story, or doing research. Yesterday afternoon (at work, I might add), I found some magazines to pitch some articles. I even have an idea for a monthly column that I’m sure I wouldn’t have thought of if I hadn’t been turned down for the Pitt job.
I’m not saying that if another full-time job came up I wouldn’t explore it. I definitely would, but I’d leave the final decision up to the One Who Knows Best. Which, most certainly, is not me.