|I'm ready for my move to France.|
My dream life looks like this: me, in a beret, sitting at a sidewalk cafe in Paris, drinking a glass of wine, writing. Writing something, anything.
I have a glimpse of this life when I write blog posts about my daily life on my back patio drinking cheap wine in my sweatpants. I envision it when I daydream about finding a passion in life as I drive home from my mundane job.
I don't have the experience to write as a profession in a journalistic way. I don't have the patience to try my hand at writing a novel (nor do I have the country cottage or Manhattan apartment, fancy writer friends, a large library of books, jackets with leather elbows, or an affinity for being a starving artist.) What I have is a love to write stuff that I know about, on my laptop, in my modest suburban house in the midwest. So here we find ourselves.
I was at a dinner tonight full of scholars and experts. I am neither of these, much to my dismay. But I realized my true passion: I like to tell people about stuff I know about and like/find interesting. Aha! A blog idea. Which is just like every other blog ever.
Happens just like that. A thought pops in, and you think it sounds cool, and if you're lucky (like me) you'll have someone sitting next to you that tells you they think it's a good idea, too.