Last week a started a new job. Sort of.
I never exactly set out to be an insurance agent. First I was a hostess for 3 1/2 years, then a photo lab tech/drug store stocker for 2 years. After that it sort of fell into my lap that I got my insurance license for personal lines (think home and auto insurance) and for the last 5 1/2 years that’s where I’ve been.
It’s been alright. I have more good days than bad, and it’s been a good job to me in most scenarios, so I’ve put down roots. I am not a creature who enjoys change. I prefer to stay where I am if at all possible.
Last week, however, things changed… at least somewhat. I still work in the same office, I’m still the office manager (and the ONLY consistent person in the last 6 years), but I work for a new boss. The office was sold to a new agent and we’re starting over from scratch. This is incredibly nerve-wracking as we’ve hired new people, started tons of new ‘processes’ to run the office, and questioned and second-guessed nearly everything I do.
But now, 11 days into the month, I can see that this change will be for the good. The past week and a half have been a non-stop messy roller coaster for me and I feel as though surely I have worked at least three weeks already, but it is good. Once things settle down after another month or so, I believe my bad days will be fewer and my stress will be lower.
I never intended for insurance to be my career. Even though I don’t see me leaving the profession any time soon, I still don’t intend for it to be my career. But the recent flurry of new-found structure in an office-setting has me rethinking what I want out of writing.
Writing is work.
Okay, okay, I know that last sentence was weird and scary. But if you want to make something of yourself as an author, writing IS work. There is nothing wrong with being a hobbyist writer, and at best that is what I have been thus far. I can blame any number of reasons: laziness, uncertainty, lack of instant inspiration, low confidence, figuring out that writing can actually be quite difficult… The list goes on. But if I want to somehow, someday make it my living? Hobby just isn’t going to cut it.
This is the first year I have seen myself act more seriously. I can’t say that it means more to me now, because I’m not sure that’s true. But I have learned enough that perhaps I am ready to be serious. Or at least try my hand at it so that I can keep on learning the next set of lessons to come.
I’m making time to write, even if it’s not as much as I would like yet. I’m thinking about my online presence and exactly what I want it to be, even if that means I’m a bit slow for now. I’m telling at least a few people my goals, and reporting back to them to own up to my sole responsibility for meeting them. It’s a start, but for two months now I have been consistent. Therefore it is a good start.
Now to learn how to say ‘no’ when I really should be writing instead….