Wednesday 4th July became a significant day for me. Not because of the Independence celebrations our friends across the pond were having but because the job I have been doing for the past eleven years will end next year, when the network of offices I work in and for, close. It was not unexpected but the announcement, when it came, was still a shock. A time of mourning is now taking place; work colleagues who will soon be lost to me, are carrying out their duties as before, but there is a different feeling in the air; a different atmosphere. There is a feeling of the loss of future camaraderie; of what might have been; of what will now not happen. So I’m sad.
But, is this it?
Is this the push that I need?
Is this the platform to a new future; a new beginning perhaps?
Is this the opportunity that will make me do what I’ve always wanted to do; become a full time writer?
If I do go down that road can I keep the wolf from the door?
I’ve been made redundant twice before but this time it’s different. I’m no spring chicken now; I’m over the hill (in most people’s eyes) so pretty well written off by the world of work. No, I’m not feeling sorry for myself but at 63 years of age I’m realistic enough to accept that I’m unlikely to gain useful employment in this world-wide recession. I’m fit with a fully functioning brain; sometimes over functioning but sadly most of the world doesn’t see me like that. I am categorised as old; but political leaders, artists, writers, actors and performers, judges, barristers, lawyers and a wealth of other professionals are not ever considered to be old.
So that’s my goal; my new career path. I shall be what I have always aspired to be; a writer, an author, a story-teller; and if I can make some money out of it that wolf can go and bother someone else.