I have plans. In fact, you might say that I'm a pretty big planner. Ever since I was quite small, I always found myself planning the big things (the smaller things, well, not so much--I like to dream big.) Sometimes I fulfill the plans I make and other times--whether because of laziness, uncertainty, or ordinary fear--I don't.
At the moment, my plan for September is to return to school to start work on my Master of Arts degree. That plan isn't going to change. Right now, it's my post-M.A. plan I question.
I'm no longer sure that I want my day-job to be teaching at a university; I'm not even sure that I want a Ph'D.
What I am sure of is that I want to write--passionately and authentically--for a living. I have to write for a living.
And I'm afraid that teaching would become too comfortable. I'm afraid that if immersed in the kind of security I feel in an academic environment, I'll eventually stop want to take the risks writing demands of me: the risks of rejection; of frustration; and--perhaps worst of all--the risk of alienation from others, from myself, and, ultimately, from my own artistic vision.
Maybe this is still too soon to be worrying about the post-M.A. plan. I mean, really, I willing to admit that all this anxiety could be for nothing. I do have to get through the M.A. first! The thing is that while I'm a big planner, I'm a pretty big worrier, too. That makes for a pretty troublesome combination.
I know you can't account for everything--human interaction, namely--and that despite the plans, life always intervenes. Truthfully, I'm pretty proud that despite being a planner, I've always been open to serendipitous, scenic detours. Especially since that's not as easy to do as it sounds--even for non-planners!
Still, though, I can't help myself from fretting over where my career should be taking me.