The C-Word.

Career. Ew.

The 22-year-old* me would have been appalled. The 22-year-old me would have renounced any ambition for a career, an office, promotions and benefits. The 22-year-old me wanted to wear flow-y skirts and prance around South America living the nomadic lifestyle, living in various communal houses with people who made up names for themselves. The 22-year-old me just wanted to love and live and write stories and just scrape by.

 Screw that.

 I still want to write stories, but now I realize that I need a little bit more to survive. Health insurance. Money to pay off those student loans. Paid time off to go to all the weddings that seem to be happening these days. Yeah, you know. Grown up survival needs.

 And so here I am, a few years out from 30, and I want to start a career.

 Where do I start?


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