When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a surgeon. I was fascinated with the human body, with all of its intricacies and its ability to work the parts together like a symphony.  Cutting into a person to repair something, to heal them, well, what better way to show my homage?

The picture in my head was of fixing someone to make them whole again, to mend a broken part so it would sync with the body.  The picture in my head was one of seeing the person move without a limp, to dance without pain and of heartbeats and the color of a muscle.

I was looking at surgery like a creative endeavor.  

Unfortunately, between me and my art stood histology and microbiology and a lot of other "ologies".  It turns out that the intricacies of the human body are all very scientific.  Who knew?

During college, I worked in sales.  I loved sales and I was really good at it, but as it turns out, when you move from selling contemporary home furnishings and dinnerware to selling someone a 30 year mortgage, a lot of the fun goes right out the window.

Somewhere along the line, I stopped trying to decide what to be and allowed myself to be forced into work I did not enjoy.  Then I had babies.  Remember my discussion about the intricacies of the human body?  Yeah, well some of those intricacies will get you knocked up.

For the past 12 years, my life has revolved around shaping my children.  Helping them grow, keeping them healthy, encouraging them to use their brains, play harder, be smarter, be confident and kind.  Oh, and those intricacies?  Most of them come flying out explosively in a newborn's diaper anyway.

Through all of these occupational changes, there has been one constant.  There has always been my love of the written word.  Of course, reading the thoughts of others usually doesn't pay much.  If they paid you for love and enthusiasm, however, I would be rich!

Up until about a month ago, I was pretty discouraged.  In just over six months, I will turn 40 and as badly as I wanted to follow my passion, I didn't see it working out.  Being employed as a cook has been rewarding and enjoyable, but you can't keep the heat turned on by telling the gas company that you'll pay them with sloppy Joes.

I spent months looking for something that would allow me to do what I love.  I spent so much time job hunting that I had to stop other writing gigs so I could focus on earning more money.  I sent my resume to so many creative companies that it would make your head spin.

"Hmmm...well, she has no experience and not much of an education.  She owned her own business, but now she works as a cook.  This resume goes in the lost cause pile."

And, that's how I felt.  I was a lost cause.

Though, I looked at the bright side.  I still had my evenings free to chat on Twitter and to read blogs where I could immerse myself in the brilliance and creativity of others.  Too bad you can't get paid for that!

Until one day, when I opened my e-mail to find someone had sent me a rainbow.  No, not a stupid e-mail forward, but a real, live rainbow.  One that I could climb atop and slide down.  One where I flew right past the leprechaun and into a pot filled with golden Twitter streams.

My love of blogging and my passion for social media got me a job.

Not just any job, but my dream job.  It is exactly what I have been looking for.  For a long, long time.

I am reading the ideas and opinions of intelligent people and I am taking in the flow of language.  I see pieces of writing come together, each individual word on a page melding into one thought.

I am communicating constantly through social media.  I believe it to be the most powerful resource and tool that a company can have.

I am working from home with my children near me.  I am giving them room to grow, but still here to guide them.

And, none of this would be possible without a company who sees past a pathetic resume and, instead, sees that passion is, sometimes, more important than experience.

I am happy.  I enjoy my work immensely.  I love doing something I believe in.  All the parts are finally coming together.

Like a symphony.

Labels: Bringing Home the Bacon, Ramblings, Socializing, Tooting My Own Horn