The first thing I ever wanted to be was an author. I wanted to write and to be published. In middle school and high school, I won the departmental English award upon graduating. In college, my professors asked if they could keep my papers and if I’d be willing to tutor.

Recently, while in the midst of being without a full-time job per se, I went back to my roots. I randomly applied for a part-time journalism position and submitted an original writing sample. And although I’ve already accepted an exciting offer to be the web/UI developer/designer (which, by the way, is the actual title, rather than something I just made up) for an advertising agency last week, I felt a pang when I saw that email in my inbox today. Someone still thinks I can write. Someone wanted to pay me for it.

Maybe someday.

Just not now.