It’s two in the morning. I’m feverishly writing away, with no end in sight. Listening to music, watching sports, and thinking to myself, “What if I had chosen a different path?” Imagine where you would be if you had spent hours doing one thing instead of another, and where that would have gotten you.
For example, I think back to high school when I got my drum set. I spent hours and hours playing and learning and driving my family nuts with my rhythmic banging (not a euphemism). I completely abandoned my writing because my drums (or Bonzo, Neil, Kieth, Ringo, and Max as I called them) took all my time. Eventually I gravitated back to my notebook and pen. Away from the shiny, black wood and to my neatly lined and bound pages.
But as I sit here and listen to Dire Straits, I think to myself, what if I had banged Bonzo for just a little bit longer (okay, maybe that’s more of a euphemism)? What if I had chosen the rock star path? Both writers and rockers are equally as likely to make it anyways.
And then some nights while I’m writing, I listen to my friends’ radio show, or rather radio shows. I think back to the days when I lived to see people dancing to what I was playing and laughing at my latest escapade as I told it over the air waves. If I had put in a little more time, mastered the programs, really shown an interest, would I be sitting here, wireless keyboard in my lap at a desk covered in alcohol bottles and chewing tobacco?
When I meet a man at a bar and have to explain to him what “icing” really is (yes, I realize I may be one of the only women in the world who thinks of hockey before desserts when she hears “icing”) I think, “Why was it I gave up sports journalism again?” When I get taken out by a moving sidewalk in Vegas because I was too busy yelling in frustration about the Raiders to see it ended, I’m nearly certain I may have made the wrong choice. When I say, “Shit. Holding. Offense. 68.” right before the ref repeats me, minus the profanity, it’s pretty clear I messed up when I turned down play by play (and yes, I was told by a former ESPN radio announcer I was a football play-by-play prodigy).
I think to myself, what if a few different choices, day after day, changed the path I am on. Would I be sitting on stage, barefoot, twirling my sticks? Or could I be on the court interviewing the man I have posters of on my walls? But then I stop, because isn’t the goal to be happy?
And while most people think I’m crazy for locking myself up in front of this damn computer for hours every day, sometimes not leaving for days, losing track of what day or time it is, I love it.
The first time I saw my name on paper when I was twelve, I knew this was what I wanted to do. Recently seeing my name on TV under the section that said “Written by” I knew I’d made the right choice. My aching cheeks can attest to that. The question still creeps in sometimes though. What if…