The one where I didn’t become a war correspondent

So when I was younger, I went from nurturing this fantasy of becoming an editor at Vogue to imagining myself as a war correspondent with a messy bun and a bulletproof notebook.

As Amy Poehler once wrote, “I still wish this book was just a compendium of searing photographs I took in Afghanistan during my years as a sexy war correspondent, but hey, there is still time.” - If I ever write my memoirs, that’s exactly how I’ll start.

Moving on… Somewhere between the imaginary frontlines, and actual adulthood, reality finally hit me while I was writing a lifestyle article that ended like this: “to warm up the colder days.”

It took me a moment.

I just stared at the sentence.

And I remember thinking, “Wait… am I really writing a hot-chocolate recipe? How did we get here?”

And that was it.

Now I fantasise about landing the perfect verb, finding the word that suddenly makes the whole thing make sense. And yes, always about that final moment when I look at what I’ve written and think, “f**, I’m a genius.”

*I’m not a genious, of course. Actually, knowing I am not one keeps me going on, learning, trying, sharpening the craft every day.

Yesterday I had a tiny “aw” moment after wrapping up this campaign for a travel agency (copy, design, pictures...). It turned out cool, didn’t it? I think it did. 😎

And here I am now, thirteen Black Fridays later, writing lines about sunsets, beaches, Single’s Day...

And loving it.. [pa-ra-pa-pa-ra🎶]