A Mid-Career Crisis?

Sometimes in my moments of career discontentment coupled with a dash of regret, I often wonder what my life would have been like had I chose a different profession instead of Fashion Design? And then I wonder why did I choose to design? Many people decide at a very young age what they want to be when they grow up, however, I was one of those that was not wired that way. For me it wasn’t the dilemma of trying to figure out what I wanted to do, but which one do I choose? I remember being captivated by news anchors at age 5 and deciding that’s what I’d do, I would be a news reporter! As I got a little older, I realized it wasn’t about reporting so much as it was about writing. Having my book report or creative writing assignment read by the teacher in class was never a surprise and I generally sailed through my English classes effortlessly. By age 9 I began writing diligently in my brown, leather-bound diary that my mother gave me for Christmas. I remember it came with a lock and key to keep inquisitive eyes out of the sordid tales of my pre-pubescent life. I even began every entry with “Dear Diary..” as if she were a living, breathing friend that just sat under my pillow waiting earnestly for me to deliver the days’ juicy details. As I grew older and soaked up the pages with my adolescent adventures, my diaries then became ‘journals’ and grew larger in size to fill the many questions I had going on in my head. There were no fancy brass locks and keys anymore, although, there should have been. For some odd reason, the boyfriends I had in my early 20’s thought the holy grail of my thoughts and actions lie between the pages of my journals. So, after having my journal raped on more that three different occasions and it’s contents used against me, I vowed to never write anything again. My journal was supposed to be my friend and it just sat there lifeless, in its quiet betrayal. It was like driving a car that had been stolen by thugs and joy ridden. I didn’t even want it anymore. And so for nearly 10 years following those uncomfortable, intrusive actions by insecure boyfriends, I didn’t write anything. I shut off the valve that used to pour out some of the most beautiful thoughts and personal issues of my life. Intermittently, over the course of that decade, you could get one page out of me. But generally it was written out of a desperate need to be a friend to myself or I had had an epiphany that just needed to be documented.

By 2003, my life took a sharp turn towards fashion design. With ferocity, I was determined to succeed. I designed everything from dance wear, swimwear, children’s apparel, formal wear, sleepwear and finally, jeans. It wasn’t until 2006, when I discovered “blogging” that I reconnected with my love for writing. I started off small and cautiously, taking baby steps and testing the waters. After a few months, I learned that it was OK to express myself through my writing again. In fact, it was very liberating!
Of course, anything that was incredibly personal or private I left on the shelf in my mind.
I moved to Los Angeles at the tail end of 2006 and became so absorbed in writing that I found myself pecking away several times a day when a thought came to mind worth writing about. It was like I was making up for the lost time that I had been gone. I had so much to say, so may thoughts and questions. I was catching up with my old friend and I finally felt free to just open up the floodgates and be me.
So today and the last few months I question whether or not I will be designing for the rest of my life. I wonder, why do we feel forced into doing just one thing our whole lives? My dad says I’m learning contentment and changing the way I think since I am in my mid-20s, Ok, 30’s. Maybe it's a mid-life crisis. Though, I think of it more as a mid-career crisis.