If I Am Dreaming, Please Let Me Sleep

Yesterday, I drove the 40-minute trek to a Starbucks in East Cobb.  I was going to meet with Penny, a friend of one of my dear coworkers who also happens to be a publicist.  After three hours of talking about family, friends, relationships, and writing, this is what I learned: she has two brothers who either own or have owned publishing houses, she has worked with authors such as Andy Stanley, Bruce Wilkinson, John Piper, and counts Louie and Shelley Giglio as friends. In a world where who you know seems to trump what you know, meeting with Penny helped me see that having a writing major happened for a reason.

When I went to college, I did not expect to leave with this writing major.  I expected anything but.  Now that I have those three years (I did little writing freshman year) under my belt, I've struggled to figure out what to do with it.  I have very few connections, very little experience within the field (outside of classes that required oodles of peer editing, I haven't had internships or garnered tutoring skills or edited anything of professional value).  I am hardly ambitious and wrestle with inadequacy on a daily basis. When Penny asked me the ultimate question, "If you could do anything right now, what would you do?" I had to answer, "I have no earthly idea."  When she asked me if I was interested in editing or copyediting, I told her that I was very interested, but again I had little experience.  "I know the top editor at a publishing house in Colorado Springs," she told me.  "I will call him and see what it would take to have a recent grad come on as a copy editor."  

Huh?  I sat, stupefied, the ice in my vanilla latte slowly melting in front of my wide eyes. The fact that I am leaving for England in seven months didn't seem to deter Penny from her desire to lay some groundwork as she called it for when I get back.  "I know an editor at Brio [a magazine for teen girls]" she said, "I should call her and see if they would want to have you write some articles for them while you're away in England."  Okay, now this is getting freaky. 

But somehow, it all seemed so right, too.  It is no mistake that I am home for these next few months, no mistake that Penny just happened to start attending my coworkers' small group.  As we connected on so many different levels, I started to see my life beyond where it is now. Watching as my God pulled two strangers together into a likely friendship, I felt abundantly blessed.  For three hours I saw how four years, how 22 years spent running away from and now running toward words may translate into a lifetime of work.  I don't know what will happen as a result of this conversation.  I do know that Penny plans to get together often.  I hope that takes place.  I don't want to waste any time I have left in Atlanta.  I don't want to miss out on the challenges that will come with pursuing things I didn't even know were my passions until this past year.

peace,

liz