I disliked my modus operandi. I decided to change it. Some things are as simple as that. I used to have the sort of handwriting which made stationery cringe.  (This is not to say stationery has cause to rejoice now). For years I would just shrug whenever teachers complained about my penmanship.

I’d convinced myself that I was not my handwriting- it was just a part of me. But slowly, I began to see that this was not true.  During my second year in high school, I began to realize that I was very much the horrible cursive expanse disturbing each page.  I tried different pens-the more expensive kinds. Nothing hid the impressive untidiness of my script.

One day, a teacher, who had led the crusade of complaints, decided to punish me for my handwriting (and her resulting optician's bill?). She deducted a generous percentage from a paper of mine she'd had the misfortune of having to grade. I went and bought the cheapest pens I could find.  Out came the handwriting textbooks. Out came the practicing for hours.  Out came the week by week analysis.

The books were helpful, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not copy the scripts contained as faithfully as I wished. I decided to fashion something of my own.  Before long, I’d crafted beautiful hieroglyphics from impressively bad cursives. And that was it…no more truly offensive penmanship.

So here I was, years later, with the pretentious laws and conventions of my professional hell written all around in huge and ugly sprawling letters. I needed to organize a rescue. Where does a girl go when all around her truths tumble and she seems set to embark upon days and nights of self loathing? The answer was easy. I needed discipline. I needed a renewed sense of purpose. I needed to be in an environment in which I could pick my mind bare, then attempt to put it back together.

I left (or more like, RAN from) the news company…in a manner which, I will admit, left much to be desired. I went back to University for two years…with as much trepidation as I’d entered the working world.  I was afraid that my year off had ruined me for academia.  I was worried that the spark had worn off.  I was anxious that my return signaled that I could not handle being the professional woman and so was settling for the academic. Luckily, I had my thoughts to console me, and before long I was agreeing and accepting all the things the thoughts whispered.  So I stayed in school and plotted my return as a professional.

Did I miss the world of work?  Definitely!  But school was much better for me at that point. Sometimes, you just have to know where you need to be at a particular point in time and life. School was it for me then. I was writing stories there too, albeit of a different sort. I was being provided with the appropriate training. I was being encouraged to become involved with my stories.

I remember that it all became very clear to me one night, as I sat poring over a text and pondering a question one of the characters in a novel had tossed out. I realized that there was one central story that I needed to get right before I attempted any other. I needed to explore the story of ME. I remember thinking how incredibly fatty and cheesy this revelation was. But I had to stomach the fat and the cheese since beneath them laid the truth.

Of course, during this time, I also felt keenly another big difference between the world of work and the world of school, namely, the lack of a steady pay cheque. I DEFINITELY missed that part of the working world! But sometimes, no pay or delayed payment is the best pay to be had. Every working girl knows this.

Coming Next Tuesday: #5 To Get Ahead You Must Get Naked