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It’s not that I dread returning to work tomorrow, but I don’t relish it as I once did. Looking at it in those terms, I guess it’s not all that bad. But it could be so much better. In Paris, I watched a couple of the others have to work on the day we all arrived. I watched how they savoured it, and I confess I felt a little jealous. I relished the thought of not opening my laptop until Tuesday morning and facing it all.

The clownish requests and the double standards; the micro-managing and pompous self-importance.

I’m tired of all of it, of all the play acting. Being in Paris, surrounded by all that culture, art and beauty, made me realise that I still yearn for higher things. My soul comes on fire when surrounded by those things, when in the light of new ideas and inspiration. Writing, stories, music, painting; becoming lost in worlds and fantasies where we leave this earth behind and become enchanted again, those golden moments when we can re-ignite that sense of wonder we knew as children. That’s what I live for. It’s what my heart longs for. I may not be a great beauty, a brilliant mind or particularly strong in any sense. But when I created, people listened. That’s all I know. Whether on the page, the canvas or the stage, when it came to those acts of self-expression, I could shine. It was the chance to be other characters which somehow formed my own character. Perhaps it’s because I’ve always had an excess of feeling. Too much emotion inside me that needed to fly out. Perhaps it’s because I found my younger life particularly difficult, although mainly difficulties I made for myself to be perfectly honest.

When I had to, I’ve always escaped into other worlds and other characters. I’ve never been happier than when my imagination could be unshackled and swim free.

I understand, of course, that I live in the real world. Perhaps in another time and another age I could have made a living on the stage or by just writing. But the world, for all its brilliance, can be a harsher place than we would like. One where I must trade scripts for analytics spreadsheets and stories for marketing copy.

I do not know what my next step will be, but I know that my skills can be applied to the world of business. I can apply them there, though my heart may yearn for higher things. That may sound snobbish or self-important, but I cannot think of any other way to put it. I find when I look at budgets or bits and pieces of “creative” in marketing, that I really don’t much care. Whereby I mean, I care in my mind, because I’m paid to. But not in my heart. Not in the place where my stories and fantasies live. Perhaps our work and passions, like our mind and heart, should be separate. Perhaps it is alright to work to live and not live for our work. I understand that. As I understand that not all of us are lucky enough to do what it is we really love for our career; sacrifices and compromises are part of any successful relationship, like anything else.

But I do know that I need to move on. The arts may be my calling, but my ambition is large too. I like the feeling which comes from success and progressing myself. I need to be in a place where my ideas can run free, where I can forge myself into a success and afford the things I want from life. If I am to play a different character than the one I once dreamed, at the very least I can make sure I play a successful one.

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