The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,41
gently. “Do you mind telling me why you find yourself unemployed?”
She told him about Ken’s retirement, her shot at a promotion and her subsequent failure to get it, her horrible boss, and the final straw.
“So you just quit, right there on the spot?”
He didn’t look horrified, as she’d expected. He looked impressed.
“Good for you.” He paused. “So what will you do when you return?”
“I have an interview with a company.”
“You don’t sound altogether happy about that.” After a waiting a beat, he asked, “If you could do anything you wanted, what would it be?”
She gave it some thought. Not that she didn’t know her answer. She just couldn’t decide whether to tell him. “Well, I’ve always dreamed of writing.” There . . . she’d said it, and he didn’t even laugh at her.
“What’s stopping you?” His eyes lit with interest.
She contemplated his question a moment before answering. “Fear, I guess.” Despite the completed manuscript from college, she couldn’t get past her fear. Being older only made her more cautious, less sanguine of the possibilities that as a twenty-something had seemed infinite . . . and attainable.
“Fear? Fear of what?”
“Fear of failure, I suppose. If I don’t write, then I don’t risk failure.”
“But by not even trying, haven’t you already failed?”
She sat bewildered for a moment. She’d never thought of it that way. But then, she shook her head. “Perhaps the irrational fear of failure that stops me in my tracks is stronger than the rational argument that you don’t know until you try.” The manuscript was decent, but needed some editing. What if she succeeded only in making it worse?
“Just write about what you know,” he returned. “I believe it was Frank McCort who said, ‘you are your own best material.’”
“I don’t aspire to be another John Grisham. Legal dramas would not be my thing, and health law isn’t exactly rife with danger.” She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of it. Although the Bitchkrieg’s murder might make for an interesting plot.
“The law is not the only thing you know. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re not one-dimensional. Even in the short time I’ve known you, the brilliance of your character is apparent.”
“You are a well-read, well-traveled, intelligent, funny, interesting, and might I add, beautiful woman, who has experienced life’s ups and downs, and who happens to also have a profound love of literature. Put those thoughts on paper, even if only for yourself. You never know where it will take you. But don’t give up on your dreams.”
“I’m already on my second career—”
“So?”
“It seems a little late in life to think about changing careers again, and anyway, my family was so proud when I became a lawyer. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them. Of course that presumes I’m capable of making a career out of writing. Besides, I would have to plan.”
“Plan?” he asked, confused. “What do you mean plan?”
“I’m a planner.” She shrugged. “I try not to do anything without a plan first.”
When she’d made up her mind to abandon her carefully mapped out teaching career to return to law school, she put a well-constructed plan in place. She determined how much money she needed to save and how much longer she would need to teach in order to save that money. Then she stuck with the plan.
Of course, since she’d already quit her job, she didn’t have to worry about that minor detail this time.
“My motto is ‘failure to plan is a plan for failure,’” she said, somewhat sanctimoniously.
He looked incredulous for a moment, and then chuckled. “I’d say I’m not a planner, but rather a preparer. If things don’t go as anticipated, I reassess. I guess my motto is ‘luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.’”
He was silent for a few minutes, watching the road ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, entreating, “Real living is about accepting challenges and making changes . . . taking risks. You’ve already taken the first step by quitting a job you’d grown to hate. Don’t stop there.”
She didn’t respond.
“Sarah, don’t stare so long at a door that is closing that you fail to see the door that is open.”
Chapter 13
“I’m afraid that I have to return to London this evening for a photo shoot in the morning,” Alex announced.
Sarah tried to hide her overwhelming disappointment, apparently not too successfully.
“But, I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, and to make it up to you, I have a very special evening planned.”
“What kind of special evening?” she asked, sounding like a