The Gab of the Gift

I’m going to try to keep this one short-ish and sweet. I got a notification from WordPress a few weeks ago that it was my ‘anniversary’ of setting up this site. It got me thinking about the last year (has anyone got the word to describe it yet?) and the absolute contrast of where I was when I wrote Please Stop Asking Me What My Plan Is to where I am now. I only published online because the full picture of how I was feeling was way too long to send over WhatsApp and I could never really get the words out in person. It feels apt. to come full-circle a year on. And, if I squeeze my eyes closed super tight, there might just be the slightest hint of a plan.

So far, there’s just four pieces (including this one) on The Gab of The Gift. I wouldn’t have even stretched to call it a pastime before, but something’s clicked in the last few weeks to give it a go as a bit more of a hustle. (Don’t fret, I’m not quitting the day job quite yet.) Maybe it’s the fact that my mind continues to do loop-the-loops in the early hours and I just want to scribble everything down, or maybe it’s because things are slowly starting to fall into place (if you’re watching MAFS Australia, think Dino and Mel’s ‘baby steps’. If you’re not watching MAFS Australia, what are you playing at?!) – either way, this week I’ve updated its design and spammed my Google Docs with odd lines and incomplete paragraphs about anything and everything. It feels good. 

So, the plan: simply put, I’m trying to chase something relating to writing. I know what you’re thinking: one, not the all-singing all-dancing sparks-flying revelation you were anticipating; two, that old cliché – and I think it too. My eyes were opened during a couple of weeks’ work experience for a marketing agency last year where I got to dip my fingers into the world of copywriting and creativity – I responded to briefs to produce adverts, features, social media supers… The list goes on. It’s a broad field, it’s intense, and it really interests me. But I need experience, desperately need experience, and I need to grow my portfolio. I’m still battling the whole ‘she’s not been to Uni., she doesn’t have a degree, let’s not even consider her email’ culture – so, I’ve taken things into my own hands.

I’ve made a poster (ground-breaking, I know) and now my face can be spotted in and around my village, ‘Writing Experience Wanted’ written in big, bold letters above my head. (There’s other writing on the poster, too.) I’m circulating a digital version to contacts, friends of friends, local organisations etc., and I’ve had some promising calls this week. I’ve jazzed up my LinkedIn to reflect my personality – it’s not the riskiest thing in the world, but it’s a step in the right direction. When you’re the least-salesy person trying to sell yourself having had a sales role, you’ve got to be a bit inventive: ‘Tried to break free from the status-quo anti-Estate Agent culture by injecting honesty, reliability and a personable service to my role. Got to know my clients as people – not KPIs – to secure watertight house sales and purchases; received ample 5* Google Reviews. Wore a trench coat to look the part.’ I’m drip-feeding myself out there with the attitude ‘what’s the worst that can happen?’ (my poster hasn’t been defaced, at least not just yet…). I’m ready for the set-backs, the knocks, and even radio silence. I’m also just ready. And I’ve still got the trench coat – it’s 50 shades of pink. 

It feels wild to think that just over a year ago I’d been abroad; meeting up with friends for drinks was easy; keeping your distance was something you only did when waiting in line at the bank. What I’m trying to get at is that this year has gone to show that it doesn’t matter how much time we invest into roadmapping our lives, life is truly unpredictable. In Lockdown 1.0 (the good old days, ha!), I read something funny about the whole ‘where do you see yourself five years from now?’ question – I mean, surely nobody that answered that question five years ago said ‘I’ll be up to my eyes in banana bread and am leaving my daily walks until the evenings, just to spice things up’. I’ve been liable to make my own predictions previously – whilst in the Philippines in October 2018, my girlfriends and I typed our goals into Hattie’s iPhone notes. She reminded us of them the other week, with a giggle – I had written that I would have ‘found my career’ (at least I’d given myself a five year window), I’d be ‘with a long-term partner’ (I mean…), and that I wanted to simply ‘be happy’. Ain’t that sweet.

It’s strange, really – growing up, I was very set on how I thought my life would pan out. Or very naive. I think I am still very naive… I always laugh and joke with my friends about how I wanted to be a housewife (can’t say I’d turn it down, even now); I’d live in a big, white house with a pretty garden and a vegetable patch (think The Notebook-esque and you’re halfway there). I had this vision of always having something freshly baked on the side, and loads of kids running around causing chaos – I still think that’s what kids should do, generally. Preferably, my husband would work away during the week – I’ve always enjoyed my own company, and that’s not changed – in fairness, the view around my own work was always a bit blurry, even then, but I always kind of thought I’d end up teaching. I was keen for marriage and mad keen for loads of kids. And now? I really don’t know if I want even a smidge of that. Which is fine, obviously. I think it still surprises a lot of people, they say to me ‘but of course you’ll get married, Gabs’. I don’t want to be alone – and I like shiny things – but I think marriage to me isn’t what I always thought it was. Though that’s a story for another time. The bottom line is it’s funny how we change – maybe I’m a bit more of a realist and far more cynical now, and I think growing up does that to most of us (sadly). One thing fourteen year old me would be proud of is that I do usually tend to have something freshly baked in my kitchen. Twenty four year old me is surprised at how therapeutic it feels to write this all down – it’s like keeping a diary, only without the offensive, rude and juicy parts… 

Comments about what I’ve written have been super nice and super encouraging. They’ve made me think that if I really, really try, perhaps there’s a writer in me just yet. From people who I haven’t spoken to for years to my very best friends cheering me on (girls, the dating diaries are a way off yet), I don’t think I’ve got much to lose. Especially after this year. On a jobs-front, I’ve had the most amount of knock-backs ever; on a personal level, I’ve two self-employed parents whose businesses have changed irreparably. My Mum has become the definition of the term ‘resilient’, and that’s what I choose to be. (This year, I’ve also realised how the majority of the people we rely on to run our country are as useful as chocolate teapots… But let’s not go there.)

Even though it’s not a world-changing plan, the cogs are turning in a new direction. This week has shown a glimmer of hope about having a few things in the pipeline; even if none of it comes to fruition, I’m making some sort of headway out of the fog. As for the rest of the year, who knows – I think we’ve all adapted to taking each day at a time.

I’m a proper winter baby and I live for the icy wind on my face, but I can admit to yearning for the warmer days, especially if my birthday is in lockdown again – 25 is approaching FAST. I’m definitely not where I imagined I’d be at 24, but I’ve got a couple of good feelings. I am both a dreamer and a realist; watch this space.

A big thank you for reading/pretending to read this piece. All messages/comments I receive truly put the biggest grin on my face, and I’m really humbled by the support that’s out there. 

There’s a bit of ambition in this girl left.