…it’s who you know.

Well that’s all very well until you realise you don’t actually know anyone.

Obviously I’m not some kind of special hermit, I know people. However, unless my parents are harbouring some kind of cruel secret and they are in fact either both astronauts or famous writers I don’t know anyone that is going to suddenly hold out a hand to help me onto the first rung of this ever extending career ladder I visualize so tall it sort of disappears up into the clouds….taking my dreams with it. (Maybe I should channel this kind of hyperbolic enthusiasm in to some kind of charity work….?)

Was the person that first coined this phrase just ridiculously popular or were they simply trying to make themselves feel better because they too had come to the realization that a lifetime’s worth of Jurassic Park trivia combined with a deep-seated yearning to be a real life Sherlock Holmes (you can’t tell me that wouldn’t be the coolest job ever) was never going to get them anywhere in the real world?

I think I know which is the more likely.

Yes, I’m aware both of my career options are literally worlds apart and I feel like I should focus all my energy into one (the fact I did an English degree sort of points towards the latter) but I’m still hopelessly optimistic that one day I’ll get a call from NASA and they’ll want me to command their latest space adventure. I could be the next Sally Ride for sure, I just need to work out which of the buttons is up and away we go.

Foolishly or not I refuse to let go of this dream, and all the others I have about viable career options. (Speaking of which, does Brian Cox need an assistant because I feel like we could have some kind of Doctor Who situation going on here minus the time travel.) I feel like whilst I’m at home waiting for that phone call I’m in some sort of career limbo purgatory and my mind cannot help but wander. What if I turn into a Miss Havisham-type character and descend into madness because I never leave home and I eventually move into my parent’s attic and they find me quietly rocking in the corner with my Buzz Lightyear costume at the ready?

Seriously I need some kind of structured routine to control these mental descents into chaos….

So to summarise I’m probably about minus four steps on the ladder to becoming a successful (paid) writer and about ten billion lightyears away from ever being allowed near any kind of space shuttle.

How’s your day going?