Thanks to Lufthansa, I've returned from my second trip to Germany for the annual book fair. I was mentally prepared for it having been through the experience one year ago. I shopped for outfits that would make a good impression not only to new partners who had never met me in person, but to boost my confidence when presenting our business model. I was almost perfectly organized, although most of the paperwork I did last year was repeated this year, but I felt even more in tune with knowing I was ready for any of our many meetings.
When I left last Monday evening in a somewhat pathetic tearful goodbye--this would be my first trip away from Bub as a married couple--I felt a homesickness that started a few days prior to the trip when I know I would be inundated with the monotony of it all. That I would yet again be with my manager 24-7 as though a child who needed to be kept on a leash and watched. It irked me and it was hard to keep my cheerful disposition up, difficult to keep the facade going, and very exhausting. And again, I drooled over the many creative outlets that come alive at this fair, consisting of exhibition center upon exhibition center upon exhibition center.
I was able to connect with two people--one stranger and one acquaintance--about starting my own "thing"...what that is, I don't know. But I'm getting closer. And I feel that by complaining that I don't know where to start, how to go about it, what to do, how to fund it, I'll just leave it at this: we met with a number of people who are the the very people who started their businesses from nothing, even went on to sell them to large notable companies only to start from scratch again.
What are their books like? Dreadful. Boring. Yuck. So if they can succeed at building a business on this stuff, then I would like a go at starting something even though it may never grow to be something quite as successful. And as my father said, you just have to jump right in.
I actually got homesick for my first job. Not to be an editorial assistant. My goodness, never do I wish for that again. But seeing the books I had worked on when I was fresh out of school and seeing the people who I once saw every day, and reflecting on those people who I used to work closely with and had close friendships with (some are still friends, thank goodness!), I wonder if I've migrated far away from what it was that I vowed to do when I was still in college: crack into trade publishing.
I'm afraid that excuses are no longer valid any more. In fact, the ones I use are tired and useless at this point.
At an age where I'm migrating away from the days when classes, band, and reading and writing papers to receive my degree are slipping away, I feel some what old. Although I know I'm not by society's standards, I feel as though I am by mine. Because now that I'm married and haven't fully decided if I should return to school (we all know that law school it mostly likely won't be and that's okay), a family is in our future at some point and well, being an adult is getting harder by the day.