Ten years ago, I would've said my being a writer was crazy. At the tender age of nineteen, I wanted to be an actor/opera singer. I thought I would be married by now, living in NYC or London or Paris. I would've been on Broadway or the Met. Oh, yes, I was ambitious and had goals that shot to the stars and above. I studied to be an actor/opera singer, but then things fell apart. It didn't bring as much joy, and the road looked to be so hard. I had to admit although I had some talent, I wasn't good enough. I knew this.
Today, I'm single, still living at home (don't make enough to live on my own and have too many bills...yes, those student loans kill you), and I'm a full-time library assistant by day, a part-time freelance editor (often by day and night), and a writer (day and night). It's not what I had planned, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
As for the future, I don't know what will happen. Ten years from now, I hope I'm still writing. I hope I've paid off my student loans and tried not to acquire more. Oh, shiny MFA in Creative Writing and/or Masters in Library Science, you tempt me so. It'd be nice to have a place of my own for my books and I might live there too. *laughs* It'd be nice to have a novel in the library/bookstores/etc.
Turning 29 wasn't bad, and I am really looking forward to 30. I feel like I'm at a good place in my life. Now, if I could just stop wanting to rush things to get that novel ready to submit to agents. True, I have time, but I would like to reach that step before 30. *grins*