If there really was a Diagon Alley somewhere in the other realm of reality that featured Ollivander's wand shop, and I could walk in, purchase one, wave it around and change my life by chanting a few magic spells, I often wonder what I would change.
The main problem with me, is that even if such a feat were possible, I'd be happy for a while yet would eventually yearn for something different. I simply can't decide on who I want to be. My role models change every so often, as do my career plans, passions and goals. I've had four main 'visions' of myself in the future, each appealing to me at different times..
The glamour girl: As a young teen I fancied myself as a high flying journalist – I'd always enjoyed writing, and my head was aflame with visions of a glamorous lifestyle, grilling politicians on foreign policy, hobnobbing with celebrities, living the dream... Of course I know this fantasy is reality reserved only for the top journalists, or editors, and over time in a typically over-analytical student way, I have increasingly become very sceptical of the media and all the bullshit it throws around, enlightened partly by the legend that is Charlie Brooker. Even so, I still fantasise about being a stylish, modern, high flying woman - respected, yet friendly, confident, self assured, working in the city somewhere. Oddly enough these thoughts pop into my head after reading an issue of Vogue or watching Sex And The City. But then I think - wouldn't it be increasingly difficult to uphold this glam lifestyle and persona every single day - would I really be myself? I quite like dashing to uni in sweatpants and mooching around in Ugg Boots. And then I think of the inevitable bitchy types that come hand in hand with this kind of career, and the fantasy's previously glowing allure subsides. Until the next episode.
The comfortable matriarch: I once idolised Nigella Lawson; successful, intelligent, wealthy, not to mention beautiful with curves in all the right places (that I envy with a passion!). I loved the way she made me feel when I watched her cookery programme. It is set in her actual kitchen in her London mansion, and despite its grandiose granite worktops and plethora of kitchen accoutrements the walls are dotted with little twinkling fairy lights, and the atmosphere is cosy and comforting, a place of solace and domestic sanctuary where worldly problems cease to exist, the biggest possible catastrophe being an unrisen souffle. Inspired by this amazing woman, I began to throw myself into cooking, fantasising about becoming a food writer or critic, spending my days pottering about the kitchen entertaining guests, and going to the best restaurants and being treated like a VIP. I began spending more on food than on socialising, and surprise surprise, far from being a beautiful hourglass like Nigella, I put the weight on my tummy. I have yet to shift this - and my souffle never did rise.
The carefree treehugger: In my first year of uni, after an impromptu trip to Newquay I became obsessed with surfing. I dreamed of living in a shack on a gorgeous palm fringed beach, perhaps owning a small watersports shop to pay the bills, but completely devoting my life to nature, surfing, conservation projects and the like. I continually listened to sixties music and wished I had been around in that era, pretended I was living in 60s California. During this phase I also really got into boho chic (elements of which are still in my general style now). Eventually I realised that this probably was not a viable career choice, as contrary to my romanticised vision of living on a beach, like a perpetual holiday, it would probably end up with me being a complete loser, stoned out of my mind lying on a beach in rags. And I do want to be successful.
The punk rocker: After I received a new guitar for Christmas a couple of years ago, I was in love with it, and still am to this day. I have had fantasies of fronting a band, or becoming a songwriter...someone cool and rebellious like Joan Jett or Blondie - playing gigs, amassing a fan base, pouring my herart and souk into melody and lyrics, being critically acclaimed...but then I remembered, there's no privacy for celebrities nowadays. And I'd hate to be on the run from the paparazzi everytime I dashed out to get a pint of milk from Sainsbury's.
I think the root of my predicament boils down to the fact that I haven't found my passion yet. I have many hobbies - the piano and guitar, cooking, learning languages, reading, writing (although those two at face value are pretty much expected of any literate person), but I don't
Since then, many careers have fleetingly taken my fancy - speech and language therapist (not patient enough), novelist (not good at writing novels - a fairly large flaw), record producer (at a loss as to how I could break into the industry, and I hate all the music in the charts now anyway), teacher (again, lack of patience). It seems that with every career path I think of, my brain has a bank of discouraging reasons that pummel the notion to pulp. And I move on.
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