On Feeling Successful (As Told Through A Trip To Copenhagen)

Two middle aged men sit across from me on the train home from Gatwick Airport.

“So what’s your youngest doing now?”
“He’s just been signed to a modelling agency! He’s only eighteen! What about your Sarah? She still at uni?”
“She graduated with a 1st, and now she’s a top marketing executive in London!”

It’s strange that this story starts at the end, when I’m tired and greasy and starving. The flight from Copenhagen to Gatwick was only 1 hour 40 minutes but adding on the waiting and the queuing and the scanning of tickets and passports I’d say it feels like an all day shindig. I rarely eavesdrop on people’s conversations, even if they’re sat so close on an empty train in the middle of the night, but the conversation between the two proud dads got to me.

As a young person who can find fault in everything I do, I find it difficult to feel like I’ve achieved something. I’m unemployed, living at home, with dreams and ambitions that can often seem out of reach. While these things aren’t things to be ashamed of, they certainly pale in comparison to others.

The feeling of success is subjective and ever changing. It can be measured in so many ways, so many little intricate threads that make you proud of the person you are. Success moves with time, and changes depending on the decades, years, months, minutes. I haven’t felt successful in a long time, but on the late night train journey back home from a few days in Copenhagen, overhearing a conversation about the large successes of others in my generation and younger did not stoke the fires of my insecurities, but allowed me to process what I had just been through, or for a better term, what I had achieved.

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Copenhagen was spontaneous. I’d been cooped up in my house, in the little bubble of my life for far too long. I wanted to leave, even just for a long weekend, to experience something else. My friends made excuses (but also valid reasons) as to why they could not come with me. While going to another country on my own is always an option, to me, that was a step too far. But Twitter wasn’t. I tweeted indirectly that I wanted to go somewhere but just had no-one to go with, and hoped someone, if anyone, would take the bait (preferably mutuals of course).

And it worked!

I’d found friends online who wanted to join me and even an old work colleague who heard about my trip. The dates were set, deposits were paid, the flights booked. And then, the anxiety kicked in. Having a ton of responsibility suddenly be hitched onto your shoulders takes a lot of getting used to, and as an impatient worrier such as myself, I found the only thing to calm myself down was to research city maps, how to get from one terminal to the next, what trains to take, where to visit and how long it will take to get there, and to research more into the hostel we were staying in (and try not to let my friend’s exclaims of ‘hostels are dangerous you’re gonna die!’ get to me).

When the morning of the flight came I was a wreck. However, when I’m that nervous, I sort of turn into a shouty army officer who wants things to be done quickly and efficiently without any mucking about. It was that morning that I realised I wouldn’t just be responsible for myself, but also for my work colleague who is younger, less experienced in travel, and just all around a bit dopey with no sense of urgency. Don’t worry, she agrees with all these things.

The feeling of pride and achievement didn’t really set in until we’d checked into our hostel and I lay on my bunk bed and took in a deep breath. I’d done it. I’d gone through the awful experience of airport security unscathed and I’d traveled to another country without any adults whilst also looking after another human. I’d gone on the metro, found the way to the hostel and walked through a city with luggage (a big fear of mine is getting mugged).

And then beyond that; I was able to find my way around a whole new city which was in a different language, tried new foods, met new people, slept in a room with strangers, made decisions for where to eat (because my friends can’t make decisions), and made sure my friend didn’t walk into the many bicycles around the city. I also counted her money for her, made sure she didn’t accidentally shop lift, checked her bag was closed, and got her to stop asking me permission to do something/go somewhere. I was an independent traveler and also a mum.

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I visited a beautiful city in a beautiful country, experienced something new, and looked after myself in a way I haven’t in a really long time. I felt strong, I felt independent, I felt capable. And that to me, is a success. So, while I may not have a top job in London, a fancy apartment, or a million followers on Instagram, I was able to sit on the night train back home and feel just as proud as the dads sat opposite me.

And don’t worry, there’ll be a guide to Copenhagen coming soon!

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RTP #3: Crippling Self-Doubt (A Light Post)

Welcome to the post-change up blog, where, if you haven’t read this post, I’ve been making a few changes in regards to my life. It seems the changes this season aren’t stopping, and while I’m changing my schedule, how I manage my time, and the way I look after myself, I am also changing something so huge that it may affect my whole damn career (if it ever gets that far):

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Since I began kneading a story into shape when I was around fourteen, I have been entirely focused on this WIP which, for the sake of not getting confused, we will call it Sci-Fi WIP. Sci-Fi has taken up so much of my time and thought that it has become this very well rounded novel with 100,000 words and has been critiqued by many beta readers. It was part of my dissertation, as well as having gone through bouts and bouts of edits. I even got to the point of researching agents.

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But that’s where it hit me.

I’m a writer who doesn’t necessarily like to stick to just one genre. I find myself pulled to multiple genres that I’d love to write. But it also means that I’ve sensed a pattern when it comes to debut authors and even authors who churn out books; they keep to their genre. It may be personal preference, but there are crime authors, high fantasy authors, contemporary authors, romance authors etc. Authors do not generally branch out, and if they do, they’re already fairly high profile or it’s only a gentle nudge into a different direction.

A part of me is scared. If I manage to get my Sci-Fi WIP published, are the publishers/my agent going to turn around and say “What more sci-fis have you got for us?” Because here is the thing; I have 0. Big fat fucking zero. This is the only sci-fi story I have ever written, because most recently, I have found my genre to be contemporary. Yes, contemporary with a little darkness, with a little magical realism, but contemporary no less.

I had to have a long hard think: if I had to, what would be the genre I would be able to write for the rest of my life? And I had my answer.

In a perfect world, I would be known as Hollie Wilson, author. But I understand that people write to their strengths as well as for the demand of their audience. If I’m going to get a debut out there, it can’t be a sci-fi, because I’ll feel the pressure to write more sci-fi, of which I know I can’t.

But contemporary? Well, I may have some stuff on the back burner constantly when it comes to it.

And so now, I am working on a new WIP, which we’ll call Church WIP. I have 10,000 words of garbage, and I’m excited to actually show you my writing journey.

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