Answers are worth more than money. They'd solve all the world's problems. Most importantly, they'd solve all of my damn problems. Every last inner quarrel I have with myself about the way to approach a challenge. Or not approach it. Foreshadowing outcomes before I prioritize my workload. Putting a timestamp on my patience. The best time to take a leap of faith. The common void in these situations? Answers, answers, answers. As elusive as Mariah's vocal prowess right about now.
It's like, when people ask me what I am, what I do, where I want to be, how I plan to get there and my ultimate goals, I can never hit them with a straight answer in under five seconds. I stop and fidget, trying to encapsulate my dreams and hopes and swirl of ideas running through my mind a mile a minute into one concise sentence. It usually comes out as a stammer of inaudible words, then "a lot" or "everything."
And to an extent I'm telling the truth. In a perfect world, I will have my hand in more than one industry and will have accomplished a lot. If all goes as I daydream, I will have served as a top editor at a print or digital publication, be dabbling in freelance photo projects, and have a decent side life as an independent artist. I will have produced at least two books: one novel/biography/memoir (when my life story actually matters) and a book of photography. Mind you, this is meant to be in a lifetime, but I can only (prayerfully) see as far as 10 years from now. I have a plan without actually having a plan. So when the question comes around, in a bumble of words, ultimately I want to be a professional person-who-is-great-at-many-things.
But maybe the real, real truth is that I don't freaking have a clue.