Women Who Dare to Dream 7 - Sarah From Slapdash Mama | Life Love and Hiccups: Women Who Dare to Dream 7 - Sarah From Slapdash Mama
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Tuesday, 11 June 2013

Women Who Dare to Dream 7 - Sarah From Slapdash Mama

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Today we have the hilarious Sarah from Slapdash Mama

Sarah is one of those blogs I turn to when I need a good laugh. The way she looks at life and all the stuff that makes it up is just awesome as she laughs in the face of any daily crap that comes her way and deals with it in the best way you can - with humour.

The world could definitely do with more Sarah's in it.

Sarah is telling us what happened to the dream she had when she was younger.

Over to you chick.


When Sonia asked if I would write a post about chasing my dreams, I was naturally propelled back, back to the deep dark recesses of time, to my final years in high school. An innocent time, before jeggings, before flannos became ironically cool and were just flannos, before the internet was even a thing. I was a hopeful, confident teenager with the world at my feet. I had long blonde hair that I used to toss around blithely, like a pony, or one of those nubile wenches from that movie Sirens. I had an overdeveloped sense of youthful superiority. I was DESTINED FOR BIG THINGS BABY!

When asked by a teacher once what my dream job was, the answer was SO OBVIOUS GAH! I rolled my eyes and answered "I want to be a journalist. A foreign correspondent. Preferably in MOSCOW".

My teacher raised her eyebrows.

"Wow, really! Good for you! So I guess you will have to do journalism at uni?"

I may have rolled my eyes again. I mean OBVIOUSLY I was going to do journalism.

"And probably have to learn another language?"

Um. I guess so. Hadn't really thought about it. I felt less sure.

"Russian, probably? Maybe you should think about learning some now? And you could probably try and get some work experience at a local newspaper? Or the local TV station? Maybe you could start a SCHOOL NEWSPAPER!" she continued, full of helpful suggestions on how to make my dream a reality.

 UGH. Talk about a mood killer. Yeah, yeah lady, enough with the REALITY CHECK OK? That all sounds like a lot of freaking HARD WORK!

Obviously I was just going to get into journalism at uni and just, you know, DO JOURNALISM and stuff and then someone would, I don't know, like, SEE MY POTENTIAL and just kind of GIVE ME AN AWESOME JOB OF COOLNESS and it would probably be in Moscow. Or Paris. Or at a pinch, New York.

Whatever, I was flexible. As if I had to worry about MAKING A PLAN or DOING LOTS OF WORK or anything like that. I mean, I was top of English AND Modern History. OBVIOUSLY STAR POTENTIAL RIGHT THERE!

Anyway, I did manage to get myself to ole university and even into a journalism degree. My high school colleagues wrote cheery farewells in my yearbook, quipping things like "See you when you are a reporter for Getaway!" and what not. I laughed modestly. Yes, you probably will, I thought.

The Gods hate hubris though, gentle readers. It didn't take me long to realize my chirpy big fish in a small pond schtick wasn't going to fly in this FARKING HUGE OCEAN of HUNGRY ASPIRATIONAL TV WEATHER GIRLS. And bossy mean lecturers who totes didn't seem to see my INNATE TALENT and MAD WRITING NEWS WORTHY SPOTTING CONCISE ARTICLE THINGO skillz.

It was so bloody hard. I was lonely and sad and pathetic. The final straws came in semester two when my only two pals dropped out, leaving me Nigella No Friends, and we were simultaneously supposed to complete an assignment where we had to GO OUT INTO THE CITY BOTANICAL GARDENS, BAIL UP A STRANGER, INTERVIEW THEM AND WRITE IT INTO AN ARTICLE IN 3 HOURS.

You know, like some sort of JOURNALIST! Outrageous.

The very idea stuck terror into my soul. I raced home and sobbed onto the phone to Mum, "Sob sob...they want me to.....wahhhh....go and...sob sniff...talk to a STRANGER....sob...I CAAAAANNNN'TTTTT......".

A dilemma indeed for an erstwhile journalism student. In no time at all I was weeping in the Dean's office while he listened understandingly, all the time probably thinking to himself "What the actual? Why did this girl even do JOURNALISM even? I mean what is she LIKE?"

I changed all my subjects and eventually, changed courses and universities.

The dream was over. I was a failure.

Incidentally, check out the nobody the ABC have reporting from Moscow these days. That could have been me, people. Well, sort of. I mean it's vaguely possible.


Bitch stole my dream. You think you are good don't you Norman? He kind of looks like me a bit
I guess. You know, he has a face, I have a face, he has hair, I have hair. I like scarves too.
 
Fast forward many years and you find me late 2012, a lowly librarian and public servant, wife, mother of two and repressed creative writing type person, whiling away my days in outer suburbia. My talents unrecognized, my skills hidden under a large bushel of Family Responsibility and Job Stress, my shopping done at Aldi.  I haunt Facebook, harassing my friends and relations with relentless status updates. Amusing soundbites, missives from the land of Crazy Sleep Deprived Mummy. I pepper them with such witticisms as;

"I don't want to make anyone think outside the box or challenge the dominant paradigm or anything, but I am GOING OUT tomorrow night...by MYSELF...to a BAR...yeewwww!"

and;

"Is it just me, or does anyone else have a nagging and non-specific feeling of jealousy towards Catherine Middleton? I want to BE her...far out, what's wrong with me? Can't...stop...thinking...about...royal...wedding..."

It soon became apparent that I could no more deny my need to write and report from the frontline then I could prevent myself from devouring an entire banana cake in one sitting.

And so, the dream was born again, people. My longsuffering friends and relations persuaded me to start a blog, a new forum for my ART. Despite my inner fear that nobody would read it, combined with my other seemingly incompatible fear that people would read it, I took the plunge, and the now Famous and Highly Acclaimed Blog Slapdash Mama was born*.

Never ever have I taken such a scary and bold leap into the unknown, unless you count having two little babies. That is arguably farking scary and bold but I digress.

So yes, the blog. My dream of being a foreign correspondent has become a dream to share regular reports from Slapdash Mamaville, my loft apartment in Paris has become a brick house in the burbs, my fur hat has become a pair of Ugg boots.

I may not be reporting from the Red Square - in fact from where I sit it looks more like a Beige Trapezoid, but that's the way the cookie crumbles.

And you know what? I wouldn't change it for quids**. Living the dream, that's me. Living the dream.

 *Blog may not actually be famous or highly acclaimed, or even lowly acclaimed.
**Actually that's a lie, if the quids were right I would do anything. ANYTHING, I TELL YOU!

You can find Sarah on Facebook here and Instagram here.