[private]When you do what you do, you get what you get.   That is what my mother used to tell me as a kid.  Her version of karma, maybe.  I used to see that as merely her way of warning us of impending discipline if we got into trouble.  Lately, I’m starting to see it as something else.

It was quiet in my house for about a week.  Chris walked around looking sort of nervous and skeptical at the same time, in a way that only a teenager can manage.  My mother called every day to get her verbal dig in, but I knew it was also her way of checking on me and making sure that I hadn’t had a meltdown.  Darin was content to just sit back and let things play out, while Sandy vacillated between attempting to support me and wanting to smack me upside the head.  Sheryl was the only who was truly encouraging. 

And then the call came from a local tv station for an interview.  My first instinct was to say no.  But Sheryl talked me into it.  She said it would be a chance to tell my side.  She also said the media would just keep speculating and eventually start making things up if I didn’t. 

The thing is, having a high profile job allowed me to sit on a lot of boards and service committees for my favorite local charities.  I often used my position to get donations or raise awareness for the area non-profits.  It was a win-win.  Local families got food, clothing, shelter, etc., while SouthCoast Tech got lots of great press. 

Eyewitness News Noon Show had been calling and leaving messages since the day after my great escape.  They said that my story is relevant to what’s happening with women in my age bracket.  That I am the face of the midlife crisis for women.  Great.  Just what I always wanted to be- the poster child for drama and stress.  Besides, I am not going through a mid-life crisis, I just think that I have simply experienced a shift in my thinking patterns about life.  In any event, I agreed to meet with the  features reporter so that I can clear this up once and for all.  Besides, I don’t think the story will get much attention, and I can actually start writing my book.  Except, since I left SouthCoast, the creative well has been dry. 

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Alicia Jones is stunning.  That’s the best way to describe her.  Perfect short, spiky haircut, perfect legs, perfect teeth, flawless complexion, and minimal body fat.  I was  standing next to her before I realized that she is barely five feet tall.  You can feel the electricity in the air when she walks into a room.  Now that is what I call presence.  She can’t be older than 28 if she’s a day.  Yeah, this is going to be fun.

“Thank you so much for granting me this interview Ms. St. Claire.  I know that you are a bit nervous about this whole thing.  My goal is for you to just tell your story.  It’s interesting to say the least.”

“Thanks Alicia, I know that the community’s interest is simply because of all the boards that I sit on, and I want to assure everyone that I will continue my efforts with my various causes.  I just need to take a different professional track right now. I don’t really think of my decision as newsworthy.”

“That’s just it Ms. St. Claire”…

“Please, call me Trisha.  There’s no need to be so formal.”

“Well, Trisha, walking away from a top IT company where you are the heir apparent is no small thing.  It takes guts and conviction to do something like that.  And that is what people want to hear about.”

My smile is forced, but my angst is genuine.

“It was just time.  I had to stop dreaming about it, and as the kids say, ‘be’ about.”

“So what is your dream?”

I’m sitting on my patio trying to figure out how I am going to express to someone who doesn’t know a thing about me, other than what’s she’s gleaned from the local media, why I would leave corporate America to write. 

It’s hard to explain.  In the fifth grade, I wrote a book called The Mysterious Horse.  The title says it all.  I won 2^nd place in the writing competition.  I got beat out by Jane Marshall, a gangly sixth grader with long blonde hair and braces.  What I took away from that experience, besides the red ribbon and certificate, was that I enjoyed telling stories. 

I started keeping a journal in high school.  I said that I wanted to remember those times- the fun, the boys, the friends.  But after a while, I got tired of my own teenage misery.  Writing about myself was boring (besides, I wasn’t a great subject). It was a natural thing for me to join the school newspaper- now I could officially “mind other folks business”.  I got the exclusive interview with the winners of the elections for National Honor Society, or the inside scoop regarding the school’s secret weapon for the Beta Club talent competition.  Terrance Manigualt was going to blow them away with his Michael Jackson moonwalk.  He had the jacket, gloves, and jheri curl- the other schools would never know what hit them. 

I started the University of South Carolina as a journalism major- had a scholarship and everything.  My road was set.  I was going to be the Barbara Walters of print.  Until I met and fell in love with the Apple Macintosh.  I met Fat Mac (my professor’s nickname for the computers) in an intro to computers class.  This wasn’t the computer that I had seen on TV and in the movies.  Those things took up entire floors in office buildings around the world.  This was some small thing sitting in front of me that I could manipulate.  I could write the code (see where I’m going with this) and it would produce a program that would be useful to other people like me.  My gut also told me that there would be more money involved with a career in computers as opposed to journalism.  The greed of my youth won out over passion.  

The rest was standard history- college internship with big name computer company, worked for the big dogs as a grunt for a few years, until I met Rich Anderson at a professional conference.  He recruited me on the spot, and I had been with SCT ever since. 

The thing is, I don’t think this reporter is all that interested in the repressed writer in me.  I think she wants to expose me like some sort of Runaway Bride.  What made this woman abandon her post at the top computer tech agency in the southeast?  Is she mentally unstable?  Were the pressures too much?  Is this young girl, with the world on a string, going to understand that it was just time for me to do it?  Should I explain to her that I have several short stories and novels that I’ve started and never completed?  That my muse never really leaves me, but I would routinely block her out so that I could attend to the needs of the company, or my daughter, or the bills, or whatever?  Is she going to understand that my overwhelming desire to just live my life on my own terms has finally done me in?  I hope so, or this interview is going to be like pulling teeth.  

So I give Alicia my backstory.  She takes copious notes and seems genuinely interested.  And then she makes her move.

“Many of the women that we polled in your age range (What the hell?!) really support your decision, and some have even expressed that they wished they were able to make similar decisions in their lives.  Of course, most of these women aren’t corporate executives, and so they see your move as a luxury they can’t afford.”

“I am not here to advocate that all women walk off their jobs and do what I did.  This is my choice, and basically, my business.  My success or failure will only affect my family.”

“Actually, Ms. St. Claire, we feel that your success will encourage other women to follow their passions.  So that is why we have teamed up with the Charleston Times to offer you a guest column for the next four weeks.  You can write about anything that appeals to you as a woman, a mother, or a professional.  The city of Charleston wants to see what you can do.”

PING!- that is the sound of a pin dropping. 

Maybe my mother was right.  When you do what you do, you get what you get. 
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