T H E
H O W
T O
I S S U E
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or as long as I can remember, I always had
this pie-in-the-sky idea that I would retire
at 40. I am really not sure why. Perhaps, deep
inside, I knew that a career in advertising wouldn’t
always fulfil me. Or maybe it was because I secretly
knew that inside me dwelt a lazy person who knew
she couldn’t keep going at such a pace forever.
Whatever the reason, the thought was planted and
every now and again it would come and niggle at me.
Then, aged 58, my Mum sadly passed away and my
niggling thought became an irrepressible scream.
“What if you die young too?” it cried, “Is this really
what you want to be doing for the rest of those
precious days?” I knew I had to force a change in
my life and do something. And, in the end, I did
two things, I got pregnant and I wrote a book.
I knew the first would lead to a child, the other
had a less clear outcome.
Encouraged by my husband, I took the plunge
and sent my manuscript to a number of agents
and publishers. Over the course of six months,
I sporadically, received letters of rejection (the
publishing industry is glacially slow at everything
– even rejecting you). But then, just as all hope
was fading, an agent emailed telling me he liked
my book. He thought there was something in it.
If I was prepared to make some changes (hell yeah!
I was used to changing everything on a daily basis
for my clients) he thought, just maybe, he could
sell it to a publisher.
When I returned from my maternity leave I was
a published author with a four book deal. I was
also on the cusp of turning 40. The voice in my
head was now a howling banshee. But I was torn.
I had a wonderful creative partner, Ben (Tollett) –
my day husband for 15 years. I worked at the best
agency in London, with some of the greatest minds
in the industry. And I couldn’t lightly gloss over
the fact that I was earning more money in one
month, than I would earn in a year as an author.
So I took Ben out to lunch and told him I was
going to leave – a conversation that felt as painful
as ending a marriage. Then I booked a meeting
room and prepared myself to tell the partners
– Ben (Priest), James (Murphy), David (Golding)
and Jon (Forsyth). I rehearsed my speech over and
over. I wanted them to know what a pleasure it
had been to work with them, how sad I was to be
leaving, and how I would be forever grateful for the
opportunities they had afforded me.
Finally, my big moment came. I took a deep breath,
looked around the room, blurted out, “I’m sorry,
I just can’t go on!’ and promptly burst into tears.
Oh, the best laid plans. The partners, thankfully,
where extremely understanding and hugely
supportive. We mutually agreed a leave date and,
one month before I turned 40, I quietly walked
out through the shiny, glass doors of advertising
for the last time.
It turns out my idea of ‘retirement’ was a total
load of old balls. I don’t have the ability, nor the
want, to step back from work. I simply swapped my
hard-working advertising life for a hard-working
authoring/child-rearing one.
I have, in the year since I left, written and illustrated
two books, built my own website and created an
online shop, where I sell handmade merchandise
featuring the characters from my books. Oh, and
just for good measure, I went and had another baby.
I haven’t allowed myself a moment to wonder
what I have done. I just keep on doing the stuff
my heart tells me. That way, I know that, even
if I don’t make it past 58, I will rest happy
knowing I lived my life the way I wanted.
The thought of leaving was scary. But the thought
of not leaving was even more frightening. I simply
couldn’t live the rest of my life, sitting at my desk,
wondering, ‘what would have happened if I had
followed my heart not my head?’.
Illustrations by Emer Stamp