Five Year Plan…

In a job interview.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

What flashes through my head: On the beach in St. Barths, thin enough to be wearing a bathing suit with the wispiest of coverups, Pina Colada at the ready, flanked by a blue-eyed semi-stranger.

What comes out my mouth: A spiel about love of communications, all things marketing and public relations, and a rising future.

It’s a tired old question. Consulting Google, I find it’s purpose. The interviewer is looking for your thoughts long term, what your ideal job might be, your definition of success and what’s most important to you in your career. You’re supposed to keep the answer simple, general, show an interest in the long term and above all, be enthusiastic.

But I am enthusiastic about the blue-eyed semi-stranger and drinking Pina Coladas on the beach at St. Barths. Still not the right answer. And another thing, weren’t we just advised last week that we need always be present, in the moment, focusing on the now? What’s a girl to do?

Dream big or go home. What’s in your five year plan, Dolls?

In addition to the beach, I’m looking at:

Writing romance novels under a nom de plume and seeing those red hot, steamy paperbacks on the beach in St. Barths.

Having pieds-a-terre spread about my favorite places. Simple places like Coronado, Paris, downtown Santa Barbara near the water and Nashville for a shot of country when I feel the need.

Quarterly long weekends in The Big Easy, parasol in hand, saxophone wafting, saying “Hey Y’all” to the locals from my perch at Cafe Du Monde.

Buying fresh and local at the farmer’s market, carting it home, fanning myself and handing my treasures over to Broderick to work his magic. Don’t know Broderick? He’s my chef. His specialties include pizza and Mexican fare.

My Pinterest closet has, indeed, come to life. At a moment’s notice I can be ready for a book signing, tea at The Ritz or a casual day with jeans that actually fit. There’s also that collection of flowy things, perfect for the beach at St. Barths.

My wrinkles have disappeared. It happened the same day I won the lottery.

Long talks with the blue-eyed semi-stranger; him always wanting more, me holding back. “But I love my dead husband,” say I.

“I know, mon chere, but I have love enough for both of us. You are only the goddess you are because you love forever. Come, let me take you on my yacht and we will sail the Caribbean waters, scuba diving and bathing in the sea. You will be my nymph and I will be your protector.”

Don’t tell me a nom de plume is not in my future. Pfft.

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