It’s been almost 30 years since I figured out — much to my surprise — that what I really wanted more than anything else vocationally was to be an artist. And I’ve spent most of the years since then explaining to myself over and over why this isn’t possible.
After enough reasonable explanation, I start getting numb to what I want. I forget what it feels like. I turn my attention elsewhere and tell myself that realistic people do other things. Maybe I can make filmmaking a hobby if I do really well for awhile at something I hate.
Doesn’t that make sense? I can make a few hundred thousand dollars a year as a real estate broker. How about that? Isn’t that more realistic? Sure. Why not. I’ll do that. It all makes so much sense. And it sounds so responsible.
And so I start burying what I know — every now and then, at least — that I want. Until somebody comes along and pokes a stick at something I try hard not to look at.
That’s what happened today.

Ordinary miracles fill our lives, while we still demand wonders
It’s hard to nurture what’s alive when you water dead flowers
I still feel shame for wanting to pursue the desires of my heart
Peshawar murders show need to support those who share our values
Politicians trying to stamp out innovation to help monopolies
National sugar daddy? Warren Buffet wants to give us money … sorta
Life is a game of hide-and-seek; we’re lost if we no longer seek
We rarely have wisdom we need ’til it’s too late to avoid mistakes
With bumbling federal response, terrorist attack achieved objectives