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.

Where do we go from here? Things are about to get very interesting
My cancer surgery was a breeze, but I don’t want to face it again
Anarchist vs. minarchist debate misses the shift to post-statist world
Does the delusion that most people agree with us explain the appeal of majoritarian systems?
When the night is dark and quiet, my open heart expects a miracle
It’s OK to volunteer for tornado cleanup, but only if you’re not a pro
Public discourse is distorted by constant outrage over anecdotes
Can I reconnect with inner child who saw the world differently?