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.

Beauty is everywhere around us, when our eyes are open to see it
Ignore the happy face it presents: Coercive state points a gun at you
Meet the new neighbors: Why rules aren’t always such a bad thing
If you knew when you would die, would that affect how you lived?
Giving up politics left me flat broke; it’s time to earn some money again
Little girl’s face and colorful sky have power to pierce my heart
After man’s death, family leaves server $500 tip to fulfill his wish
When Demopublicans and Republicrats clash, you lose
Hurt people hurt people, and it’s hard to forgive that in ourselves