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.

THE McELROY ZOO: Meet Anne, the cat who’d love to live in a shoe
The goals we chase can become chains that hold us in bondage
Don’t complain about debt when you borrow $35,000 to study puppetry
‘Let’s Make a Deal’: Democracy is like a dumb old TV game show
If you were once a nerdy outsider, you need to go see ‘Ender’s Game’
Narcissistic abuse often leaves victims feeling alone in the world
I’ve struggled to finally believe there’s more than one ‘right way’
Trust and spontaneous order don’t require heavy hand of the state
Didn’t we already try secession? Politicians don’t like losing control