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.

My father’s narcissistic control left me resentful of all authority
Tough problem: What does a free society do about unfit parents?
You’re not going to understand me as I want to be understood
Hug awakens realization of how much I’ve missed human touch
All humans are a little bit insane; we’re not as rational as we think
People who confront harsh reality are ones who survive bad times
VIDEO: Peaceful river reminds me we often miss the peace we crave
Correcting an old error: there’s no such thing as ‘We the People’