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.

Steve Jobs goes out as iconoclastic visionary many of us long to be
If politics sends you into a rage, is it really a good use of your time?
California pays $205,075 to move shrub that typically sells for $16
Banning access to guns won’t prevent the evil in human hearts
UPDATE: No, I really haven’t died; I’ve just lost my sense of purpose
Ethnic Indian wins Miss America? Who cares? Bigots seem upset
Living without human connection? It’s an empty life with no meaning