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 endorsement goes to the man who can make coercive state work
If I look closely at my old self, there’s a lot which is now dead
Ghost of Richard M. Nixon haunts Obama administration’s IRS fiasco
My pride and insecurity make it difficult for me to live in humility
Going back to fundamentals gets me closer to the quality I want
The love I crave seems beyond horizon, always out of my reach