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.

Law profs: the Constitution means whatever we say it means
Do people change? Or do we just learn how to manage our faults?
Goodbye, Daddy
If a bad relationship needs to end, fake Facebook posts won’t fool us
Politicians sometimes lie even when they know they’ll be caught
Can I reconnect with inner child who saw the world differently?
I used to ponder who I really am; today I just ask who I am for now
What evil lives in the heart of man who can kill his wife, kids?
Wishful thinking: Why Ron Paul can’t (and won’t) be elected president