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.

Slow culture changes might mean skin color matters less in future
Pop culture creates overgrown kids in adult bodies who won’t grow up
In an age when lies are expected, integrity matters more than ever
When I feel too much ambition, my ego has gotten too inflated
Briefly: Comic perfectly captured what I wrote about this weekend
Being hermit looks good as world tries to make me a misanthrope
I choose love over hate, because the author of the story’s not done
Market failure? Why do we have so many overeducated people?
The goals we chase can become chains that hold us in bondage