Hey! Remember when I was all gung-ho about being a writer?!! Yeah, not going as well as I’ve planned so far.
I’d like to think this is all part of the process, the self-doubt, the laziness, the lack of inspiration. And maybe it is. But right now, it feels as if I’m making a big mistake and should turn my attention toward other means of sustaining myself and my family; ones that are more stable, less unpredictable, and otherwise practical and realistic.
I can already feel the artist’s side in me cringing, squirming, fuming, and raging. “Really?!! And go back to the 9-5 BUUUUUULLSHIT you narrowly escaped with some of your health and a little bit of your sanity intact?!!” is what I can hear echoing in my head as Kanye West’s “Jesus Walks” plays on Spotify.
And to that, my rational side retorts, “Fuck you!! I got a wife and future kid to feed, and right now, sitting on my ass trying to become some self-important writer isn’t doing that!” So yeah, I’m conflicted.
I’ll admit. I really wanted to become a “famous” writer in my younger days. I wanted my words to captivate an audience and catapult them to another world full of wonder and magic. That’s when I wanted to be an author. Then I wanted my words to be thought-provoking and offer different perspectives to topics my audience has yet to consider. That’s when I wanted to be a journalist. I’m just now coming to terms with the fact that those are statements that border, check that, are bombastic, grandiose, and ego-masturbatory (is that an adjective? Fuck it! It is!)
In other words, maybe I’m not as much into this writing thing as I thought. Perhaps this wasn’t the next career I was thinking of embarking on. Maybe I should go back to my lane and become . . . well what?
What was I before being a writer?
I tried the aircraft mechanic gig and hated it. I mean, I could change my attitude about it, and it’s the most accessible job I have right now. In fact, I’ll be in a pretty lucrative position as a supervisor, never having to touch a wrench, sitting in an office, handing out jobs to other mechanics, and making sure they’re doing what they’re doing. Attend daily meetings and let the higher-ups know that nothing, NOOOOOTHING has changed since yesterday (until it has, of course, which is when those face-to-face meetings would actually make sense). Deal with office politics (that ALLLL offices deal with) except really, I don’t have to handle it, because you know, Human Resources. It sounds pretty cake.
And I get where he’s coming from. I’d like to think that, because most of my friends are creatives, I too was meant to be a “creative,” thus the whole on-again-off-again relationship I have with being a writer. What I wrote up there feels like the antithesis of being creative. “Meetings? Supervision? Human Resources? Pfft, not me,” says the artist. While my rational side (how many fucking sides do I have?) is starting to wonder how much truth there really is to those outbursts, I’ll have to focus on what I need now. Right now, I need to get back into the workforce so I can supplement the rapidly shrinking pension I’m getting now. I need to stop worrying about whether I have enough money to take care of my wife, prepare for my child, and build us a good home.
NOW, if I can do that AND land myself a writing job, that’d be alright
(Normally, this is where I’d insert some self-deprecating gif to subvert my expectations, but I’m not gonna do that. One, I think I’ve put too many of those in this post anyway, and two, I’m gonna stay optimistic on this one. It probably helps that Method Man’s “Bring the Pain” is motivating me a little)