Have you ever had one of those days ridden with angsty anxiety? You can’t quite put your finger on it but there’s something off about the universe. Sure, a mac truck nearly ruptures your eardrum and there’s some extra crazy people screeching in your subway car…but that’s not it.
My day was full of dissatisfaction, and 12 hours later, I’ve figured out why.
My first job was in sales, and I loved the thrill of meeting complete strangers and enticing them with a great idea that could BOOM! change their lives. I then graduated into project management. I help keep the creative moving, but never get my hands dirty with the art. Although I’m glad I’ve mastered client wrangling and getting sh#t done, my inner pirate needs some adventure; I want to be the first to discover hidden treasure, and when the time is ripe, let the rest of the world know.
That being said, I wonder if people who work in publishing, especially those who write, find themselves in a tricky place between practical self and l’artiste within. If you work in publishing, does that kill your desire to write? I hope it doesn’t follow the philosophy “if you work at your favorite ice cream place, it won’t be your favorite food for long”.
As I ponder the gaps of my psyche, Mr. G(google) develops a sense of humor and shows me the below quote paired with this article.
God, I’ll put on my comfy pants.