another day another dollhair...

There are not many people I know that have the luxury to be able to do what they love for a living. A large portion of us choose a career based off the many pressures that exist. Our parents, age, and social conscious play a huge part in what it that we "do". Then there's the added aspect of children, and sometimes even family members that we need to support. There are those that follow in their family footsteps with little or no thought. Some succeed, others crash the business into the dirt. I always hoped that I'd be different. I pretended that the world that conforms was a world I'd never be a part of. I stayed away from anything near a real job, avoided saving money, all for the fun of living life. Sure it was lonely at times, and there were days where I was sure that I was a total degenerate, but it was the life.

What was I to do? I'd gone to Los Angeles for a temporary job, and decide to move there. I had a place to live, a job and enough people that were going to aid my illegal stay. It was going to be the new life. The dream of living in Hollywood was coming true, but I was going to be working in a part of the film business that I didn't want to. It would've been worth though, to live by the beach. Sunny smog filled Christmas days, high speed chases, gangs. I was ready for all of it, even though it was not what I wanted, but where I wanted. I didn't go because the pill is only 99% sure. The 1% is beautiful 6yr old named Elizabeth. I wouldn't change that for all the LA Laker games in the world. Something else happened when she was born, I decided to go back to the business in which I'd spent so many years, restaurants. It was means to a paycheck. I never wanted to go back, but I was good at it, unfortunately. We are all good at something, I just hoped it wouldn't be restaurant management!

 The years that followed were interesting. I worked in different restaurant and bars, but continued to write at much higher rate then ever before. I thought it was because I had grown up. I had spent a few more years on this earth and was now able to use that experience to further my writing. I'd seen a child born, I'd tackled suburbia, and even put a serious effort into a personal relationship. Of course, I've come to realize that I wrote more because I wasn't drunk every second night anymore. Those days it was difficult to pen a few pages when you're smoking a pack of Lights, and drinking a bottle of Talisker. The ideas were probably better, but the writing sucked. I had much more detail in the scenes of intoxicated girls at an after hours bar, but spelling mistakes and context was pedestrian. I'm not Hank Moody, yet.

I try to believe that the more the years go by the better story teller I can be. My friend that I went to high school with lives his dream, and to see it up close is amazing. He doesn't want money, or fame, he just wants to go to work. He comes from an affluent family and easily could have taken the easy route of following in the footsteps of his father, but he took the chance. He wanted to make himself into what he wanted be. There's risk and reward. The sacrifice is sometimes large, and can even seem unfair, but wouldn't it be worth it to want to go to work? Maybe you want personal success, maybe all you need is to know you're making the world a better place, maybe you like arguing so much that working at a collection agency gets you off. Of course, people have to clean bathrooms, and serve food, but I hope for better from everyone. I know that we all have to decide what it that we want, happiness at work, or happiness at home. But it's not an either or, it can be both. I can say that I'm not a fan of my job, but I love the people that I work with. I try to make the best of each day, no matter how shitty it can be. I want to come home to my kids, without stressing out about the work that I do. My wife loves what she does, but the where can be very challenging. The added kink is that she owns the where. At the end of the day I can separate myself from the people, the complaints, the pressures, the audit and everything else associated with it, and tell myself it's a paycheck.

The conundrum is that if you want more money in this world, you have to work harder. If it's not something that melts your cheese than you have fake it better. It's a dance that we have to do in order get that bigger TV, or second car. The only alternative is to give up everything in order to chase the dream, but how do you start that family meeting? Does everone like the car? Cause we live there now! Life starts to move pretty fast the older that you get. School trips turn into camping with friends, Hot Wheels cars become real cars. You gotta save for university, and retirement. Before you know it you're trying to self -publish some crappy novel you wrote when you were 22, but you don't remember why you thought it was good. Your friends nod pleasingly, while they all secretly wish that you did this 20 years ago. Your big accomplishment becomes finishing a publication rather than editing one, and every time a new TV series launches you're telling the plumber next to you at the bar that you had an idea just like that when you were 35. But your kids have iphones and your wife has implants. I wonder which one takes bigger toll on you...you not following your dream, or not allowing your kids to follow theirs. Either way, it's going to cost you.