Writer

     “Just because you write doesn’t mean you’re a writer,” Derich said after biting into his burger.  “I think.  I mean you write but has anybody paid you?”

     This was the first time in years I was relying on myself for money on a large scale.  Up until this point I had jobs with a decent salary and decent benefits.  The problem with those jobs is that they wanted you to put your head down, keep your mouth shut, do what you’re told, and don’t rock the boat.

     I hate boats and I’m really not good at keeping my mouth shut.  This is all was compounded by the overwhelming seasonal want to crawl away to a warm spot somewhere on this beautiful blue globe and wait out the winter.

    The burgers were delicious.  The best thing about them is that they were only $12.  We had found a hole in the wall burger place that had a Sunday special.

    You got a grass fed burger, tomato, lettuce, red onion, and cheese with hand cut fries, and a super stout (12% or above) for $12.  Bacon was an extra dollar.        

     No pictures for the Dinner at a Distance crew.  I did shoot V a message.  She had to check out this place when she got back from her management orientation, provided they hadn’t closed by then.  Nothing this good lasts that long.

     I rolled my eyes.  Today’s only saving grace was the tasty burger.

     “Man, let’s just enjoy the burgers.”

     “You know every time I ask you about things going on with you you just shut down.”

     The hard truth was no one was paying me to write or take pictures or play music.  Those days were in the past.  I was once again a guy working in an office and it was killing me.  This time I was working for a company as an independent contractor.  There was no salary, no benefits unless I paid for them myself.  Every dollar I got was a dollar I had to hustle for.  I’m not good at the hustle when it’s not what I want.

     As wonderful as it is to be a creative it’s also nice to eat and pay bills.  More power to you if you are able to be creative, do what you love, and pay bills.

     There was always the hope that there would be a magic bullet.  I don’t need to be rich but it would be nice to create something that brought in enough recurring income for me to relax a bit.

     We had a few ideas when we were younger.  One idea was to build a band.  We would get rich writing songs and gigging around the world.  That didn’t happen.

     Another idea was to write a book.  Everyone who wrote books was rich, right?  Not so much.

     The next idea was to be an movie or tv actor.  The idea after that was to be a photographer.  The next idea was to be a film or video editor.  The last idea was to be a YouTuber. 

     All of these ideas had one core problem, there was no joy.  The main goal was the money.  When I was chasing a dollar, the activities I engaged in to make that dollar brought me no joy.  Sometimes the quality of the work would suffer because I was only focused on the money. 

     “What’s up, man?” I asked.  “You’ve been in a shit mood for a few weeks.”

     “What the...” he started expecting the guy who would just quietly look in the mirror like I had done so many times before.

     “I get it.  You aren’t where you want to be, either.  I am actively trying to figure this shit out because for the first time the clock is ticking and I feel like I’m actually running out of time.”

     “God Damn it!” He said throwing down his napkin.  “When are you going to stop talking and start doing?”

     “I,” I stammered.

     “You yourself have said it, ‘if you really want to do something then do SOMETHING’.  If you don’t want to work in an office don’t work in an office.  If nobody cares about what you write then write about what people care about!

     “If nobody likes the music you like then write the music they like.  Take the photos they like.  Shoot the video they like.  Do all the things they like then slowly introduce what you like.”

     “You got lucky in the beginning.  You came out of nowhere and it seemed like you were ahead of the pack.  Well, the pack has passed.  Sitting and bitching about the fact that no one is sitting and bitching with you will get you nowhere.”

     I felt the release.  Suddenly the focus was clear and I held my head a little higher.  I knew what it was.  Fear.

     It’s amazing how clear things become once you see how cloudy they’ve been.  I was afraid.  This is how those office jobs keep me coming back.  I was so afraid of my own shadow I couldn’t get out of my own way.

     I had been floating on an air of delusion.  Delusion can be good but nothing this good last forever.