No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2001-11-19 - 10:40 p.m.

Wherein our plucky young hero whines about his inability to make up his freaking mind.

So I've been trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. I seem to be strung out between romance and fear. I have romantic notions of doing creative, amazing things. I fear that I would find myself unable to do them, or do them successfully, or make them pay enough.

I remembered tonight that when I was in high school I was trying to decide between being a writer, being an actor, and being a scientist. I recall that choosing the science route had a lot to do with the perceived stability and practicality of that career.

Not that I ever really ended up in that career.

Now, I've come back to the concept of acting, or music (as a replacement for writing, I suppose). The practical route would be to stay in computers.

The romance is strong for the creative things.


I am afraid.

You know I have two friends who spent a significant portion of their lives pursuing music as a career. I mean, six years or more. Each ended up as owner or part owner of a recording studio.

Both are now employed in computers.

They're both five or six years older than me. And they're basically in the same spot in their lives now as I am. Except that they lived the dream for a bit.

And I didn't.

Both of them will readily tell me how much of the dream was really a nightmare. And I can see that. Part of me looks to Sam Shaber, who travels the country in her car, doing gigs all over the place. She may not be rich, but I gather that she gets by. And she's out there. You know, a professional musician.

Another part of me thinks about all the long, lonely days and nights on the road. Reminds me of the greasy spoon hell-hole I ate at once in Nebraska. How many of those places has Sam had to hit during her time on the road? How many times has she been frustrated to the point of tears by cancelled gigs, and freak snow storms? How many days are good days, and how many bad? And is the thrill of the performance worth it all?

I have a million little doubts and fears running through my head now about what I should do.

Is there enough work here in town that I could support myself, either in acting or music? Could I get a day job and walk the line? Would I spread myself too thin?

Why can't I make up my mind and start moving towards a goal?

I'm frozen in amber. I feel weighed down by the comforts and familiar tortures of the live I live. But I know it's not circumstance.

It's all in my head.

That's worth saying again.

It's *all* in my head.

And really, I just need to decide.

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