Feeling real, really feeling

Life happens with or without you. When I struggle to write because the ideas don’t come, it’s how I’m seeing life that needs to change.

In 1985, I got a job at the Allentown Fair. I worked inside a large Pepsi can selling sodas. I stood there for 12 hours a day, three days in a row, and made hundreds of dollars in cash. I used the money to buy Izod and Polo shirts: I did it for status, to fit in with the others at school.

I can’t help making analogies to what I do now for money, and why I do it. I’m re-reading Ray Bradbury’s book, Zen in the Art of Writing, and how he picked his way through the years selling stories to magazines, sometimes only making $800 a year.

It’s impossible to think you can be great at anything if you’re only doing it part-time. Either go into the woods and work your way out, or read about it.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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13 Responses to Feeling real, really feeling

  1. This was never more true than in the world of blogging!

    Like

  2. Was Ray the one who said we compare, because we want to relate?

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  3. rossmurray1 says:

    It’s the struggle between security and risk. If it were just you, risk might win out, but if you’re like me, others depend on you, so we do what we must and turn our dreams into hobbies. Now I’m depressed. I don’t think I’ll be giving any commencement addresses any time soon.

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  4. verycoollife says:

    Dreams can be made hobbies. And hobbies can be made into dreams. Happens all the time, both ways. When you get okay with losing it all, the world is yours for the taking.

    Like

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