All this job hunting… it makes me think about the whole “what do you want to do when you grow up” thing. Am I grown up at 37? Oh no!
I still don’t know what I want to do, or if I want to do anything. It feels really late in the game, and I’m kind of worried about it, wondering when I’ll figure it out. I’ve got to do something.
I thought I was supposed to know when I was 18 and could get handed six figures in debt to pursue it at university. That’s what you do, man. That’s what my parents did.
I grew up in the land of lobstermen (Cape Cod, MA), and I was kind of jealous of them. They knew they were going to be lobstermen because their father was one, their father’s father was one, and so on. Not that I want to do that (I’m not built for physical labor like that), but at least they knew what to do.
That question about what my dream job is… I seriously don’t dream of work. Wait, let me think a little deeper: I do. When I dream of work, it doesn’t feel like work at all. Writing… I truly enjoy writing. When it goes well, there’s a feeling associated with it that is one of the most positive I’ve ever felt. That little flow state is where I’d like to hang out as much as humanly possible. When I’m there, it really doesn’t feel like work at all. It happens on its own.
Maybe I have to figure out how to make money writing.
Too bad I can’t force that flow state at any given time. I just have to be ready to sit down and get it while the getting is good.
I have never, ever (not once) known what to do with myself. I especially don’t know what to do with myself at this moment. That is why I am typing this, to try to stay occupied. It works until I run out of things to say. If you know me, you might not think that ever happens, but it does.
I dont know what to do, but i am doing something. if the something does anything for you you could hook me up with a coffee, and we could both have positive feelings about it.
