Just Jump

Until a couple of days ago, I was fully in touch with my artistic, introverted, over-analyzing faculties. I was writing highly cerebral work (see: Exercise of Futility), philosophizing with friends, and completely immersing myself in thought processes. Then it all took a backseat to action.

See, I have stories for days. I can tell you about my trips to the ER, how I got the scar on my leg, my many love affairs and exotic romances, fistfights that I've been in, strange jobs that I've had, run-ins with the law, sex stories that'll make you blush, misadventures to faraway places, etc. - my life runs the gambit on experience (except for drug addiction; I've dodged that bullet).

But none of it is the stuff of "real life." None of it "matters" in the conservative, everyman, survival kind of way. None of it will figure in (in an obvious manner) with the way I want my life to end up. And as much as I love my misadventures, I do eventually want to "end up" somewhere good. That is, I do want to "settle down" - not in a "settling for less" kind of way, but in a "cozy and comfortable, don't want to change anything" kind of way. I want the crazy, off-the-wall antics of wanderlusting vagabonds, but also the executive capitalistic swine's spoils. I want to amass so much knowledge and experience that I can back up any of my goals and actions, but I also want to be able to further my artistic exploits, financially & emotionally provide for a highly extensive network of extended family, and feel centered and complete. In short, I want "it all," and "it all" contains more than most people would desire.

I spent my entire adolescence battling my parents on the subject of money. A true die-hard liberal, I didn't buy in to the consumerism and capitalism of traditional varieties of "success." I adamantly proclaimed on more than one ocassion that I'd happily live in a cardboard box as long as I was constantly writing. Then my financial well-being became instrumental to the well-being of my family, and that all changed. It's one thing when the weight of that large chip on your shoulder prevents you from eating; it's an entirely new subject when that chip on your shoulder inhibits your ability to provide food for your loved ones. So money became my friend.

The fact that my family's well-being figures into my chosen capitalistic path eases my mind. Beyond the cute clothes and manicures, I still equate myself with rebellious, bohemian hippies, and I still want recognition for my artistic endeavors. I realize that most of the logic-minded, practical people who make up the higher-echelon of earners in the United States do not consider the arts vital, and that my insistence on joining their ranks as well as the ranks of best-selling writers is somewhat contradictory. However, I also realize that there are very few people who seriously seek out this kind of success. I am willing to personify a walking contradiction if that means simultaneously fulfilling my definition of "successful."

On my list of "Things to Do" are a smorgasbord of projects, such as creating a non profit organization that assists New York City families, and traveling the world. I want to learn at least four more languages, and I want my writing to find a large and appreciative audience. I want to financially take care of my family, and I want to save lives through medicine. I want to know that despite all the bad I've done, I'll leave an indelible and awesome positive imprint on the world.

And, so far, it's happening. I feel like phase one of my invention is complete. I've come into my own as a writer, and I've acquired many connections in the literary world. Now onto the next level. It's time to settle into my new role as Physicians Assistant, and make good money saving lives.