When we’re kids, we have these storybook images in our minds of what life is going to be like when we ‘grow up’. We’re gonna be Batman or a football star or, in my case, an exorcist, a Ghostbuster, a Ninja Turtle, or whatever story you might have imposed on yourself at the time.
If I see another one of those glib coffee mugs that say something along the lines of, “Be who your 9-year old self would want you to be” I swear, I’m gonna fold my laptop up and sledge-o-matic that bitch like Gallagher (yes, I also wanted to be Gallagher when I was a kid, so if I actually did this in the middle of a coffee shop to an unsuspecting victim, it’d be really meta).
See, here’s the deal. My 9-year old self was pleasantly uninformed and naive. He didn’t realize the setbacks of being an exorcist (or Gallagher). He didn’t realize that it was tough to be a freelancer Batman.
The thing with creative work is, the sky is the limit. There’s ALWAYS more we can be doing. There’s ALWAYS more success just out of reach. And the 9-year-old in us still drives a large part of our decision-making.
I’ve got to the point where I pretty much can’t stand not working. Like, I find myself severely annoyed when I’m doing normal, ordinary stuff like cleaning my house, making a meal, talking with friends/family (yes, I know, I’m evil), taking my car in (which I should have done 2 weeks ago), reading a fiction book (god forbid), etc. After a short while, I feel like I’m failing in my role as a father and a provider and a superhero when I’m not working towards that weird, ominous, lofty, delusional goals that the 9-year-old set for me years ago.
Well, I’m kind of over it.
Not that I want to stop achieving, but I want to make the ordinary more awesome in my life.
I want to bring life to the ordinary. I want to ENJOY doing the normal, adult, day-to-day stuff that I’m so fortunate to be able to do. Because this is life. Flying by.