I majored in English. I have a pretty good job, not particularly related to that degree, not a job that carries any particular prestige, but that contributes roughly half the household income needed to maintain a comfortable lifestyle in an expensive city that I love. I’m a reader and a writer but I’ll never get paid a dime for it and I …
I majored in English. I have a pretty good job, not particularly related to that degree, not a job that carries any particular prestige, but that contributes roughly half the household income needed to maintain a comfortable lifestyle in an expensive city that I love. I’m a reader and a writer but I’ll never get paid a dime for it and I have the freedom to love it in a completely pure and non-cynical way. I love books in a way that’s inseparable from loving my own existence. I love to write because I don’t know any other way to capture the reality of that existence. I have one big colossal failure in my life that has affected me deeply and caused me a lot of grief and I’m so grateful that that failure has nothing to do with writing. I used to feel like a disappointment, or even a coward, because there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about me and my place in the world compared to the “potential” I was once assured I had. But now I (most of the time) feel incredibly fortunate. The thing you love can just be the thing you love, especially for those of us who are not geniuses. Just let it belong to you and being you pleasure.
If the internet has taught me anything, it's that the vast majority of people who can think clearly and write well never get paid a dime for it. Almost invariably there would be better writing from more sensible minds in the comments sections than in the articles, back when websites besides this one had comments sections.
I majored in English. I have a pretty good job, not particularly related to that degree, not a job that carries any particular prestige, but that contributes roughly half the household income needed to maintain a comfortable lifestyle in an expensive city that I love. I’m a reader and a writer but I’ll never get paid a dime for it and I have the freedom to love it in a completely pure and non-cynical way. I love books in a way that’s inseparable from loving my own existence. I love to write because I don’t know any other way to capture the reality of that existence. I have one big colossal failure in my life that has affected me deeply and caused me a lot of grief and I’m so grateful that that failure has nothing to do with writing. I used to feel like a disappointment, or even a coward, because there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about me and my place in the world compared to the “potential” I was once assured I had. But now I (most of the time) feel incredibly fortunate. The thing you love can just be the thing you love, especially for those of us who are not geniuses. Just let it belong to you and being you pleasure.
If the internet has taught me anything, it's that the vast majority of people who can think clearly and write well never get paid a dime for it. Almost invariably there would be better writing from more sensible minds in the comments sections than in the articles, back when websites besides this one had comments sections.