When we are younger, the world seems much simpler. The jobs we want to be when we grow up are simpler, more heroic, or just innocent. I had wanted to be the next Albert Einstein when I was younger. Later, a writer. A poet. Eventually, reality strikes us all and we start to think that it would be better to work in a factory to pay the bills. To work as a banker. Not a firefighter.
My son wants to work with animals. To be a zoologist, like working as a Park Ranger or something. As I work through the slave trade of corporate America and try to make something of this urge to write I have, I want to work to foster that desire in my son. To let him pursue his dream of working with animals.
What on Earth really ruins these desires? What derails them from being the primary pursuits that we all take after?
Money. Greed. The need to survive in a system orchestrated around those two values. We need to make money. We end up wanting things. To keep up with the Kardashians (the Jones are old now). The killer of all things.
Even as I write this, I think of the job that I perform in order to sustain the lifestyle than my wife and I have created. Right now it ain’t writing. Maybe eventually it will be. But then I will be one of the lucky few. The ones that escape reality. To live our dreams.