I loved my job

My daughters don't love their jobs. I hear about their travails and their ups and downs and feel compelled to remind them, it's a job. That's the way of the world for 98.4% of the planet. 

With the benefit of hindsight, I was lucky enough to be in that rarified 1.6% who did love their job. With every passing day of not getting paid to do what I did, I'm learning how lucky I was. In retrospect I'd go so far as to say I hit the vocational lottery jackpot.

I'm not talking about the shitty jobs at the beginning. And there were plenty. From washing pots and pans in a hospital kitchen. To driving a forklift at a warehouse in Compton. And even suit and tieing it as an Accounts Receivable clerk at my father's crappy office near the Meat District in NYC.

But when I became a copywriter, more specifically a copywriter at Chiat/Day (pre-Holding Company nonsense), arguably one of the top five creative agencies in the world, I was in heaven. 

If only I had been wise enough to realize it.

My sagacious friend Jim and I have made a habit of exchanging Gratitude Lists, at least 3-4 times a week. If there is one constant thruline, it is that we both managed to make a living doing what we love best -- writing. (though this piece hardly reflects anything remarkable or noteworthy.)

We are both equally grateful that we, as most writers do, discovered this path at a very early age, during our formative years. It felt predestined. As if anything or anybody (like my father) were going to stop it. I imagine it's a similar calling experienced by priests, rabbis, or imams. But without that silly Flying Spaghetti Monster stuff. 

Jim is now painting. And I'm...well floundering.

I suppose I can keep churning out these blog posts, but can't feeling there's something else I need to do. 

Maybe it's pursuing my athletic career as a senior swimmer. Or maybe it's something I could do without 3000 meters of swimming every morning before the sun rises and can be accomplished from the ergonomic comfort of my well worn Herman Miller chair.

I hope it's the latter.