Once I was a….

So the last post I did based on a random note I left myself worked pretty good…so here’s another

once again the actual note is in red.

Once upon a time I was a photographer

I was pretty good at it.  better than 94% of the people I knew.  I loved it.  I had fun doing it.  So I went to school to get better at it.  And suddenly I was even with everyone around me.  We were all good.  Get better! We all got better.  Photography became a pursuit.  I put thought and effort into it.  It was competitive in the ways that are helpful.  Critical exchange.  It was a fucking blast!  Then I got a job as a photographer.  Wa. Wa. Waaaaaa.  Doing the work that pays is tedious and boring.  Oh and surprise! I really don’t feel comfortable talking to people that much.  It is amazing how the weird little things that you learn about yourself start to define your life and what you do.  Don’t get me wrong.  I know how to talk to people.  I can behave as though I have no problem talking to people.  But unless I am a good bit intoxicated or know someone pretty well I’m nervous the whole time I’m talking to them.

Inner monologue while talking to stranger:  Oh shit this person is going to talk to me…I’m going to say something stupid…I have no idea what I’m talking about…ugh I smell…is it time to go yet…this person thinks I’m insane…this person knows I’m a fraud…I should ask a question…that will make me seem nosy…

Oh and I am that person that always says the just a bit weird thing that you are not sure how to take.  Whatever.  I found out that photography as a job really wasn’t my thing.  So what then.  What do you do when you come up against the fact that what you thought you would do for the rest of your life really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Accept it and move on!

So for a while I’m taking care of kids.  I never imagined I would be such a yelly (yellery?) mom.

Sometimes I think I should rewrite communism.  I always liked the part about “from each according to his ability to each according to his need.”  But I think I would put in there something about doing the things that make you feel good.  Being a photographer or an investment banker or a plumber must make someone feel good.  For all the jobs in the world there must be someone who takes some satisfaction from doing it…and if there’s some that no one wants or is happy doing, find some other way to do that.  No one should have to do a job that doesn’t make them…. if not happy….at least satisfied.

Is there a better way to say it? Accept it and move on.  Just because I got myself on a certain path doesn’t mean I have to stay there.  So it didn’t work out.  So it wasn’t what I thought it would be.

Leaving a career behind….it’s kind of like divorcing yourself…hmmm maybe more like divorcing what you thought of yourself

Time to reinvent






One thought on “Once I was a….

  1. Your inner monologue sound what used to be the scratched record in my head that kept repeating the same thing, until I decided that that was a bunch of crap. Now I really don’t give a shit what people are thinking or saying. If they don’t like me or what I say, they can tell me, and I can buy into it or tell them to fuck off.


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