My "Career" Was a Waste of Half My Life

From the get-go, I knew I wanted to be a writer. I excelled at English, was a great story-teller and I had a very active and fanciful mind.

But, “writer” is a broad term, is it not? And it encompasses a wide range of activities and career choices.

A writer can be a novelist, an essayist, a journalist, a blogger, an advertising copywriter…even someone who creates resumes for job seekers. There’s a lot of fodder there to choose from.

So that said, as I reflect on all my years making a living at what I do best, I find myself wondering, “How did I fuck up so badly?”

By that I mean, why did I not know what I really wanted? What my true calling was?

Hindsight is such a kick in the ass. An evil bitch that swaths us in regrets and a sense that nothing we’ve done has been of any worth.

If only…

When I say I fucked up, I mean I should have taken my talented ass down a very different path. Instead, I spent my “formative years” toiling at advertising and marketing agencies as a copywriter and then an Associate Creative Director.

I made a lot of money, and I earned it, but for every dollar I earned, I made a shit ton more for my employers and their clients. And for what? For churning out compelling copy for dreck that no one needed or wanted. For having a brain cell die-off every time I had to present my work internally to egomaniacal Creative Directors who couldn’t create their way out of a paper bag. Much less judge the work of others.

Why didn't I know what I really wanted? I struggle with that now.

Oh, I made a tidy living that plumped up the household coffers, made some friends along the way, 90 percent of who abandoned me when I was laid off, and had some good times.

Not good enough. Not good enough to take away the pain in my heart. Not even close.

I’m hurting because I know, deep down, that if I had taken the path that I hopped on much later in life, I could have attained greatness.

Forgive me if that sounds ludicrous, but I know what I’m capable of and so should you. If you think you’re the shit — own it!

That path I referenced? The one that leads to my becoming a working screenwriter and/or novelist. That is my true calling. That is where my passion burns like a brush fire.

It’s not that I’ve given up. Quite the contrary. I’m working my ass off to achieve my dreams. To do otherwise would be an admittance that’s it’s too late for me. And for others like me.

So I write on Medium every day, work on my screenplays, and forge ahead to the day when someone will get me. A film producer. A literary agent. A manager with connections up the ass.

Someone who sees age as merely a number and realizes that “experience” is the catalyst for achieving great things.

When you have a deep well to draw from and the courage to bleed out on a page, the result can be stunning.

Yes. So much time gone. Over thirty years. I’m trying not to dwell on it, but hell, it’s tough. One of the reasons I’m writing this is for the writers here who may be unsure of what they want to do “when they grow up.” Or for those who like me, are “seasoned” but somehow stumbled down a wrong road like a drunk on a tear.

The answer is so basic, it’s laughable: Do what you love. All of us must do what we love.

If you have a fire in your belly and you know what stokes it, keep that kindling coming and don’t let anyone deter you.

Because we all need to make money, find a way to make a living that either supports your dream or at the very least, doesn’t set up a roadblock. This may not be the best analogy but think of all the restaurant servers in New York and L.A. who dream of being actors and use their days off and breaks to attend auditions.

There is no doubt that you have to be driven and incredibly so. There is no doubt that you have to work hard. And there is no doubt that if you keep at it, if you keep your eyes on the writing prize, whatever that may be for you, that the rewards will be great, indeed.

I don’t know where that will lead for me, but I’m not giving up. “Quitting” is not in my lexicon. I don’t care how many years I spent without a clear vision of my dream. My eyes are opened now and open they’ll stay.

Time is precious and it slips through our grasp before we know it. Use it well.

I wish you the best.