Writing

“Mom, I think I want to write.”

“That’s nice, dear.” And she reached across the table for more tofu.

“I think it’s my passion. I want to write all the time. And I can’t find satisfaction in anything else.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. Today I stared at the VP of Finance while we were all in an early morning meeting. He scratched his balding head and asked what the standard percentage increase in the industry was for insurance. I thought, God, how I would hate that life.”

“Well, you’re terrible at math, dear.”

“I know. But even for the VP of Marketing and CEO and everybody. All their work will be so meaningless in 100 years. Who will remember it?”

“That’s everybody’s life. Look at me, I live a simple life. I have been a librarian for over 20 years and no one will remember me when I’m gone.”

“And I think that is the right decision for you. But I want something more. In 100 years, I want someone to read the words I’m writing now and feel exactly how I feel at this moment.”

“Mmhmmm”

“So I think I need to be a full-time writer.”

“No, no, no.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t rush into it.”

“Okay.”

Later on that evening I heard her talking on the phone with my aunt. “Sigh. Kids. You can’t tell them what to do anymore.”

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One thought on “Writing

  1. Pingback: Last Post Ever | Interesting Things

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