I was just in a car accident.
The grey sky overhead was unleashing a soothing drizzle on my car’s windshield. I was in stop-and-go traffic on the ever-so-congested Gardiner Expressway coming from work. You know, move three feet, stop, yawn, move two feet. I was battling my wily eyelids when I awoke to the crunching sound of my car’s front end. Jay-sus.
But it was OK; I still made it to my destination on time. The destination being this issue’s editorial meeting.
As I sat through the meeting, I wasn’t upset. Not even remotely. Hell, I was content even. Some kind of twisted sacrifice to my overworking ways. Albeit quite the literal wake up call, I still have my passion intact.
You see, I have found something that I believe in. Something that I’m more than passionate about. Something, at least to me, that actually solidifies change in our oft-murky world. That something is writing. Simply enough, I live to write and tell stories.
We certainly live in a convoluted, unjust world with no clear definition of happiness. We all struggle with self-doubt, pressure and the omnipresent Sarah Palin’s and Rush Limbaugh’s of this world. Shit doesn’t always tend to make much sense as we are continually on-the-go with a school project, part-time job, significant other, Facebook update, late-night drinking activity, commute, Google search and animal petting, although not necessarily in that order. We don’t sit still; we’re always doing something, even if it’s unremarkable.
I swear the Internet has turned me into a crazed, can’t-sit-still loon always shifting from one webpage to another. Even as I write this I’m checking my widgets and looking at today’s number of unique hits on travismag.com (161, by the way). And it has spilled over to my daily life. I’m fidgety, constantly thinking in Google search terms or about my next pitch at work. What’s worse is that unlike my computer, I can’t seem to find the restart button.
But that car accident put everything back in place. Well, not counting my car’s front bumper.
I overwork myself to the point of exhaustion quite frequently. But it’s because I’m passionate about what I do. Ask anyone at the magazine and they’ll let you know you. But really, what a blessing. The passion that keeps me hungry for TRAVIS and writing is something that I hope everyone can taste. It just fires you up. Sure, my head is ready to implode any minute releasing some kind of potent gas, but I have a raison d’être, however corny that might sound.
See, that’s the point. Find what you’re passionate about and hold onto that ethereal puppy. What makes you squeal like a tween at a Justin Bieber concert? What gets you all hot and bothered in a non-sexual way? Pig farming, maybe. How about professional Tweeter? No matter, find what makes you genuinely excited and don’t let go. Grasp that passion like a doughy high school junior climbing the rope in gym class.
Just don’t be like me, make sure you keep your eyes on the road.
A version of this article was originally published in TRAVIS magazine as an editor’s letter.