On passion, luck and fucking uselessness

I'm one lucky sonofabitch.

You know, one of the things that has come from the Internet is a whole bunch of people telling you to find your passion, then follow it.

I'm lucky in that I already know what my passion is.

I'm a writer. I write because I have to. Seriously. If I'm not writing a blog post, or tweeting, or updating my Facebook status, or composing emails, I'm writing something long-hand in a bound notebook, or I'm making mental notes that when the person I'm talking to walks away I need to scratch out onto a notepad, or I'm writing one-liners (or whole paragraphs) on my white board.

And yet...and yet. My career and my passion have diverged.

I don't really have any good excuse for that. I mean, sure, I have excuses, but none of them are any good. So, I don't know, maybe it's a job security thing. I need it right now. I'd probably be an emotional wreck if I didn't have a steady paycheck coming in.

I remember where I was when I saw this Monster.com ad during the Super Bowl one year. The room got really, really quiet.

It doesn't matter how much reading we do. If we're not performing our passions, they're fucking useless.

Fucking. Useless.

That project I announced last month is finally underway. It's not going to change the world, but it will change my life (because of its format) and it will, I hope, help change a couple of lives for the better.

It's a way to make my passion a little less fucking useless.

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