Cutting into my pollo con mole, sipping a spicy margarita, and listening to the thunderstorm outside, my girlfriend and I catch up on the weeks past. The conversation turns to work, and suddenly, the thunder seems much more ominous.
“I was just at brunch with someone, and they said ‘Can you believe that we’ll be working for the next forty years of our lives?’ Weird to put a number on it like that, right?” my girlfriend asked me.
“Yaaa. Oh my god. Forty years. Can you imagine doing something that you weren’t totally passionate about for that amount of time?”
“Well, things do happen and get in the way. You have to support yourself; you have to support a family if you want one. I’m sure it happens a lot and you just have to make the best of it.”
After dinner, I start to have a freak out. I can NOT spend the next forty plus years doing something that I don’t like. Nightmare, absolute nightmare. But what if I don’t have a choice?
I haven’t done a show in a couple of months, and that scares me. What if I can’t make a living out of performing? What if I can’t make a living out of doing something artistic at all? Hyperventilation ensued, and a very depressing night followed.