It seemed like a good time to republish this post: to fight against “The Big Time,” go get lost … literally! “I make my own luck when I choose to heed my heart.” All-new post next Friday!
It’s a terrible cheat—like inviting people to a dinner party where the only “food” they’re offered is the aroma.
You see, these weekly deep-dives into my journals (somewhat loosely following a timeline, which means we’re currently stuck in the mid-1980s) are less about “Hey-wasn’t-that-a-great-decade?” bullshit than a peek into what’s made me who I am over the years.
You know, what I’ve learned—or failed to learn.
So, in an entry written on Sunday, Aug. 18, 1985, two and a half months into a new proofreader job at a direct mail marketing corporation, I was already wondering if “putting in overtime at the office” was all that life had to offer me.
And I was only 25 years old.
That day I worked four hours, then took off in my Datsun GX coupe, bought some beers, and went…
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