a writer

            Son, when you grow up, you can be anything you want.

            Anything?           

            Well, of course. Any kind of doctor.   

            Your parents didn't tell you to study hard and become a doctor because they wanted you to take care of them when they grow old. They wanted you to become a doctor because it would mean security and stability.

            Screw stability, you said. I love writing.

            And perhaps you'll be successful as a writer. Perhaps you won't be – success is subjective, anyhow. So long as you're happy and doing what you love, you convince yourself that it's worth it. You put up with the dingy apartment, and you learn to cope with sleep deprivation. You find ways to postpone paying the rent, and you take all the odd jobs you can fit.

            True, you may very well be the happiest person alive. But it can be hard for the people around you to understand that.

            I just want to be happy, Dad.

**

            "So I take it you want to be a writer. Well, what are you interested in?"

            "I like writing fiction," he responded.

            "I see." He paused.

            "Good luck."        

**

Blind discipline

"Discipline is sacrifice. Yes, and blindness."

Supposedly, the life of a successful person
Is dominantly characterized by discipline.
He doesn't go to any bars after work.
She goes to work at 7:30 every morning, so she can maximize her productivity.
They both gave up five consecutive summers for summer classes and research.
That's discipline, we say.

Give up X and Y, and in return, get Z.
Sacrifice X and Y and everything else, for the sake of Z.
And hopefully, that Z is worth the price of the rest.

But will you ever really know?
Will you ever know for sure, just what X and Y were?
Or A? Or B? Or C?
Anything but that one and only, Z?

You can't know, because you've never experienced them.
So you plow on ahead with what you've got.
With your precious little Z
That you've given up so much for.

And over time, you force yourself to forget about the other letters.
There's no sense regretting the past, you say to yourself.
You close your ears to everyone else and their X's, their Y's, their ABC's.

You shut your eyes and your mind
And then you are truly blind.