What Should I Do with My Life? [antikvár]

w e are all writing the story of our life. We want to know what it's "about," what are its themes and which theme is on the rise. We demand of it something deeper, or richer, or more substantive. We want to know where we're headed-not to spoil our own ending by ruining the surprise, but we want to ensure that when the ending comes, it won't be shallow. We will have done something. We will not have squandered our time here. This book is about that ürge, that need. I began this project because I hit that point in my life. The television show I'd been writing for was canceled. The magazines I wrote for had thinned their pages. My longtime book editor had quit to pursue theater and film. I was out of work, I had a baby on the way (my first) and I was worried: how to be a good father, how to make money to support my family, and how to keep growing as a writer. I probably could have hustled up an assignment (the freelance writer's equivalent of following the advice "just go get a job") but I wasn't sure I should. I felt like the kinds of stories I'd been teliing no longer worked. They no longer mapped the depth and drama of humán life as I experienced it. Looking for guidance and courage at this crossroads, I became intrigued by people who had unearthed their true calling, or at least those who were willing to try. Those who fought with the seduction of money, intensity, and novelty, but overcame their allure. Those who broke away from the chorus to learn the sound of their own voice. Nothing seemed more brave to me than facing up to one's own identity, and filtering out the chatter that telis us to be someone we're not. What might I learn from those who had confronted this question?