I’ve done it. Finished another personal project and sent it out into the world. I have great satisfaction in seeing it through. Yet, there is a nagging part of my brain that is getting louder and louder. The realistic part that lays out my years of creative work and how it really hasn’t amounted to much – just a combination of dreaming and ego-stroking. And yes, I have felt pleasure and a sense of accomplishment. However, as I see the sun setting over my road, there is a certain reality that cannot be ignored.
In 2010 I started on a path that was fueled by the discovery of the importance of laughter. Over that summer I attended 3 events that lit a creative fire in my brain. I threw myself into it, eager to share what I had found out. There was fun and there was joy. However, trying to elevate the work into a profession was hit or miss. Numerous unpaid presentations were offered to me. In my eagerness to please, I ended up spending money on signage, giveaways, and travel. I spent additional money attending expensive conferences and taking tables at local events – both promoting my laughter programs and selling books. Well, the books were for sale. Few sold. I can’t remember anyone booking a program from these efforts either, although, through intense efforts, I have a handful of paid presentations every year and a few pro bono events.
Meanwhile, other creative efforts surfaced. There is my digital art photography – some of it award-winning. A few sold. However, I have probably spent hundreds, maybe even thousands, to support my “creative endeavors,” including publishing my own books. All have given me satisfaction and a sense of pride. None have paid the bills.
It may be possible that the speaking pinnacle was achieved with a Keynote Speakership in 2022, and I am now heading down the other side of the mountain, my backpack full of creative tchotchkes.
Originally, the dream was, this “business” would allow me to retire from full-time work, providing enough income to supplement social security and savings. As I approach my 70th birthday some of that wisdom that comes with age is bearing fruit. If I died tomorrow, what would be done with all these mostly useless piles of unsold artwork and books, as well as the truckload of research materials, posters and promotional materials? Who would ever be interested in my multiple terabyte drives full of PowerPoint presentations, handout materials and websites? I’ve had a fun run with this stuff, but unlike my distant cousin, Ray Bradbury, no one is going to take everything from my office and rebuild it in a museum. And with my children scattered in various parts of the country, with families and creative interests of their own, there is not going to be a sentimental family gathering to divide up Mom’s “stuff,” especially all the things in what I call my writing office.
I am now contemplating the idea of bowing out on my own terms rather than letting illness, senility or death decide how the story ends. A garage sale, a shredder and a dumpster are going to be my best friends. Maybe I’ll have a big bonfire on my 70th birthday. Stay tuned.
