Chuck (Mr. Palahniuk), would you say it’s better to regiment oneself into a work ethic, a schedule of writing so many hours or so many words per day, or to write however much whenever you feel like it? I personally find difficultly in applying self-discipline and keeping to a work schedule, but I find that whenever I do get around to writing the time flies by and I practically have to pry myself away from whatever it is I’m working on. I ask this because I think in regards to this post with (the terrifying) concept of dwindling creative talent, the choice of choosing to work by discipline v when inspiration/motivation strikes takes on a new, kind of daunting aspect. Also, can’t wait to start reading your latest novel. If I’m not shocked and appalled by the content of your work, I’m going to shocked and appalled that I wasn’t shocked and appalled.
I remember a quote by CP that said (paraphrased): do you go to the toilet when you don’t need to shit? However I do recognize myself in this question. If I don’t create time for writing (schedule it), other stuff takes that time. And just forget to shit altogether.
Chuck’s (paraphrased) saying makes sense. I think sometimes it might just be best to sit down and write to see what comes of it. Maybe you find that you’ve achieved some “salvageable shit”, maybe not. But all the same, I think one might derive some satisfaction from the act of just committing to writing something. Also, continuing with the theme of paraphrasing writers and their advice, Ray Bradbury said: “If you write one short story a week, you’ll find that you’ll have a lot of short stories by the end of the year. And one of them is bound to be good.”
Yes and I do think that ‘forcing’ yourself to write (to schedule it), it triggers your brain to subconsciously keep writing when you are not. It triggers thoughts when you are taking a shower or when you are driving. These scheduled sessions keep the writing part of the brain active, somehow, maybe.
At Freightliner I worked with a technical artist who never wasn't an artist. Even on the bus to work she sketched studies of how the light struck objects. Every night she incorporated her daily insights into one painting or another. A gallery in Colorado accepted her work, and in a couple years she couldn't meet the demand for her paintings. She quit her day job, very quietly. I was enormously impressed to see her drive and steady progress. Her names escapes me, but her influence is part of me now.
In short, you must live as a writer/artist/musician all the time. Trent Reznor once told me about lying on his kitchen floor listening to the compressor of his refrigerator, trying to incorporate that unlikely sound into a piece of music.
Oof. This hits home, big time. Long-time cubicle-dweller here, always dreamed of writing but lacked any compelling ideas as well as the time to write. Life threw me a giant curveball in my early thirties that fried my circuits, so to speak, badly diminishing whatever basic level of talent I had (think of your mom's transition being condensed into the span of a couple of years), yet simultaneously giving me "all the time in the world"* to write. On the bright side my situation has given me more fodder than I ever could have hoped to accrue otherwise.
(*think of the classic Twilight Zone ep of the same name, similar form of irony here)
Really appreciate this, Chuck. After 15 years of a safe, steady accounting job, I quit and became a writer. I just released my first novel a couple months ago, and celebrated my 7th year of being a writer. That being said, it's not all sunshine and rainbows and orgasms though. I got scammed by someone for a gig that would have given me enough income for several months. That being said, it's better to be in the arena getting your ass kicked than to be a spectator.
In that same vein, most all of the Cacophony Society was postal carriers. They created the "Disgruntled Postal Worker" camp at Burning Man. We loved the stories of Charles Bukowski working as a letter carrier, and Thom Jones as a school janitor, as they wrote on the side and eventually established careers.
Indeed, the civil servants fighting the good fight on the side. Almost like Superman but in a much less boyscout kind of way. Perhaps that's why so many of us like antiheroes when we grow up.
Really great read. I'm terrified with getting stuck in a dead-end career. I am pushing myself to work more on my art and writing. But I constantly self-censor and get in my own way. That's why I signed up here, to force myself to be accountable. In your book, 'Consider This" you mentioned going to writer's workshops. I've never been to one and grew up online. I hope to one day be able to go to a writers workshop once the pandemic is over. Joining this Substack has already been so motivating to me. Thank you for sharing your stories!
I feel like this is directed to me, personally. I'm in a period of change debating the secure present and the unknown future. Definite flashback to when Fight Club dropped into my life and changed my future all those years ago.
I feel like every fan of Mr. P. always thinks about everything he writes: "I feel like this is directly to me, personally." Not saying that as snark or to diminish you, Jess R!!! More like, solidarity. Seriously, though. We are a particularly devoted bunch, since my experience suggests we're otherwise not fangirl/fanboy types. I haven't felt so inexplicably close to an author since my late teen years, and I can't call him a favorite now given what as asshole he was IRL.
I’ll never forget the day I told my dad I was switching my major to English. It was Christmas because I’m a sucker for drama. My whole life my dad had pushed me to focus on finding a good career. He said, “Go to college. Find a job. Make sure you have insurance.” The rest I just had to guess about. That day, I told him I was dropping computer science, a major he largely endorsed. I remember his first question was, “What are you going to do?” I told him I didn’t care because I loved reading. He never said so, but I knew he was disappointed in my decision. I was in my mid-twenties at that point and I hadn’t done a fantastic job of managing my life. I spent the next eight years finishing my BA, only to feel like I had failed. I had no plan. So, I got an MFA. I’d decided I wanted to be a writer. I moved a thousand miles away from home to go to school. Too far for either of us to visit one another. He was diagnosed with lymphoma my final year in the program. I was devastated. I ended up writing a shitty novel as my thesis. A book about a man who abandons convention after his own terminal diagnosis. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the whole thing was a self-induced therapy session. My dad died due to complications during his treatment and I never saw him after I left to be a writer. I was too poor. He was too sick. After I graduated, I could have applied for university positions like all my cohorts. Gotten that security my dad always wanted for me. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to give up on my dream. Even now, I’m barely scrapping by on the meager earnings I’m able to produce doing what I love. All so I can have more time to write. Because I fear the same artistic fate as your mother. It’s terrifying to struggle to live, but I’m proud of myself for making the decision. I like to think my dad would be proud too. Either way, I’m glad everyone is here. Being a part of this community makes me feel better.
I'm both saddened and heartened by your story. I'm so sorry for your loss, but I'm also vicariously proud of your ability to pursue something you want. I'm rooting for absolutely everyone here to be amazing.
Keith— thank you for doing what you love— it shows right there in what you posted. Hugs to you for your Dad. I would gladly share some of my dang good government cheese log with you. Grilled cheese sammiches for life. ♥️
Forgive a creepy question. Due to his sudden murder, I never got closure with my father. Even now I see him in airports and chase after him only to almost throw my arms around a stranger. I based one of the first scenes in 'The Invention of Sound' on this impulse that never goes away. Do you occasionally see someone and think, "Dad?"
My dad wore the same cologne as far back as I can remember. Something similar to Old Spice. As a kid, I would splash half a bottle on myself before going to school. A week or so ago I was at the grocery store and smelled his cologne. I followed the scent around the store, looking for whoever was wearing it. I don’t know why. I didn’t intend on talking to whoever it was that was wearing my dad’s cologne. Thinking about it now, I think I just wanted to smell him again. Feel close to him. I didn’t buy any groceries that day. I spent the next half hour crying in my car. But, even then, it was nice to feel like he was still around. I would do just about anything to hug him one last time.
My brother and I visited Dad's favorite place, the US Air Force Museum, back in June, for his birthday/Father's Day annual memorial. Dad died in 2018, after 6 years of exhausting dementia. We both saw "the ghost of Dad," as a museum visitor about the same look as Dad, reading the displays, by himself. We got as close as we could and turned around to take a selfie of ourselves with the ghost of Dad in the background. It was a big highlight that day. Maybe you can try that, like bird watching, sneak a cell phone photo?
I have a question For Chuck. In Damned it felt like the premise was living through a mid life crisis, this kind of limbo… However if it was written from the perspective of a 37 year old man no one would care. With Greener Pastures was there intent to make the age younger so we can empathize more with the character?
Actually... I wrote 'Damned' while caring for my mother during her cancer. I doubted anyone wanted to read about a middle-aged guy's sadness so I flipped the script to write about a smart child who'd died as was missing her folks. In retrospect, taking a tons of books about hell and Satan to my mother's house during her final months was less than sensitive.
In 'Pastures' I want to deal with fantasy fulfillment (party!) and the pain we feel as we separate from our birth families. Oh, the horrid places these kids will go...
The saddest part of that story is your mom, possibly feeling regret about not doing anything with her art and then finding out it's too late. That's my worst fear. Getting to the end and dealing with the regret that comes with it. I'm trying not to let that happen but with another birthday around the corner and more responsibilities stacking, at some point it becomes unavoidable when you hit the point of no return.
I can imagine a lot of people here can relate to this post.
I think that in my case, the older I get, the more responsibilities I have. As such, more people depend on my financial stability, meaning I am less likely to deviate from my life as is. For me, the fear of failure only increases as I get older, because more people depend on me to get things right. To provide.
When I was younger, the fear was still there, but if I failed the repercussions were far less severe.
Saying that, this could all be an excuse to not pursue anything different. It could just be the fear masquerading as 'being sensible'.
This resonates with me, because I took the safe option. I went into the military and after six years I became a reservist and a civilian employee of the Federal Government. In high school, I wanted to draw - comic books, illustrations, anything. Drawing, however, only pays the bills if you're really good, and you commit everything to it, and I didn't have the confidence in my abilities to do that. I kept drawing over the years, but now, twenty years later, I haven't developed my skill set enough to pursue it as a post-retirement career. Now I'm married, with two kids and two cats and a mortgage and I can't/don't/won't risk their security in that way - but I'm close enough to retirement in my civilian career that I can look forward to dabbling while I have the convenience of a safety net. I may never achieve greatness, but this group of writers is ... it's hard to say, exactly. I could be cliché and say you're all awakening a deeply dormant side of my creativity, or I could just say that you're inspiring me to write more. I'm not entirely sure what this group is to me yet, but I do have a firm belief that it's a positive thing. A shifting of perspective, a different lens for the monocle. For that, I'm grateful to Chuck for starting this, and to all of you for participating in it. When you do, I want to as well.
Damn, this hits home! Really looking forward to reading this!
I realize a stable job is a necessary evil to keep a roof over your head and food on your table. Plus, next year, my boyfriend of 24 years is retiring and I'll need to keep him on my health insurance for 3 years until he's eligible for Medicare. It's not the responsibility of someone who has kids and is on the hook for 18 years, but a responsibility I'm willingly taking on nonetheless alongside the acknowledgement that ANY job is going to take a piece of your time and soul with it.
But it's daunting to be on the brunt-end of questions posed by LinkedIn obsessives who ask you about your "SMART goals" and "five-year-plans" in the pursuit of some bullshit title and additional albatross of responsibilities that eat at your time and brain real estate. I think some folks are well-meaning and assume that a promotion may make you feel more fulfilled. But it may very well be them projecting their wants and desires onto someone else. Maybe they think that a person agreeing that, "Yes! More job responsibilities and less time to devote to creative endeavors -- or even something as frivolous as a bit more time for navel gazing -- is going to make me feel better" somehow validates their feelings. Or, at a more altruistic level, because they think they're pushing you to aspire higher. Every person is different. On one hand, I don't want to judge. But on the other hand, I don't want to be needled, either.
For me, it's time that means the most. Both of my parents had passed by the time I was 30. (I'm 42 now.) My brother and I grew up lower-lower middle class. So, when I started at a decent paying job after wiping shit off my head for a number of years of grunt work, what bugged me was having extra cash and not having my parents around to be able to say, "Hey, Mom! We're going shopping!" or "Hey, Dad! We're going to a concert and grabbing some damn good burgers on the way." And, even now, with my boyfriend turning 62 and occasionally joking about having a finite number of years, it's a specter that hangs around more than I'd like. (Despite the fact that me, my parents, friends, and even the ol' bf all have/had a fondness for warped gallows humor.) It's not something I like to think about, but it's those experiences that make time and the ability to spend it either creating, having room for just experiencing more life, or hanging with people I love that's my driving force.
But when you're bombarded with constant messages about "success" and what people think it SHOULD mean for you, it can be a really tough call to make. So many people have bought into that mentality of a title on a resume leading to a better life, when it's not the right thing for everyone. I'm hoping that with "The Great Resignation" happening, it spurs more people into knowing their worth and taking a more active position in just how much bullshit they're willing to accept from an employer. Might be a pipe dream, but hoping this gives more people leverage to find that middle ground of being able to support themselves and loved ones without sacrificing a creative dream.
Hey, that sounds like my family. When I left the union my parents demanded I take a "withdrawal" from membership, not full-out quit. My card is still valid, "Because you don't just take a good job like that and flush it down the toilet."
The US army offered me $80,000 to work in nuclear power, which is a sum of money I still can't imagine. I chose to be an Army Medic and I wanted to save lives..
Chuck (Mr. Palahniuk), would you say it’s better to regiment oneself into a work ethic, a schedule of writing so many hours or so many words per day, or to write however much whenever you feel like it? I personally find difficultly in applying self-discipline and keeping to a work schedule, but I find that whenever I do get around to writing the time flies by and I practically have to pry myself away from whatever it is I’m working on. I ask this because I think in regards to this post with (the terrifying) concept of dwindling creative talent, the choice of choosing to work by discipline v when inspiration/motivation strikes takes on a new, kind of daunting aspect. Also, can’t wait to start reading your latest novel. If I’m not shocked and appalled by the content of your work, I’m going to shocked and appalled that I wasn’t shocked and appalled.
I remember a quote by CP that said (paraphrased): do you go to the toilet when you don’t need to shit? However I do recognize myself in this question. If I don’t create time for writing (schedule it), other stuff takes that time. And just forget to shit altogether.
Chuck’s (paraphrased) saying makes sense. I think sometimes it might just be best to sit down and write to see what comes of it. Maybe you find that you’ve achieved some “salvageable shit”, maybe not. But all the same, I think one might derive some satisfaction from the act of just committing to writing something. Also, continuing with the theme of paraphrasing writers and their advice, Ray Bradbury said: “If you write one short story a week, you’ll find that you’ll have a lot of short stories by the end of the year. And one of them is bound to be good.”
Yes and I do think that ‘forcing’ yourself to write (to schedule it), it triggers your brain to subconsciously keep writing when you are not. It triggers thoughts when you are taking a shower or when you are driving. These scheduled sessions keep the writing part of the brain active, somehow, maybe.
At Freightliner I worked with a technical artist who never wasn't an artist. Even on the bus to work she sketched studies of how the light struck objects. Every night she incorporated her daily insights into one painting or another. A gallery in Colorado accepted her work, and in a couple years she couldn't meet the demand for her paintings. She quit her day job, very quietly. I was enormously impressed to see her drive and steady progress. Her names escapes me, but her influence is part of me now.
In short, you must live as a writer/artist/musician all the time. Trent Reznor once told me about lying on his kitchen floor listening to the compressor of his refrigerator, trying to incorporate that unlikely sound into a piece of music.
This is great!
Amazing!!
I absolutely cannot wait to read this!
Oof. This hits home, big time. Long-time cubicle-dweller here, always dreamed of writing but lacked any compelling ideas as well as the time to write. Life threw me a giant curveball in my early thirties that fried my circuits, so to speak, badly diminishing whatever basic level of talent I had (think of your mom's transition being condensed into the span of a couple of years), yet simultaneously giving me "all the time in the world"* to write. On the bright side my situation has given me more fodder than I ever could have hoped to accrue otherwise.
(*think of the classic Twilight Zone ep of the same name, similar form of irony here)
Please keep writing. I want to hear your story. Do it.
Really appreciate this, Chuck. After 15 years of a safe, steady accounting job, I quit and became a writer. I just released my first novel a couple months ago, and celebrated my 7th year of being a writer. That being said, it's not all sunshine and rainbows and orgasms though. I got scammed by someone for a gig that would have given me enough income for several months. That being said, it's better to be in the arena getting your ass kicked than to be a spectator.
In that same vein, most all of the Cacophony Society was postal carriers. They created the "Disgruntled Postal Worker" camp at Burning Man. We loved the stories of Charles Bukowski working as a letter carrier, and Thom Jones as a school janitor, as they wrote on the side and eventually established careers.
Indeed, the civil servants fighting the good fight on the side. Almost like Superman but in a much less boyscout kind of way. Perhaps that's why so many of us like antiheroes when we grow up.
Really great read. I'm terrified with getting stuck in a dead-end career. I am pushing myself to work more on my art and writing. But I constantly self-censor and get in my own way. That's why I signed up here, to force myself to be accountable. In your book, 'Consider This" you mentioned going to writer's workshops. I've never been to one and grew up online. I hope to one day be able to go to a writers workshop once the pandemic is over. Joining this Substack has already been so motivating to me. Thank you for sharing your stories!
I feel like this is directed to me, personally. I'm in a period of change debating the secure present and the unknown future. Definite flashback to when Fight Club dropped into my life and changed my future all those years ago.
I feel like every fan of Mr. P. always thinks about everything he writes: "I feel like this is directly to me, personally." Not saying that as snark or to diminish you, Jess R!!! More like, solidarity. Seriously, though. We are a particularly devoted bunch, since my experience suggests we're otherwise not fangirl/fanboy types. I haven't felt so inexplicably close to an author since my late teen years, and I can't call him a favorite now given what as asshole he was IRL.
I’ll never forget the day I told my dad I was switching my major to English. It was Christmas because I’m a sucker for drama. My whole life my dad had pushed me to focus on finding a good career. He said, “Go to college. Find a job. Make sure you have insurance.” The rest I just had to guess about. That day, I told him I was dropping computer science, a major he largely endorsed. I remember his first question was, “What are you going to do?” I told him I didn’t care because I loved reading. He never said so, but I knew he was disappointed in my decision. I was in my mid-twenties at that point and I hadn’t done a fantastic job of managing my life. I spent the next eight years finishing my BA, only to feel like I had failed. I had no plan. So, I got an MFA. I’d decided I wanted to be a writer. I moved a thousand miles away from home to go to school. Too far for either of us to visit one another. He was diagnosed with lymphoma my final year in the program. I was devastated. I ended up writing a shitty novel as my thesis. A book about a man who abandons convention after his own terminal diagnosis. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the whole thing was a self-induced therapy session. My dad died due to complications during his treatment and I never saw him after I left to be a writer. I was too poor. He was too sick. After I graduated, I could have applied for university positions like all my cohorts. Gotten that security my dad always wanted for me. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to give up on my dream. Even now, I’m barely scrapping by on the meager earnings I’m able to produce doing what I love. All so I can have more time to write. Because I fear the same artistic fate as your mother. It’s terrifying to struggle to live, but I’m proud of myself for making the decision. I like to think my dad would be proud too. Either way, I’m glad everyone is here. Being a part of this community makes me feel better.
I'm both saddened and heartened by your story. I'm so sorry for your loss, but I'm also vicariously proud of your ability to pursue something you want. I'm rooting for absolutely everyone here to be amazing.
Keith— thank you for doing what you love— it shows right there in what you posted. Hugs to you for your Dad. I would gladly share some of my dang good government cheese log with you. Grilled cheese sammiches for life. ♥️
Forgive a creepy question. Due to his sudden murder, I never got closure with my father. Even now I see him in airports and chase after him only to almost throw my arms around a stranger. I based one of the first scenes in 'The Invention of Sound' on this impulse that never goes away. Do you occasionally see someone and think, "Dad?"
And, no, I'm not crowd seeding. I'm genuinely curious.
My dad wore the same cologne as far back as I can remember. Something similar to Old Spice. As a kid, I would splash half a bottle on myself before going to school. A week or so ago I was at the grocery store and smelled his cologne. I followed the scent around the store, looking for whoever was wearing it. I don’t know why. I didn’t intend on talking to whoever it was that was wearing my dad’s cologne. Thinking about it now, I think I just wanted to smell him again. Feel close to him. I didn’t buy any groceries that day. I spent the next half hour crying in my car. But, even then, it was nice to feel like he was still around. I would do just about anything to hug him one last time.
Also, thank you for sharing this with me. Makes me feel less lonely.
My brother and I visited Dad's favorite place, the US Air Force Museum, back in June, for his birthday/Father's Day annual memorial. Dad died in 2018, after 6 years of exhausting dementia. We both saw "the ghost of Dad," as a museum visitor about the same look as Dad, reading the displays, by himself. We got as close as we could and turned around to take a selfie of ourselves with the ghost of Dad in the background. It was a big highlight that day. Maybe you can try that, like bird watching, sneak a cell phone photo?
I have a question For Chuck. In Damned it felt like the premise was living through a mid life crisis, this kind of limbo… However if it was written from the perspective of a 37 year old man no one would care. With Greener Pastures was there intent to make the age younger so we can empathize more with the character?
Actually... I wrote 'Damned' while caring for my mother during her cancer. I doubted anyone wanted to read about a middle-aged guy's sadness so I flipped the script to write about a smart child who'd died as was missing her folks. In retrospect, taking a tons of books about hell and Satan to my mother's house during her final months was less than sensitive.
In 'Pastures' I want to deal with fantasy fulfillment (party!) and the pain we feel as we separate from our birth families. Oh, the horrid places these kids will go...
Really appreciate this perspective. Looking forward to the chapters.
The saddest part of that story is your mom, possibly feeling regret about not doing anything with her art and then finding out it's too late. That's my worst fear. Getting to the end and dealing with the regret that comes with it. I'm trying not to let that happen but with another birthday around the corner and more responsibilities stacking, at some point it becomes unavoidable when you hit the point of no return.
I can imagine a lot of people here can relate to this post.
I think that in my case, the older I get, the more responsibilities I have. As such, more people depend on my financial stability, meaning I am less likely to deviate from my life as is. For me, the fear of failure only increases as I get older, because more people depend on me to get things right. To provide.
When I was younger, the fear was still there, but if I failed the repercussions were far less severe.
Saying that, this could all be an excuse to not pursue anything different. It could just be the fear masquerading as 'being sensible'.
This resonates with me, because I took the safe option. I went into the military and after six years I became a reservist and a civilian employee of the Federal Government. In high school, I wanted to draw - comic books, illustrations, anything. Drawing, however, only pays the bills if you're really good, and you commit everything to it, and I didn't have the confidence in my abilities to do that. I kept drawing over the years, but now, twenty years later, I haven't developed my skill set enough to pursue it as a post-retirement career. Now I'm married, with two kids and two cats and a mortgage and I can't/don't/won't risk their security in that way - but I'm close enough to retirement in my civilian career that I can look forward to dabbling while I have the convenience of a safety net. I may never achieve greatness, but this group of writers is ... it's hard to say, exactly. I could be cliché and say you're all awakening a deeply dormant side of my creativity, or I could just say that you're inspiring me to write more. I'm not entirely sure what this group is to me yet, but I do have a firm belief that it's a positive thing. A shifting of perspective, a different lens for the monocle. For that, I'm grateful to Chuck for starting this, and to all of you for participating in it. When you do, I want to as well.
That struck right in the heart...
Thank you, I needed that today! :)
Damn, this hits home! Really looking forward to reading this!
I realize a stable job is a necessary evil to keep a roof over your head and food on your table. Plus, next year, my boyfriend of 24 years is retiring and I'll need to keep him on my health insurance for 3 years until he's eligible for Medicare. It's not the responsibility of someone who has kids and is on the hook for 18 years, but a responsibility I'm willingly taking on nonetheless alongside the acknowledgement that ANY job is going to take a piece of your time and soul with it.
But it's daunting to be on the brunt-end of questions posed by LinkedIn obsessives who ask you about your "SMART goals" and "five-year-plans" in the pursuit of some bullshit title and additional albatross of responsibilities that eat at your time and brain real estate. I think some folks are well-meaning and assume that a promotion may make you feel more fulfilled. But it may very well be them projecting their wants and desires onto someone else. Maybe they think that a person agreeing that, "Yes! More job responsibilities and less time to devote to creative endeavors -- or even something as frivolous as a bit more time for navel gazing -- is going to make me feel better" somehow validates their feelings. Or, at a more altruistic level, because they think they're pushing you to aspire higher. Every person is different. On one hand, I don't want to judge. But on the other hand, I don't want to be needled, either.
For me, it's time that means the most. Both of my parents had passed by the time I was 30. (I'm 42 now.) My brother and I grew up lower-lower middle class. So, when I started at a decent paying job after wiping shit off my head for a number of years of grunt work, what bugged me was having extra cash and not having my parents around to be able to say, "Hey, Mom! We're going shopping!" or "Hey, Dad! We're going to a concert and grabbing some damn good burgers on the way." And, even now, with my boyfriend turning 62 and occasionally joking about having a finite number of years, it's a specter that hangs around more than I'd like. (Despite the fact that me, my parents, friends, and even the ol' bf all have/had a fondness for warped gallows humor.) It's not something I like to think about, but it's those experiences that make time and the ability to spend it either creating, having room for just experiencing more life, or hanging with people I love that's my driving force.
But when you're bombarded with constant messages about "success" and what people think it SHOULD mean for you, it can be a really tough call to make. So many people have bought into that mentality of a title on a resume leading to a better life, when it's not the right thing for everyone. I'm hoping that with "The Great Resignation" happening, it spurs more people into knowing their worth and taking a more active position in just how much bullshit they're willing to accept from an employer. Might be a pipe dream, but hoping this gives more people leverage to find that middle ground of being able to support themselves and loved ones without sacrificing a creative dream.
Hey, that sounds like my family. When I left the union my parents demanded I take a "withdrawal" from membership, not full-out quit. My card is still valid, "Because you don't just take a good job like that and flush it down the toilet."
The US army offered me $80,000 to work in nuclear power, which is a sum of money I still can't imagine. I chose to be an Army Medic and I wanted to save lives..