Payoff.

(British Formula Ford. Wiki Commons 3.0)



I want it all. You remember me. I was the kid who wanted to be a professional scuba diver, and a private detective, and a cowboy, or rather, a gunfighter/rancher. I was the kid who wanted that 1967 Triumph Spitfire, for only $350.00 way back when—I was sixteen, and I had my license. I’m the kid who wanted to play ball, and hockey, and God knows what all. I’m the kid who wanted the parents to drop everything and scrape up $1,400.00 for the Jim Russell Racing School.

Yeah, I’m the kid that wanted to be an archaeologist. As I recall, I was going win the Medal of Honour, and I’m the kid who wanted to invent his own religion.

I’m the kid who had tennis lessons, and swimming lessons, and sailing lessons, and Saturdays at the YMCA climbing up ropes and jumping over saddle horses, and I’m the kid with the new red bike.

I’m the kid who had those long summer vacation drives to a campground way off in the middle of nowhere, with little brother, little sister, feuding in the back seat while necks and faces became heated and voices were raised in the front seat. Some kids don’t even get that, when you think of it. Travel does broaden the mind, that much is true.

I’m the kid who sent off, long before the internet, for information on how to stake a gold claim in Northern Ontario, and I’m the kid who wanted to run off and live in a cave and feed myself with a muzzle-loading musket and black powder. I’m the kid who grew up in a house full of books, music, and adults with brains in their heads and some ideas of their own…

I’m the kid who should have taken flying lessons, I suppose. I’m the kid who was actually turned down by the recruiting office—not quite so much demand for cannon fodder back then, and I’m the kid who went off to be a newsman, and I’m the kid who went back to school fifteen times and still never finished. Yeah, I’m the guy who wanted to be a wildlife photographer, and I’m the guy who was planning to buy a sailboat and live on a desert island somewhere. I probably should have taken in a good university or two along the way, but of course I was too busy wasting time.

All that precious time.                                                                                              

I’m the kid who still has that grubby coin collection, and a few stamps. I’ve still got that pocketknife that my Uncle John left behind.

I think at some point that I made up my mind that I would never get married—otherwise, how in the hell was I going to find time to do all these other things? People just laughed. Look who’s laughing now, for surely you people are the ones doing all the interesting stuff, all of the above in fact, whereas I’m still sort of hung up on what might have been. You even got some posterity to show for it.

I suppose at some point we just have to let it go, and get on with what’s left of the rest of our lives.

You want to know something funny? I still want it all. It’s true. I even think I can have it all; I mean, when you think of all them kids around the world who will never have what I have had and enjoyed. I guess that’s maybe the lesson in all of this—shit happens and we make the best of it. Yet the streets really are paved with gold around here. I firmly believe that. It’s a question of what do you want to do?

There’s nothing stopping me from taking flying lessons, or canoeing to Belize for that matter.

It’s a question of how bad you want it, and how hard you’re willing to work for it. It’s a matter of how much you are willing to sacrifice for it. And I guess I sacrifice much for the dreams that I do still cherish.

But I will tell you this: if this really is a business, that is to say the business of writing books, which I have set myself to do, then at some point there had better be a payoff. Because anything else is just nonsense.

“Oh, the vast bulk of writer’s have unreasonable expectations.”

Yeah, they do.

But I don’t.

I think it’s a perfectly reasonable perception, and that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it through thick and thin.