A few years back, after one of my more impassioned lectures about DIY culture and seeking new opportunities without the safety net of a client, a young buck in the back row raised his hand.
“Mr. Victore,” he said, “I hear what you mean about taking risks in your career . . . but I’ve got rent to pay.” I was more than a bit shocked by his defeated attitude, saddened at how the practicalities of life had already beaten this young soul down so hard that his biggest ambition in life was to satisfy his landlord. Gone was adventurous youth. The kid was no longer the hero of his own life. He had no fight in him. His future flashed before my eyes—beer gut, sheepishly waving a white flag out the window of his minivan, his life getting smaller and smaller.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Thomas,” he said.
“Thomas, here’s your tombstone: ‘Here lies Thomas. He would have done great work, but he had to pay the rent.’ ”
I don’t advocate reckless selfishness or throwing all professional caution and considerations to the wind. I myself have a number of people dependent on me for their livelihoods. But what example am I to my children if I give up all hope and sell my dreams? I serve my family best when I am happy, excited about my work, and getting paid for my creativity. I want my children and even the public to see me fighting for my living and my freedom, not begging for it. This is certainly not an easier route, but undoubtedly it’s a better one. And one with a better epitaph.
