Jim Carrey is famous for having written a cheque to his dad for an unfathomable amount dated a year in the future so he could pay his parents back for everything they had done for him. He kept it in his wallet and a year later he was a multi-fucking-millionaire and he used that cheque. He claims that if you write something down, you throw it out there into the ether through the medium of the written word and you work, and you believe it will come true then it will. Sounds simple enough so I’m going to try that this year. Everything I want I’m going to write it down and keep it in my wallet.
I know what you’re thinking. Everything you want? Really Ranald you’re going to carry everything you want around with you? “Is that the best idea? Last week you wanted pork scratchings and to never ever experience a hangover again, you think writing that shit down will help? Don’t be such an idiot.” Well you’re right. If I wrote down everything in the whole world I wanted and put it in my wallet I’d have to start wearing cargo shorts to be able to carry it on my person. And unless you’re a dad taking several children out for the day and already have a full back pack of supplies, cargo shorts are unacceptable. So I’ll only be writing down the big things. Well… one big thing in particular.
I’ve been working hard for the past few years to build my CV to get a good job in a professional setting with a good salary and good prospects. They type of job that would make my parents proud. But I’ve been so consumed by that desire recently that I forgot to take a step back and look at the life I was painting for myself. Organising your future is like practicing the artistic style of pointillism. You get real close to the issues and you add little points of contact, little nuggets of effort and success. But the problem with that is that you’re far to close to see what the painting looks like. This is a problem for most young people struggling to map out their lives.
Recently after a professional and an academic success I took a step back and realised what my painting looked like. It was nice, pretty even. Well organised and something my parents could be proud of. I could hear their voices in my head “we’re so proud of you!” but that didn’t make me happy. The picture looked like it had been printed out by my teachers, influenced by LinkedIn and coloured in with only black and white paint. Fuck that.
How boring! Professionalism and turning up at eight thirty every day. Fuck that. Wearing suit trousers and a ironed shirt every single day. Fuck that. Filling in expense reports and taking conference calls with people I cant stand. Fuck that.
I’m writing it down, right here, right now. That life is a back up, it’s fine but not great, liveable but not what I really want. Enough is enough.
I want to be a comedy writer. There’s a little voice in the back of my head that’s screaming at me to throw graduate offers away and take the scripts on my computer to the front door of every television channel across the world and nail it to them.
I want to be a comedy writer. I want my own TV show. I want to write, direct and produce my vision. I want to entertain, to leave a mark and to live my life the way only I can imagine. And most of all I want to burn that fucking painting, throw shit at the wall and see what sticks.
I want to be a comedy writer.
<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/enough-is-enough/”>Enough Is Enough</a>