Grateful for Not Working

Ok, so who wouldn't want more money? I don't have a Shetland pony or even have a Porshe, maybe because I don't work 100 hour work weeks for that kind of lifestyle.

My work is relatively boring, and a recent podcast from Adam Carolla indicated that being in the middle of the popularity scale (i.e. not too good but not bad enough for everyone to have an opinion) was a good thing. Even though my job title is "engineer," I basically go to meetings most of the day. Meetings fall somewhere between watching paint dry and executing the boss's orders, like in Independence Day, so the ratio of intense mental engagement to eye glaze is always changing. While the result of my attendance might not be anything great, "it ain't bad." Never am I unwelcome or worse... invisible to the people in my field.

Anyway, I'm glad that my writing doesn't bring home the bacon, as I've seen some real winners lately. Sure, I love writing and taking pictures... of stuff that matters to me. Stuff that matters to other people has been increasingly less important, and I feel like the quality of my work would reduce exponentially to the number of "assignments" required per week. Maybe the folks who are really good can consistently produce. That would explain why Bob Ross could keep up "happy little clouds" for 403 episodes of The Joy of Painting. It's what separates us mere mortals from the Rowlings, Speilburgs, and Madonnas, who worked very hard to earn the title, "Great."

Realizing you're just average instead of great is a tough pill to swallow, but actually, being great isn't all that great anyway. I'm glad I don't have to make people care about what is important to me. My time and energy can be spent on those things instead of what's important for money. Great work most likely doesn't include cats in sunspots, for example.