Hi! I’m Paul and welcome to my world!
I’m slipping. I hate when I feel this way. I flip through my notebook grasping for something that resonates within me—something that can give me just an inkling of inspiration to allow me to feel a purpose.
I’ve spent weeks, months, trying to get my mind to a place where I feel like I’m getting better. To a place I feel like I have a future. I get another job rejection in my email box. At least it is a response back. At least I know I exist, even if it is an automated response spit out by a computer program that was unable to count enough key words in my resume to warrant a view by a real person—another nobody charged with the ability to alter the life of a fellow human as a formal representative of a company willing to exchange a piece of paper with numbers on it for my time.
Why is it that we live in a world dictated not by what value you bring to humanity but how many imaginary trading units you possess? Why is it those that possess the skill to sell are valued more than those who have the ability to create?
Artists who create objects of beauty and inspiration struggle while another who can convince you that their plastic baggie is superior to another guy’s plastic baggie is celebrated among their office tribe, rewarded, and afforded the life experiences other guy’s in other office tribes tell us we want.
Something is seriously wrong here!