I have long had the impression life (at least my version of it) is comparable to having a job in the circus where responsibilities include being the juggler, animal trainer, cage cleaner, clown, ring master, truck driver, and lion tamer. For the afternoon show it is imperative to be able to overcome a fear of heights, or the sudden stop at the bottom in the case of a fall, because you work without a net. 
First, there is the day job that supports the writing habit and that keeps gas in the Jeep as well as beans on the table. My hours spent there often remind me of cage or stable cleaning. What you find in the straw may come in different colors but it all seems to smell about the same. In addition, it seems like half the time is spent in mind numbing tedium while the other half is spent trying to avoid being kicked in the head or eaten. 
Next comes the quest to become a writer when I grow up. This is the part where I often have the distinct impression that in some darkly sinister manner my eternity is being spent in a one man circus with crowds under the big top that number in the single digits. 
At this late stage of life there is little to do but press on. In years past (when I was much younger and the odometer hadn’t quit working after the third trip around) it was much easier to reinvent myself and change course. 
I recently told my dearest friend that if by some strange quirk of fate we were to win the lottery, I would keep pursuing the dream of becoming a writer until we were broke. Then even this very thin gossamer dream was shredded when sh informed my that first we would need to buy a ticket. 
Still, I really can’t imagine a more enjoyably way to while away the years or a more elusive dream to pursue. Even better, I am fortunate enough to have some to enjoy the adventure with. 

Dominating the forefront of writing related endeavors are forthcoming promotional adventurers that include the Wheels on 66 event in Tucumcari in June, the Route 66 Fun Run in May, a trip to Cadiz in May to meet with Dale Butel and merry band of Aussies, and, of course, the carrot at the end of the stick, Cuba Fest in Cuba, Missouri in October. On one of these little jaunts across the heartland of America, I will need to make a slight detour to Michigan as my dad is closing in on 85.
Still, in all honesty, the greatest reward derived from my writing and photography is not financial gain, accolades, or praise. It is the people I meet, the people I can inspire, and the people that I can share the adventure with. 
From that perspective, I just may be the most fortunate man in America. And now, in the center ring … 



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