Do What You Love (The Money Will Follow)

That is the title of one of the many self-help books I received over the years, particularly in the teen-age years when my family (awesomely) would give me books designed to help give one a sense of direction in life. Think "What Color Is My Parachute?" Another one was "Careers For Bookworms." You can imagine - although nothing would be better than the leisure and security of a small town librarian, it would have to be a pretty awesome small town, and also I lack the motivation to seek to be a librarian, because those little note cards in the catalog drawers would bamboozle me every time. Anyway, the book in my subject line had all sorts of Myers-Briggs tests in the back and stuff to diagnose potential careers, but the title has bounced around my skull for lo these many years as a sort of litmus test for successful job-having - "do...what...you...love." Although I have had some fun jobs, I doubt that I could fairly say that I "loved" the act and art of delivering newspapers by 5 AM, the finesse of speedy ice cream scooping or cake decorating, or even the intuitive reading of 6 bottles of old sewage water that have been incubated in a room temperature fridge for 5 days. Driving around for my current job, as I do (to Headstart, to the office, to an elementary) I have figured out what I really love to do, tirelessly. And before you interject, it's not just since we've had these horrifically frigid sunny days! Even in the most Juneau of Juneau weather, I don't ever think I'll weary of looking at mountains rapturously. I could fairly be paid to sit and watch mountains and appreciate the nuances of their endless beauty without ever shirking a minute of my time. Alas, they do not pay for this occupation, so the book lied. If I could write really good poetry about it, maybe I could eke a pittance, occasionally. If I could take amazing pictures, maybe with a fluke streak of luck I could get a bunch of posters printed and some sort of syndication deal, probably with awful motivational captions. If I was an artist, maybe I could get some litho prints made up to hawk to the tourists. I admit that the sight does inspire poetry, but there's the capital investment of sitting around looking and writing during the scanty daylight hours (aka the work day) to consider. So, just to put it on the record, the parachute is colored impossible.
For any who weren't 'invited,' here's a couple of recent picasa albums:

PHOTOBACKLOG

31st Birthday