It’s 9 a.m. at Charles de Gaulle airport. A man in his early thirties has just extinguished his sixth cigarette butt. He’s a driver for Success Model Management, sent to pick up a model flying in from America. Her flight arrived at 8 a.m., but she’s nowhere to be found. It’s Sunday; there’s no one at the agency he can contact. He resigns himself to wait another hour.
My friend Jean imparted this story to me last night while we were drinking at a the Salt House in downtown San Francisco.
The same bar, about year ago, she was with a group a friends carrying on. Next to her a modestly dressed gentleman, drinking alone, placed his American Express triple black card (in order to qualify for this thing I think you need to prove you own an island) in the little glass that held his check. My friend, spunky, pretty, and exceptionally intelligent, made a snarky comment about his elite choice of payment.
He was mildly offended. “Do you know who I am?” he said.
“No,” Jean replied. Their conversation continued into the wee hours as they crawled through a slew of other bars in the area.
“So who was he?” I asked.
“Dunno, I never got his name.”
In this episode of the Chaos and Creativity podcast, Kimi and I discuss unrealistic expectations, and how they can be detrimental to your life, career, and well-being.
I also try to croon the opening which turns out to be mildly embarrassing.
Nineteen-ninety-one, my girlfriend Michelle and I were asked to house-sit her parent's place in a remote part of Morgan Hill, south of San Jose, California. One had to drive for two miles on a dirt road through a running creek to get to the house deep in the woods. It was magical. The place ran on generators and a massive array of batteries.
Two weeks ago I retired from writing assignments. Which is just another way of saying I don't wanna work for the man any more. Quick note; the majority of my editors of the past fifteen years have been women. All way smarter than me.
Truth be told, I want to write without the pressure of writing.