The Compulsion To Create

“What’s wrong, hun?” asked a lady who works in my building. It was a Monday morning and I had just parked my Prius, extracted my belongings, and was schlepping my way to a staircase that lead to my office. I know her, but I don’t really know her, which is why I didn’t offer a real answer to her kind question. “Nothing at all,” I answered with a halfway convincing smile. “Did you have a nice weekend?” As she talked, I nodded, smiled, and said all the right kinds of encouraging phrases, “Oh, really?” and “How nice.” By the time she was finished talking, she had forgotten her original question.

People like to talk about themselves, and I’m no exception. I have this somewhat self-indulgent blog, after all, where I can write at length about myself and my problems without fear of interruption or concern about anyone’s interest. Diverting conversation away from the self is an easy, tried-and-true way to circumvent unwanted attention. I know this, you know this, everyone knows this, at least subliminally. But back to the “What’s wrong?” question I effortlessly avoided.

What was wrong was that I was walking into work, into an office I inhabit 4–5 days a week, where I am paid to convince other people to donate their money. To be clear, I like my job. I like the people I work with, the mission, and the process of writing grants. I’ve been writing since I was 12, and always had grand…