Dreams of Joy
My greatest ambition now is to be a writer. It is a strange dream for a man like me—a homeless, middle-aged former software development manager. My life is a testament to the fact that sometimes crazy shit happens to regular people, landing you in a hell of someone else's design. The best anyone can do is try to survive, find some purpose, and savor what joy comes your way.
Which brings me to the writing. My circumstances make traditional employment impossible, being that I am a bit of an outlaw through a fictitious context that has been manufactured against me. Lacking any real knowledge of a criminal occupation and being far too old to pursue such a vocation, the only path I can devise that seems even remotely possible is to learn how to write well and attempt to monetize my words.
It is not without some passion that I am pursuing the craft, as I have always loved to read and have a deep respect for those who are able to skillfully produce the written word. The dream of a future as a paid writer—one where I no longer have to sleep in my truck, carefully consider my proximity to public restrooms, and ration sustenance from the food pantry—gives me a sense of purpose and the strength to forge forward.
This purpose allows me to find great joy in the daunting task of teaching myself how to write. My almost daily journey to the library to read books and practice writing affords me a sense of productivity and routine. In my proxy office—surrounded by the works of accomplished authors, bibliophiles, other misfits of society, and just regular people—I feel comforted and reassured that my story is not yet over.
While a future as a paid writer is still a distant mirage on the horizon, that glimmer of hope makes a life worth living feel obtainable. Learning to write and making a living from it will require hard work and even a good bit of dumb luck, but those who dare, win. If nothing else, I hope my struggle will inspire others to never give up on their dreams of joy no matter where life takes them.