Imagine you wanted to be a pilot. The idea of flying, seeing the world like a bird — you couldn’t get it out of your mind.
So you went to college, you studied flying, you learned everything. Got your million hours or whatever. People knew you as a pilot. They’d look at you with those pilot-loving eyes. But for some reason, it just didn’t seem quite right. You weren’t happy.
One day, as you were flying passengers from here and there to everywhere, it occurred to you what had been bothering you all along. The irony was so embarrassing that you couldn’t even admit it to yourself. Until you finally did and started laughing out loud in the cockpit.
And your co-pilot asked you what was so funny, and you said you’d just realized you hated traveling.
A pilot that hates traveling is similar to an artist who hates to tour. Don’t get me wrong, I like planes and flying and being up in the air. It’s just all that other stuff I don’t like.
Be home for supper.
P.S. If you’re interested, I explained a little more directly why I don’t tour in part II of this post.
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