The facts of life

I’ve been printing today, which means I’ve been swearing and smiling, loud and then silent. Pretty much like every other day, now that I think about it. I started printing partly because I’ll be attending a workshop later this month during which a portfolio review will occur, and partly because I couldn’t devote one more minute to my day job without doing more swearing than smiling, and the latter is preferable to the former.

Ben Huff’s post tonight mentioned wanting to “call in dead” to his day job and head up north with his camera. Someone asked me last night what my plan was, how I would ever do more photography and less other stuff if I didn’t have a plan. This is also the same person who takes pleasure in finding the one thing that will piss me off, and then doing that one thing every time she sees me. But she did make me think: What exactly is my plan?

I’ve been operating under the assumption that if I do the things that interest me, the rest will fall into place. But what exactly is “the rest” and into what “place” do I want it to fall? Do I have to know the answer to this question? If I were ten years younger, I’d say no. But I’m thirty-four and I have a boyfriend who likes to quote Andrew Marvell and talk of “time’s winged chariot.” I watched George Clooney on The Facts of Life; I can still sing all the words to the theme song (plus the theme songs to Diff’rent Strokes, Silver Spoons, and Good Times). I got spam from someone claiming to represent AARP the other day. I also get e-mails about how to enlarge my penis, so it’s possible the spammers don’t really know me. But somehow, though I delete the penis e-mails without any thought, the AARP one made me worry. I suppose that means I’m more confident that I don’t have a penis than that I’m not old.

Which brings me back to the question of a plan. All the candidates I care about are rolling out their health-care plans. “I have a plan” seems a common refrain; maybe Dr. King would’ve made an entirely different speech were he at the Lincoln Memorial in 2007. The thing is, I’ll take dreamers to planners any day. And so maybe that’s my answer. I plan every other thing in my life, from flights to finances to freelance work. Maybe photography, and whatever will or won’t happen with my future, should be left to dreams instead. Not the kind of dreams that never happen (i.e., “only in your dreams”), but the kind of dreams that do (i.e., “dreams realized”). Only time—and that goddamned winged chariot—will tell.

Meanwhile, I’ve ordered The Facts of Life from Netflix.