Prior to my current careers (yes, I have several), I spent most of my twenties in various occupations I'd refer to as "peripheral". I briefly managed a CD store named after a fruit. I also managed several chain bookstores while concurrently working my way up from usher to head popcorn guy to assistant manager at a local theater. These jobs were peripheral jobs as I felt I was always on the periphery of a creative field that I really wanted to be in, circling like a buzzard around my hungry dreams and diminishing prospects. I was of the worlds of music, writing, and film, but not truly in them.
My goal was to write and publish books and in my most unguarded moments would admit to desperately wanting to have a story of mine adapted for film--Achievement unlocked!--and it often felt that each shift spent at the mall or the megaplex took me further from my goals.
But...it wasn't all bad, because during those years I read hundreds of books, watched dozens of movies, and wrote thousands of words in my notebooks while on breaks in the food court. Living for your dreams in the moments you can't live your dreams isn't a bad life strategy, and I never had a shortage of creative fuel for the fire while in those peripheral gigs.
And now my home is filled with some of that fuel--the books I'd read and loved sit on my shelves, posters from some of the movies hang on my office walls, and I even kept the standee for the movie Cool World so cartoon Kim Basinger could watch over me when I write.
Because of my previous work experiences, I had a complex reaction on seeing the above photo of the gorgeous 3D standee for I Still See You (I haven't seen it in person; In Rome they had electronic billboards and a nice big 2D standee; in Danvers they didn't even have a poster). My second reaction was that I'd love to drag it into my office. My third reaction is that I'm no longer on the periphery.
But to be honest, my first reaction was that I should probably go get my dustpan and whisk broom and go clean up all the popcorn in cinema seven.
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