A friend's advice

He lived at home with his parents, though he did all he could to get away. He had dreams of being a writer. He would write a novel. Not a simple, pithy thing; written for old women and beach holidays. He would write like a Russian. A great Russian. His words would touch the very core of human nature and society. Universities would analyse his work and study his poetry and prose to try and understand how deeply his understanding of human psychology went. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was Fate who had put this idea in his head. It was Fate that had made him so ambitious. Fate had looked upon him and decided that he must create works of writing that echo his epoch to the ages ahead. Humanity will not wither on the vine whilst men like him draw breath. There was only one problem. He was as lazy as a Sunday morning. He loved to write, but as soon as his words failed him, he would stop. But Fate is resourceful.

             One day he and his friend went for a drive. His friend drove. He drove too quickly in the rain.   

             ‘What is your life plan?’ asked the friend.

             ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

             ‘Like, how are you going to make money and provide for yourself.’

             ‘I’m going to be a writer.’

             ‘Yeah but what if that doesn’t work out? What’s plan B.’

             ‘There is no plan B.’

             Then came the snort of derision. The exasperated sigh he’d heard a thousand times before from friends and family. Funny how it’s always from friends and family. It’s because they care about you.

             ‘You know you need a way to actually make money. Like, I’m not saying it’s not going to work. But you need to have a plan for when writing doesn’t work. You need to have a way to live. You should get a job where you can progress in, work your way up, something you can build on. You need a career.’

             They had been at school together. He went to university to do philosophy, he wanted to understand the world a little better. His friend became an engineer and, in his mind, was already making more money at 25 than a writer ever could. Particularly the lazy protagonist of our story.

             ‘You have to be realistic. Like do you want a family? Do you want a wife and kids? Do you want them to be okay?'

             ‘Yes. I want to be able to provide for my wife and my kids.’

             ‘Exactly! And you won’t be able to do that. You won’t be able to buy things for your family.’

             He realised at this time that it would be best not to speak. After all, if he spoke now, he wouldn’t be able to hear what his friend was trying to get him to do.

             ‘You don’t want to end up like my Uncle Tom. Ex-uncle I should say. He was a great poet. Won a bunch of prizes. A really good writer. But he made had zero money. Eventually, my aunt left him. And when they finally divorced, he actually took money from her. He took money from her! How often do you hear about that? You don’t want to end up like Tom do you? Great writer, really good poetry. But he was an asshole. Never liked him. Didn’t even read his poems. Not my thing, you know.’

             ‘I know.’

             ‘Couldn’t provide for his wife. She always paid for everything: the cars, the house extensions. Just lucky he didn’t have any kids. See I’m almost scared to tell you all this. As far as I see it, me telling you this will go one of two ways. You might go absolutely crazy and double down on the writing. Or you’ll do the sensible thing and actually start a career. You said you like psychology. Course there’s no money in psychology and you’ll need to get way more education. But you could do a post-grad. Why not do a post-grad?’

             ‘In what?’

             ‘Psychology, but course it’s not the safest job right now. I mean there is a third option.’

             ‘What’s that?’

             ‘You could always marry some rich woman.' A half hearted laugh filled the car, but was drowned out by the rain. 'Listen. For me, I want to be able to look after my kids. I want to be able to buy them things, pay for things, send them to university and make sure they don’t have to worry. In the blink of an eye, you’ll be forty. And you’ll be making below-average income. Do you want that?’

             ‘No, I don’t want that. But I also don’t want to do something that makes me miserable just for the sake of money. I understand that money is fundamental. But I won’t do something that I know will make me miserable.’

             ‘Listen. Everyone has to do things they don’t want to do in life. That’s just the way the world works. You have to be realistic. You’re being really quiet. That’s not like you.’

             ‘I’m just thinking about my options.’

             I’m thinking about what you’re saying. I’m trying to work out why you want me to give up on my dreams. Is it because you don’t want to see me succeed? Is it because you would be jealous? Or is it because you know that if I do succeed, I will leave you behind? I will become someone who is separate from you. Are you trying to convince me to be like you, so you can keep me in place, keep me in your small world?

             ‘You know I’m saying all of this because I care about you. I want you to be happy.’

             ‘I know.’

             He watched the rain being wiped away on the windscreen and thought about how his friend had given him exactly what he needed. An enemy. Another reason to succeed. After all, he was right. He did not want to turn around and be forty years old making minimum wage as an unsuccessful writer. So there is only one real option left, he thought. Become a successful writer.