yesterday: 4 hours in record studio giving direction on radio spot to actors and recorder. 6 hours in office going over paperwork, talent release forms and equipment requests. 2 hours in tv studio editing tv spot. 2 hours soul searching. today: 4 hours in tv studio going over color editing and tape to tape. color editor just worked with bon jovi on his music video... got to see pics of bon jovi before they erased the wrinkles on his face. gave opinions about tv scenes. 4 hours learning the ropes, getting the CDs of the radio spot sent to the client and our own internal creatives, and going through the storyboard for the new big account. production companies just sent in director bids for the new commercial, so tomorrow.. go over the videos and maybe pick a director by the end of the week. set up conference call for tomorrow's re-record of a radio spot. am i happy with this job? i got out at six pm today, and spent the night in east village. tomorrow, i'm starting my contact list of directors, their agents, and production companies. and check my ego and material ambitions at the door. i'm not sure yet.

I'm on the chase, not knowing where to go, or what to bring, or who to meet. I know what I've left behind: monetary security, family stability, prestige and the safe confines of my ego. And ahead? Who knows, dreams that change with every new insight and conversation. I've become an associate producer. It's a hard choice, certainly. But I'm agonizing because I don't know if it's the right choice. There are people who can't do anything else but what their passion dictates; you hear that about actors and writers all the time. But I'm a part of the other group, the ones that have choices. And choices are definitely more daunting to face. I know I am good at finance. I know I can succeed at it. I know I'm not happy in it. Now. But what if? What if happiness in the present doesn't matter when you can provide for your loved ones in the future? Instead, I'm stepping into a highly coveted and scarce job, yes, but a job without a saftety net. One wrong step, one miscue from luck and I'm tossed into the trashbin of so many college dropouts and wanna be creatives, who only get bitter and desperate at 35 because their life is spend in pursuit of ideals which fail to materialize. It's a sickening thought for me. More so because I know I can compete with my peers, those lawyers and doctors and engineers - those successful entrenched upper middle class peers... but I like to think I'm doing something different and brave and bold, something that appeals to my soul and my creativity - to my desire to find more meaning out of life besides a paycheck and the security of .. well, being secure. But maybe I'm deluding myself. Maybe I like to fantasize and live in this world where the P.Diddy or Rob Reiner are possibilities and not freaks of statistics. Maybe I like the idea that I'm a rash independent creative when all I should be is to be smart and take a job that will give me a house in the surburbs by the time I'm 28 and a Porsche by 34 - I mean, one has to think about retirement nest eggs, right? So I don't know. Faith and a blind understanding that somehow things will turn out ok. That I'm smart enough to take care of myself now. That my life isn't a game any longer.