I do this one weird thing. I write. I like to tell stories about things that haven’t happened, that won’t happen, that could never happen. Unless they do.
I’m a big fan of Ian Fleming, Ray Bradbury, and Gene Roddenberry. I’m a gadget geek. I love to look back at what these writers imagined– impossible and outrageous things– that are now commonplace in our lives. I marvel at their foresight. I enjoy every last little detail they include. Of course some things didn’t work out just as they wrote, but many others things did.
My whole life I’ve had ideas that I have suggested to people, only to be dissuaded and told my ideas were not practical, realistic, or marketable. And now years later I can go to the store and purchase those products. I have a trunk full of stories that I have written by hand on lined notebook paper (some from when I was in junior high) that people thought were silly or “out there.” But today I can go to the store and buy DVDs of Van Helsing, Enough, Eight Days and Seven Nights, and a few others as well.
What this tells me is that I need to trust more in my instincts. Do it anyway. Put in my earbuds and sing. (figuratively speaking– not literally– nobody wants that)