I’ve been given a great opportunity to work with some amazing people around the globe. I’m getting paid without a manager. I’m getting paid to do work without an instruction manual. I’m getting paid to be creative. That’s my dream. And like all dreams, I know that it won’t last. This is all happening now, but now always turns into tomorrow, and tomorrow is always different than yesterday.

Twitter could shutdown. Online courses and podcasts and blogs might not be cool tomorrow. Should I hustle like a doomsday prepper? Should I raise the white flag, since, after all, none of this will last? Of course not. Uncertainty, the unknown, dips and lulls in momentum, the highs and lows of creative work, these are fine teachers, fine motivators.

What could be more engrossing, more captivating, more adventurous than waking up every morning with only a sliver of certainty? The pill to swallow: nothing is permanent. Nothing. I don’t think Western society understands this fact deep enough. So I’ll say it again. Absolutely nothing is permanent. No matter how great the dream, no matter how big the check, nothing will last.

Besides, permanence is the mother of boredom. Dreams of immortality and infinite vacation days are as long-winded as run-on sentences in a high school essay. The finest drinks tickle our tongues, until our tongues get used to the flavor. Ballrooms and yachts and Champaign glasses at 4 A.M satiate our lust for extravagance – until we normalize extravagance. And everything normalized becomes boring, becomes familiar. This is when the problem starts. Everything familiar we shove into the background. What remains in the foreground is a sad, unquenchable thirst for more ballrooms, more yachts, and Champaign glasses at 5 am because 4 A.M isn’t cool anymore.

I’m in favor of impermanence. I’m in favor of dreams with finite lifespans, lives bookended with periods, and chapters that come with a conclusion.

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