I love that I get to work for myself, and, more often than not, on my own. Since this leaves me wholly responsible for every failure (and the occasional, modest success) this can be existentially harrowing, but I’m at a point now where I can’t imagine having it any other way. I also love that what I do is so poorly defined. It means that, like my childhood beagle, Shorty, I can follow my nose, sniff out something interesting, paw and gnaw at it for a while — maybe even bury it for a few weeks — then come back and I’m just as excited as I was when I found it. Particularly dead birds, large bones, and ladies’ shoes.
