Like many writers, I often fantasize about having a physically active job — something like carpentry or construction, where I’d use my hands to do more than type and scribble, and end each day with an actual object I’d created. If you break it down, I suppose those are two very different dreams: the first about just being able to get off my bum more often, the second about creating something that’s not so maddeningly conceptual. I don’t know if visual artists share the same anxiety (it probably depends how you work), but if you spend an entire day writing, it’s quite possible you’ll have literally nothing to show for it when you’re “done,” or not until much, much later.
Of course, the grass is always greener, and the reality of a physically demanding job is doubtless very different than I picture it to be — for one thing, the exhaustion. From where I sit right now, elevating a sprained ankle on my desk as I work (dark porch, one too many steps), writing is a pretty great occupation, at least until I have to hobble downstairs to make my coffee.
Do you fantasize about having a less deskbound career?