When I graduated high school, I went to college with a mind to making money. A shitload of money. I did some career research and came up with something that I was sure would make me that shitload of money. Advertising. It was something I could do and, at the end of the corporate-magical eighties, it was a huge industry.

My first two years of college were spent in Boston working on an advertising degree. I had a great teacher who had spent years in the industry in New York. He worked on some huge campaigns.

Then the school raised its tuition by nearly 10% and I felt too guilty to keep attending that school. I sat down with my advertising advisor and discussed my situation. He told that I was pretty good. I had done some good creative work as a student/intern on a 3M campaign; my portfolio was looking pretty good, even as a sophomore. He suggested that, if I had to leave, I should get a writing or English degree. That would be great for a creative copywriter. He thought I could start as a copywriter with a big Chicago firm making more money that I thought. I was set.

By the time I had graduated college the bottom had fallen out of the ad world: layoffs, small firms closing, general corporate mayhem. Using a personal connection, I got a plumb interview with a large firm in Chicago—Leo Burnett, I think. With great expectation and relief, the interview went ridiculously well.

Then my interviewer, the friend of one of my dad’s employees, leaned back, crossed her legs and sighed.

“You interview very well,” she said.

“Your portfolio is pretty good for someone without an ad degree,” she continued.

I was feeling great.

Then she said, “Look, I’m going to be honest. We just had to let a bunch of creatives go. You’re not going to get a job as a creative for a while. There are tons of very experienced creatives out there looking for jobs right now. If there is something else you want to do, you should do it.”

I was crushed. It was one of the lowest points I’ve had.

I ended up getting a job with a tiny ad company in Des Moines. I was paid so little that I had to supplement my job by delivering newspapers.

I hated it and made no money.

So I got a degree teaching.

I loved that for a while and made good money. Then the politics and ridiculous workload overshadowed my joy and the money.

Now I make almost no money. But I get to be with my boys. They are my job, as it were. And most days are great. Most nights end happily.

It’s been a crazy turn. From working for money to working for happiness.

Someday the boys will go to school or the wife might want to take over for a while. There is certainly a change in air. The trick will be to find that sweet spot of money and happiness. I think that may, in fact, be the meaning of life.

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