What I Want

Remember when Michael says that to the Turk in the Italian Restaurant in the Bronx (best veal in the city) in The Godfather?

I like that Michael he knew what he wanted at that point in time. I am struggling with that. Today I took another step into deciding what I don't want when I met with the editor of a fairly prominent sports magazine. The guy basically made it clear that I was not what he wanted. It was somewhat brutal. I never felt older and more past my prime (hell, did I ever even have one--"what about my prime Mick, at least you had a prime") then I did in his office for the longest thirty minutes of my life. Perhaps a few years ago I would've drunk 12 beers and had an 8-ball at him just to make myself feel better.

Now I don't have that urge. I'm glad the guy was kind of a dick. I don't know what I want and didn't need to be in his office wasting his time hoping he'd tell me what I want or that he wanted me.

I need to figure this out and if I have to do it by determining what I don't want one bad informational interview at a time, then so be it. I've got the patience now.