My inability to dispel the arguments against the economical credibility of my talent and the art of illustration is not because I am chicken.

I’ve been the “lone chicken,” in this argument for fifteen years.

I don’t go around waiting for the sky to fall, but I have gotten used to the idea that this “guilty,” pleasure, this “hobby,” that has given me so many wonderful moments of peace from the burden of being a man who must hear from his peers or those older, how much money they make from the trades or doctorates they spent three years to earn. I must sit in on dinners and hear about Bitcoin investments that have gone no where but are sure to, “rise,” very soon.

  I entertain people who have believed the only real definition that is suited to a “man,” is one who gleans fields, mulls around in the septic tanks, is a butler, chauffer, valets, city bus driver, tire manufacture, pipe cutter, landscaper, beasts of burden who are made to look down until they are too old to matter to the visions of tomorrow.

I spit at the thought, but I am not chicken.

Never did mind laymen’s work, I am a large man, built like an ox. It is presumed that because I am 6’0’’ tall, one hundred and eighty pounds and have broad shoulders and a wide back, my sole lot in life is to be a pack mule.

Then one day, this “lone chicken,” decided to travel cross country and work for hire. No time for “art,” love, books, degrees, promotions, impressions, resumes (that fail), sweets that make us fat, high collar conversation, or my favorite pass time of those not disenfranchised, celebrating holidays with loved ones.

 Seven years of travel, refusing to deal with people who believe the end justifies the means, or poverty is solely a state of mind.

One philosophy opens doors to pimps and prostitutes, the other seeks to hold one hostage, by ball and chain to an occupation a degree from a university did not aid me in securing.

Stop me if you have heard this before.

A thousand miles have I “the lone chicken,” traveled alone and I guess after all of my cogitations, I am willing to suffer the ill manners of people if it means I don’t have to be alone anymore.

So, I listen to them at my dinner table and when the pretty face comes along to share a worm or two with me, I suffer her endless questions as to why I would rather illustrate than invest my time and effort and hard earned money in Bitcoin.

It is certainly not because I am chicken.